Page 35

Startled by the sudden contact, she instinctively tried to push him away, pressing her palms against his chest with force. But Vikrant didn’t move an inch. He stood rooted in place, silently staring into her eyes, searching for something unspoken.

“So, is Her Highness going somewhere this early in the morning?” He asked in a low voice, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m going to find a job for myself,” she replied curtly, her voice sharp with defiance. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Look, I want to talk to you about this,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “It would be better if we sat down and had a proper conversation like two human beings instead of constantly snapping at each other like cats and dogs.”

“I don’t have time for you,” she shot back, stepping away from him with finality. I need to go.”

She immediately retracts her hand from his chest, removes his hand from her waist with determination, and steps outside without uttering another word. Watching her departure, Vikrant silently slips his hands into his pockets and begins to follow her at a steady pace, fully aware that the guards stationed at the gate won’t let her leave the premises without his express permission.

Jhankar, completely unfazed, walks briskly toward the main gate. As she nears it, she grabs hold of the heavy metal doors and tries to push them open. But they don’t budge. She frowns and looks over at the nearest guard, her voice tinged with urgency.

"I have to go out. Open the gate."

The guard stands firm and replies apologetically.

"Madam, without Sir's permission, no one is allowed to leave the premises."

Her eyes narrow in frustration, and she immediately turns to see Vikrant approaching slowly. Fixing him with an angry glare, she calls out before he can say anything.

"I am running late for my interview. Tell your guards to open the gate."

Vikrant, unhurried and composed, stops a few steps away and responds calmly, "And I told you something too. At least listen to me first, then you can do whatever you want. But hear me out properly."

Jhankar strides up to him and plants herself firmly in front of him, arms folded across her chest, her gaze piercing. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver, and her posture radiates confidence and defiance. Vikrant looks around momentarily, and noticing the presence of staff nearby, signals to the guards with a slight nod. Understanding the need for privacy, they quietly disperse and give them space. Then, in a measured tone, Vikrant begins.

“I know very well that you want to support your parents. But as long as you’re with me means as long as we’re bound by this fake marriage, I’m willing to cover all your parents’ expenses. You have everything you need here, every facility, so I don’t see whyyou’re still trying to get a job. My mother wants to spend time with you, and I want you to stay close to her. That’s all I ask.”

Jhankar lets out a soft, mocking laugh and tilts her head slightly, flashing a sharp smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Vikrant is caught off guard for a moment by her reaction, but before he can speak, she answers with unflinching intensity.

“You have a lot of money; why don’t you just donate it to someone? Maybe that’ll cleanse a fraction of your bad karma. I don’t need your help or your charity, Vikrant. I am more than capable of helping myself. I’m not someone who folds under pressure. You probably think you're some kind of savior who’s walked into my life, and I should sit quietly and listen to your decisions, like everyone else around you. But do you even realize how hard I worked to get that job?”

Her voice rises slightly, not in volume but in conviction.

“My dream wasn’t about luxuries. It was about dignity. A decent job that allowed me to support my parents and take care of even their smallest needs. And I lost all of it… because of you. So if there’s a villain in my life story, it’s not fate, it’s you.”

Vikrant stands still, absorbing each word, his expression unreadable. She continues.

“I don’t want your help. That’s my clear and final stance. And yes, I’m going to say something that will probably hurt your ego, but frankly, I don’t care anymore. The bride ran away from the wedding pavilion because she didn’t love you. That’s the truth. It’s good she left before the wedding. Imagine what your life would’ve been like with someone who didn’t love you, who cared for another man, and who stayed with you only in name. But no, you didn’t think of any of that, did you?”

She steps closer, her voice low but razor-sharp.

“You were so consumed by your pride, you married me instead, just to save face. To show the world that your bride didn’t run away. And in doing so, you destroyed two years of my hard work for the sake of two minutes of your so-called reputation. You didn’t lose anything, Vikrant. I did. You could’ve let it go right there at the mandap. You’re such a big name, people would’ve stopped talking in a day or two, a month at most. But you couldn’t handle it. You needed to control the narrative. And in that process, you wrecked everything I built.”

Her voice cracks slightly with emotion, but she doesn’t stop.

“Maybe you won’t lose anything even now. Maybe you never will. Because you don’t have anything truly at stake. But people like us—middle-class people—only have our hard work. And when that is taken from us, it feels like our entire life is slipping away. You ruined my dreams, and now you think you can buy them back with your money by pretending to be the good guy?"

She straightens her spine and declares, “You’re wrong… very wrong.”

There is a brief silence. Vikrant doesn’t interrupt. He just watches her. She smiles and says it quickly.

“Let’s keep this relationship exactly what it is: a fake marriage. You do what you have to do to keep your mother happy. I will do what I need to protect my brother. Nothing more. You said that once your mother’s health improves in six months, we’ll get divorced. Fine. However, I refuse to waste these six months simply to appease your ego. I’m going to find a job and support my parents. That’s the only thing that matters to me. Now open the gate.”

She meets his eyes squarely, her tone unwavering, her gaze burning with resolve. Vikrant doesn’t blink. He sees it all—her strength, her pain, her conviction—and is momentarily speechless. Then, after a beat of silence, he turns to the guard and gives his order.

“Guard, let Madam go wherever she wants to go. Prepare a car for her with two guards, and make sure she gets there safely.”