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Without warning, she pulls out a sharp object from her handbag, a small blade, and presses it tightly against Vikrant’s throat. Her eyes are fiery with fury, her voice trembling with determination as she hisses,

“I will kill you if you even try to touch me.”

CHAPTER 15

WEDDING NIGHT

When Jhankar looks at the decorated room in front of her, it feels as if her breath halts for a few moments. Despite her repeated declarations that she would never allow this man to touch her, a chilling awareness rises in her: his sheer strength could easily render her unconscious with just one slap; in barely two seconds, he could do anything to her. However, she immediately banishes such terrifying thoughts from her mind. Even in her most terrifying nightmares, she refuses to let fear cloud her judgment. Driven by instinct and preparation, she quickly reaches into her handbag and pulls out her pocket knife.

She had known this situation might arise. That’s why, before leaving her house, she packed this bag herself and never allowed anyone else to handle it. She had been extremely cautious. No matter what happened, she was determined to protect herself if this man tried to touch her. Within seconds, the knife is in her grip, and from the corner of her eye, she cautiously watches Vikrant, who stands stunned, staring at the heavily adorned room, as if the entire décor is as much a surprise to him as it is to her.

But Jhankar is unwilling to trust anything about him, not even his surprised reaction. Without wasting a second, she pulls out her knife completely and presses it against his throat.

“Don’t you dare touch me.”

Vikrant, who had been shocked simply by the sight of the lavishly decorated room, is now utterly stunned. In his distraction, he had failed to notice Jhankar’s tense posture. Now, she’s glaring at him with a hatred so fierce, he finds himself momentarily speechless. Still, he tries to calm the storm.

“Look, listen to me…. ”

“No matter who you are, if you even try to touch me, I swear I will tear you into pieces. Men like you, you all think you can have your way... one-night stands, temporary pleasures. You womanizer … Don’t you even look at me.”

Her accusations cross a line Vikrant had silently drawn in his mind. Her words sear through him, shaking the restraint he’s been trying to maintain, for Sharda’s sake only. However, his patience is rapidly diminishing. Unable to contain his rage, he suddenly grabs Jhankar’s wrist, twists her arm behind her back, catches her by the nape, and pins her tightly against the wall.

“Leave me…”

Jhankar screams, struggling against his hold. Vikrant leans in close, his breath brushing her ear, his voice low and razor-sharp.

“If I wanted to touch you, you wouldn’t be able to stop me. But I don’t want to touch you. So don’t flatter yourself thinking there’s something so special in you that I’d be desperate for it.”

He releases her suddenly and roughly. Jhankar whirls around, seething, her fury intensifying. He calmly takes out his handkerchief and wipes his hands in front of Jhankar as if he is removing something filthy, which further fuels her rage.

Then, without another word, Vikrant strides to the door and yells out loudly, summoning the helpers. Jhankar clutches her aching wrist, which he had twisted so tightly that it still throbbedwith pain. Yet even in discomfort, she refuses to show weakness. Her eyes remain locked on him with unwavering anger.

Vikrant glances at her once, then turns away as if she doesn't matter at all. He walks over to the sofa and sits down with his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped, staring at her with burning intensity.

“You're placing far too much importance on yourself,” he says coldly. “I am tolerating you for my mother's sake, and I asked for your cooperation only for her. But don’t forget, your brother’s life is still in my hands. Remember that well, princess.”

“I hate you.”

Jhankar’s voice booms through the room. Jhankar is sweating badly, and when he grabs her nape, he already touches her sweaty skin, so he immediately turns on the AC. At that moment, all the workers rush in, lining up silently in front of Vikrant with their heads bowed low. Vikrant’s eyes shift from Jhankar to them, scanning them one by one, his gaze sharp and piercing like daggers. Fear ripples through the line of staff. They all know something has gone terribly wrong, even though none of them understand what it is. Vikrant's silence is more terrifying than his anger, and no one dares to speak. Suddenly, he roars.

“Who the hell turned my room into this mess? Speak...”

Startled, Jhankar and the others stare at him in confusion. Jhankar looks around the room carefully. It’s beautifully decorated—just like a wedding night suite should be. If she had married a man of her choice, someone she loved, this room would’ve seemed like a dreamy sanctuary. But now, as Vikrant calls it a ‘mess,’ she’s completely baffled. The staff, trembling, exchange fearful glances. One finally gathers enough courage to speak.

“Sir, today is your wedding night, so we decorated the room with flowers. What mess do you see, sir? Please tell us.”

“You all know very well that I never allow anyone into my room without permission … Who gave you the right to fill it with this filth? These flowers are nothing but garbage. They’ve turned my room into a disgusting mess. I want this place cleaned spotless within the next thirty minutes. Call the full staff and get every petal, every leaf, out of here.”

Jhankar’s eyes widened in disbelief. She stares at Vikrant, stunned. He knows she’s looking at him, yet he ignores her entirely. She can’t believe what she’s just heard. He genuinely considers flowers as filth?

Then, realization dawns. She has heard before that he suffers from OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder). She never knew how severe it was, but now, seeing his extreme reaction to something as harmless as flower petals, she knows. Suddenly, a thought flickers in her mind: this is how she can rattle him. A slow, calculating smirk tugs at the corners of her lips. She has already begun plotting. The staff scramble into action, cleaning furiously. Amid the chaos, Jhankar shifts uncomfortably. She has been in this heavy saree for too long. She feels restricted and exhausted. A woman carrying a broom and mop enters, but before she can begin her work, Jhankar stops her.

“I need to change my clothes.”

Vikrant hears her clearly. His eyes briefly flick toward the maid whom Jhankar addressed. The maid looks at him uncertainty, and with a quick hand gesture, he signals her to assist Jhankar.

“Ma’am, please come with me.”