Page 16 of Substitute Bride

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 throbbed with 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.”

The maid guides Jhankar to a side room. Vikrant remains where he is, supervising the frantic cleaning.

His discomfort is palpable. Until the room is perfectly clean, he can’t relax, not even for a second.

He had planned to change clothes the moment he entered, especially after seeing the footprints left by Jhankar.

But upon witnessing the disarray, he couldn’t help but prioritize cleaning over everything else.

Meanwhile, Jhankar follows the maid to the closet.

The woman opens a large cupboard, revealing an array of women’s clothing.

Jhankar’s brows lift slightly. She realizes immediately that all of it was arranged in advance for Vikrant’s bride.

She observes everything cautiously. She simply needs something comfortable.

The maid pulls out a few soft, breathable outfits suitable for nighttime wear.

Jhankar selects one, then begins removing her jewelry with the maid’s help.

As the maid assists her, Jhankar can’t help but ask curiously:

“Why did your sir get so angry over such a small thing?”

The maid hesitates for a moment, then answers honestly.

“Sir has severe OCD. He doesn’t like even a speck of dirt or disorganization. He doesn’t let anyone enter his room. He personally cleans it before leaving for the office, and he keeps everything perfectly aligned. Even the tiniest wrinkle on his clothes annoys him.”

“Ohh…”

Jhankar tries to hide the mischievous grin forming on her lips, but it slips out anyway. The moment she finishes taking off her jewelry, she turns to the maid and says with a glint in her eye just loud enough for herself.

“Well, now I know exactly how to drive him crazy.”

"You go back to the room and help everyone. I’ll manage the rest here."

As soon as the maid leaves, Jhankar begins to laugh loudly, pressing her lips together in an effort to muffle the sound. After a few seconds, she composes herself and gazes into the mirror with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"So, Mr. Vikrant Dhanraj, you have OCD… Not bad… If I don’t make you so uncomfortable within two days that you demand a separate room, then my name isn’t Jhankar Dixit.

You’ll be the one begging to separate our rooms, and once that happens, you’ll also be the one withdrawing from this so-called marriage.

According to your own words, you left me your own choice.

That means you won’t be able to take any action against my brother. That will be my victory."

Outside, she can still hear noises and the scuffling of feet.

Clearly, the staff is hard at work cleaning.

Taking advantage of the moment, she enjoys a long, relaxing bath, washing away the tension of the day.

After drying off, she changes into a set of loose, comfortable clothes that are slightly oversized for her but far better than the weighty bridal attire.

She places her bag in a safe spot near her reach, guarding it with the same vigilance as before.

Once the sounds die down and silence returns, she steps quietly into the now-spotless room.

All the servants have left. Vikrant is standing in the center, inspecting the room with narrowed eyes, ensuring every speck of dust is gone.

Jhankar watches him from the doorway, biting back her laughter.

He seems to be ignoring her presence, but suddenly, as if sensing her gaze, he turns sharply in her direction.

She immediately looks away, pretending to be occupied with something else as he heads to the closet to change.

As soon as he disappears behind the door, Jhankar hurries to the center of the room and looks around, contemplating her next move.

She’s aware that Vikrant has immense self-control and won’t lash out easily, but she also knows that with a little calculated annoyance, she can push him to his limit, and if he snaps, the first thing he’ll likely do is ask her to stay elsewhere, which is precisely what she wants.

Moments later, Vikrant reappears, now changed into his nightclothes.

Before he can say anything, Jhankar speaks first.

"I don’t want to stay in this room with you at all."

"You don’t have a choice," he replies flatly. "You have to stay here with me. So stop disturbing me and just sleep quietly."

"But I’m not going to sleep on the bed with you, no matter what."

"Then sleep wherever you want, it makes no difference to me."

Without missing a beat, Jhankar bolts to the bed and starts bouncing on the mattress, testing its softness with exaggerated jumps. Vikrant immediately stands up, eyes wide.

"You said you wouldn’t sleep on the bed!" he protests, staring at her. "And no one climbs on the bed like that!"

"I have a habit of climbing like this," she retorts playfully. "And you said I could sleep wherever I want. So, I’ve chosen the bed. Now it’s your turn to decide where you want to sleep."

"This bed is mine," he says coldly.

"Oh, really? Then that sofa is yours too. You’re free to sleep there, I have no objection at all."

Vikrant narrows his eyes and studies her closely.

He knows very well that she’s deliberately provoking him.

Instead of reacting, he silently walks over to the bed, lies down on one side, and closes his eyes, ignoring her completely.

Jhankar, startled, stares at him. How could he lie down so calmly?

She’s the one who jumped on the bed in defiance, and yet he hasn’t even scolded her?

This wasn't the reaction she expected. She stares at him, fuming inside.

But she’s not one to give up so easily. She jumps up again and sits beside him on the bed.

Vikrant opens one eye and glares at her.

Just then, she lets out a loud, dramatic sneeze, covering her mouth with both hands.

She then wipes her nose on her palm, and before he can say a word, she wipes her palm across the bedspread.

Vikrant bolts upright, utterly disgusted.

"What is this nonsense? Who does that?"

"What?" she says innocently.

Before he can answer, she sneezes again, this time more loudly. She yanks the duvet over her mouth and buries her face in it, pretending to control her sneeze. Vikrant runs a frustrated hand through his hair and stares at her with a mixture of disbelief and rage.

"What are you doing? Do you have any idea how unhygienic that is?"

"Why are you shouting like that in the middle of the night? Just go to sleep quietly."

Vikrant clenches his jaw and glares at her for a few seconds.

Then, with a deep sigh of surrender, he abruptly opens the door and walks out.

He refuses to sleep in a place he now considers contaminated.

He had just cleaned the room to his impeccable standards, but calling the staff again would only exacerbate the situation.

He needs solitude. As soon as he leaves, Jhankar bursts into a silent victory dance on the bed, her hands in the air, her body bouncing with delight.

After a few moments, she calms down, lies back, and exhales deeply.

“I know this isn’t going to be easy,” she whispers to herself. “But nothing is impossible. And Jhankar, you will do this.”

Her smile fades slightly as she reflects on everything that has happened in the past few days. Tears begin to fill her eyes again, and she sits up abruptly, wiping them with the back of her hand. Her gaze shifts toward the door where Vikrant had just exited.

“I will make every single moment of yours so difficult that you’ll dread marrying me.

I may not have your strength or your power, but with patience, stubbornness, and clever little moves, I’ll trouble you more than you could ever imagine.

You may have won battles before, Vikrant, but this war… this war is mine.”