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CHAPTER 13

BETRAYAL BY POWER

Jhankar is sitting quietly, her demeanor subdued and spirit almost numb. The maids had come and bathed her thoroughly, treating her more like a lifeless doll than a human being. She was in such a deep state of shock that she didn’t utter a single word as they carried out their tasks around her. When the beautician arrived and began preparing her, styling her hair and applying makeup with precision, Jhankar simply sat there in silence, her gaze fixed on a single spot on the floor as if she were somewhere far away from her own body.

Vikrant opens the door slowly and stands still for a moment, observing her closely. He cannot see her face because she’s sitting with her head bowed, her hands resting in her lap, but her complete stillness tells him more than any words could. He senses that she is engulfed in a state of shock, the depth of which he cannot even begin to comprehend.

“Shall we go?” he asks in a calm tone.

Jhankar does not look at him, does not respond with words. She merely rises quietly and begins to walk toward him, each step heavy yet graceful. Vikrant watches her carefully, his eyes following her every movement. She walks silently, her face still lowered. There is no resistance in her body, but there is no acceptance either, only a chilling, empty calm. She halts suddenly as she notices Vikrant standing in front of her,blocking her way. Slowly, she raises her head and looks at him. Her eyes are glassy, wet with emotion, yet no tears fall. It’s as though she’s cried so much inside that her eyes have dried before a single drop could escape. Vikrant notices this clearly and says, in a low voice, trying to offer a shred of reassurance:

“They are safe… at their home. You will meet your parents again.”

But Jhankar doesn't react. Without uttering a word or sparing him another glance, she steps past him and continues walking ahead. Vikrant turns around, watches her for a moment, and then follows behind, his hands tucked neatly into his pants pockets. Jhankar doesn’t know where they are going. She doesn’t care. All she knows is that her parents, who had raised her with so much love and dignity, have suffered unspeakable humiliation and endured awful conditions because of this man beside her. That fact is far more painful than anything she’s facing herself. When they exit, she notices a black car parked right in front of the mansion. She assumes they must be going somewhere and silently walks toward it.

Vikrant immediately steps forward and opens the door for her like a gentleman, but there’s no nobility in the moment. There’s only tension. Jhankar quietly sits inside the car, not even looking at him. She clenches her fingers in her lap, her face turned away, lost in thought. Vikrant circles around and gets in from the opposite side, taking his seat beside her. As the car begins to move, he finally speaks, his voice devoid of emotion.

“We are going to the hospital. My mother is there, she had a heart attack. So take care that she doesn’t experience any kind of emotional disturbance. Otherwise…”

He pauses deliberately, his tone turning darker.

“It won’t take me much time to trouble you.”

Jhankar snaps her head toward him, eyes blazing with fury, teeth clenched so tightly her jawline quivers.

“Go to hell with your warning,”

She snaps coldly. Vikrant turns and looks at her, startled by the fire in her voice. Her expression is fierce, defiant. Her clenched jaw and burning eyes are unlike anything he’s seen before. No one dares to raise their voice in front of him, yet here she is, a girl half his size, full of rage, challenging him without fear.

“Nobody raises their voice in front of me…” He mutters, more to himself than to her.

“Why? Are you a mafia king or a god?” she retorts instantly.

He smirks slightly and looks away, out the window. Then, without looking at her, he begins to clarify in a low, steady voice.

“I haven’t laid a finger on your parents, nor have my men. If I had been truly angry, it would’ve been directed at your brother. If he had dared to cross me, I would’ve beaten him so severely he wouldn’t have survived it. The ones who harmed your parents were Viren Chandel and his men. Whatever happened… they were responsible.”

Vikrant knows very well that Jhankar is consumed by fury. In such a state, she could easily lash out and say something inappropriate in front of Sharda. And he is determined to prevent that. He doesn’t want his father’s name involved in this chaos under any circumstance, so he places the entire blame on Viren Chandel. But Jhankar is not one to stay quiet. Her sharp question comes immediately.

“What about this marriage?”

Vikrant shifts his gaze from her to the car window, slowly unbuttoning his coat. His eyes wander through the glass, observing the blur of passing streets and people, avoiding her gaze.

“It was necessary to protect the reputation of both families. No one had seen Viren Chandel’s daughters. At that moment, getting married was critical.”

“That man was ready to marry off his second daughter to you.”

“She’s a sixteen-year-old school-going child,” Vikrant says quietly.

Jhankar instantly falls silent. Something about that answer pierces through her like a needle. Vikrant turns to her, watches her face closely, and continues in a softer voice.

“A man like Viren Chandel doesn’t care about right or wrong. He was only interested in securing a marriage alliance. And I… I was only interested in saving my reputation. But even then, I couldn’t force a sixteen-year-old girl who calls me ‘brother’ to stand by my side. I don’t think I owe you any explanations, but I also understand that we’re both trapped in this mess together. That’s the only reason I’m telling you all this. Otherwise, I don’t trust anyone. Not you... not anyone else.”

Jhankar listens to him intently, absorbing every word. Yet deep inside, she is unwilling to let his words justify what has been done to her and her family. Her voice is cold, controlled, but resolute as she responds.

“That’s not my concern. You think marriage is some kind of joke? You believe that getting a few rituals performed in front of strangers makes it valid? My parents weren’t with me. There was no one to give consent on my behalf. This marriage is nothingbut a product of your anger. No one agreed to it—not me, not my family. Then what value does this marriage even hold?”

Vikrant now begins to scrutinize Jhankar with an intensity she can feel. Never before has a man spoken to him this way. And now, here she is—this petite, bold girl—hurling truth at him with venom in every word. Her defiance fascinates him, unnerves him. He knows this argument won’t end well. The more they talk, the more the bitterness deepens. So, he leans back against the seat, adjusts his posture, and speaks evenly.