Chapter 12

From that night, they stopped speaking entirely.

Vijayendra buried himself in work. His presence in the haveli reduced to a mere shadow. He came late, left early, and when he was there, he acted as if Aaradhya didn't exist.

Aaradhya told herself she didn't care.

She had wanted this distance.

Had wanted him to feel the pain of her silence.

But then-why did it hurt so much?

Why did her heart ache every time she saw him walk past her as if she were nothing?

Why did she feel hollow when he stopped reaching for her?

One afternoon, as Aaradhya sat in the courtyard, lost in thought, she heard footsteps approach.

A young woman stood before her, dressed in simple yet clean clothes. Her eyes were filled with gratitude, her hands folded in respect.

"Thakurain-sa," the girl said softly.

Aaradhya frowned. "Who are you?"

The girl hesitated before speaking. "My name is Champa. I came to thank Thakur-sa for saving me."

Aaradhya's breath caught. "Saving you?"

Champa nodded, her eyes glistening. "I was trapped in the kotha, forced into a life I never chose. But Thakur-sa... he freed me."

Aaradhya stared, stunned.

"He paid for my release. He gave me a new life. If it weren't for him, I would still be there."

Aaradhya's world tilted.

Her chest tightened painfully as realization crashed into her.

He hadn't gone there for himself.

He had gone there to save her.

All this time, she had accused him, hated him-when he had been doing something she couldn't even have imagined.

Her fingers trembled.

Her heart ached.

She had wronged him.

And for the first time since that night, guilt weighed heavier than her anger.

Aaradhya turned toward the entrance of the haveli, her heart pounding.

She needed to find him.

She needed to fix what she had broken.

For the next few days, Vijayendra did not return to their room.

He did not look at her.

Did not touch her.

Did not tease her.

She had become invisible to him.

And it was killing her.

At night, she lay awake, staring at the empty side of the bed.

Her heart ached with the weight of her mistake.

She had let her insecurities ruin them.

She had hurt him.

And now-she was the one suffering.

But she would not stay silent.

She would not let Dejwanti win.

She would fix this.

Even if it meant begging Vijayendra to take her back.

Next day , Aaradhya noticed the change first in the hushed whispers of the servants, the stolen glances from the women of the house, the way conversations stopped whenever she entered a room.

It was subtle at first.

But then, the murmurs grew louder.

And by the evening, she understood why.

Vijayendra had accepted another woman into the haveli.

Not just any woman-his so-called personal maid.

Aaradhya first saw her when she was passing through the corridors, heading toward the courtyard.

Aaradhya stood at the top of the staircase, her eyes locked on the man who had once belonged to her completely-and now, he was slipping away.

His words haunted her.

"From now on, I will never come close to you again."

And now-he was proving it.

As she watched from the shadows, her blood ran cold.

Standing beside Vijayendra was a young woman, dressed in a rich, embroidered ghagra, her dupatta casually draped over her shoulder rather than over her head with respect. She was young, beautiful, with a sharp face and eyes filled with mischief.

And she was standing too close to Vijayendra.

Aaradhya's breath hitched for a second, her eyes were lowered, her hands neatly folded in front of her, her stance filled with submission.

She was beautiful, no doubt.

And the worst part?

Vijayendra had accepted her presence.

Aaradhya's fingers dug into her palms as she turned her furious gaze toward the woman responsible for this-Dejwanti Devi.

Rajeshwari's sister.

A woman just as cruel, just as venomous.

Dejwanti's lips curled into a sweet yet mocking smile as she turned to Aaradhya.

"I thought my nephew should have someone to take care of him now that his wife is too busy doubting him," she said smoothly.

Aaradhya's body went rigid.

The words were a direct attack-meant to hurt her, meant to remind her of the distance she had created.

And Vijayendra said nothing.

He sat there, legs stretched out, twirling his glass of whiskey, ignoring her completely.

Aaradhya's heart ached.

She wanted to run to him.

To fall into his arms.

To beg him to look at her.

But instead-he accepted another woman's presence in their home.

And that shattered her.

Just as she turned toward the to go back to her room, she heard a group of older women talking in hushed voices. Gossiping.

"She's been married for days, yet Thakur sa had to bring someone else to take care of him."

"Pehli baar dekha hai ek nayi dulhan itni beparwah ho apne pati ko lekar." (For the first time, I've seen a new bride so careless toward her husband.)

"She must not know how to keep her husband happy."

Aaradhya stopped in her tracks.

Her hands turned to fists.

The words sliced through her skin, cutting deeper than they should have.

Was this what Vijayendra wanted? To humiliate her? To punish her for her not trusting him?

The ache in her chest turned into something bitter.

Something dangerous.

Without a word, she turned back and walked toward the main hall-toward the man who had started this fire.

Walking, she found him in the grand hall, lounging on the large chair like a king, talking to the same woman.

Aaradhya didn't hesitate.

She walked straight toward him, ignoring the curious stares of the family members scattered around.

Stopping just a foot away from him, she spoke-her voice calm but laced with fury.

"Yeh kaun hai?" (Who is she?)

Vijayendra looked up at her with a lazy smirk, as if he had been waiting for this moment.

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing the rim of the glass in his hand. He was enjoying this.

"Yeh?" He gestured toward the woman beside him. "Yeh maari naukrani hai. Maari khud ki pasand ki." (She's my maid. One of my personal choice.)

The words felt like a slap.

Aaradhya's nails dug into her palms. "Naukrani ya kuch aur?" (A maid or something else?)

A collective gasp echoed in the hall.

The woman beside him smirked, her eyes filled with amusement.

But Vijayendra? His smirk widened.

He tilted his head, watching her carefully before finally speaking.

"Jab lugai apni zimmedaariyaan nahi nibhave, toh aadmi ko doosra raasta dhoondna padta hai." (When a wife doesn't fulfill her responsibilities, a man has to find another way.)

Aaradhya's body went rigid.

So this was it.

This was his revenge.

He was punishing her for not trusting him , for denying him and for refusing to bow down to his demands.

She refused to let him see how deeply his words cut.

Lifting her chin, she took a slow step forward, placing her hands on the arms of his chair, caging him in the way he always did to her.

Vijayendra's smirk didn't falter, but his eyes darkened-she had his attention now.

"Zimmedaariyaan?" she repeated, her voice softer but sharper than a blade. "Aur tum? Tumne kaun si zimmedaari nibhaayi hai ek pati hone ki?" (And you? What responsibility have you fulfilled as a husband?)

For a moment, silence filled the haveli.

The woman beside him tensed, sensing the shift in energy.

Vijayendra's smirk finally vanished.

For the first time since their marriage, she had left him speechless.

That night, Aaradhya couldn't sleep.

She tossed and turned, his silence suffocating her.

She had wronged him.

She had let her insecurities win.

But now, she would fight for him.

She would take back what was hers.

Aaradhya was not weak.

She would not lose Vijayendra to anyone.

The next morning, Aaradhya dressed with care.

A deep red ghaghara, symbolizing passion and possession.

Her long hair left open, cascading down her back.

A hint of kohl lining her eyes, her lips painted the shade he once claimed as his favorite.

She knew Vijayendra was in the study, and she knew he would be expecting her to bring him tea.

Aaradhya stepped into the room, carrying a silver tray, the delicate sound of her anklets echoing in the silence.

But when she walked into the room with the tea tray, her steps halted at the threshold.

The sight before her made her stomach churn.

The other woman-the so-called personal maid-was already there, standing beside Vijayendra, holding a steaming cup of tea in her hands.

And worse?

He was drinking it.

Not just drinking-enjoying it.

He hadn't even noticed her standing there.

The tray in Aaradhya's hands felt heavier. Her grip on the silver handles tightened.

"Thakur sa, aaj ka chai toh maine thodi aur meethi banayi hai," the woman giggled, watching him with too much familiarity. (Thakur sa, I made today's tea a little sweeter.)

Vijayendra took another sip, nodding in approval. "Achi bani hai." (It's good.)

That was it.

Not a glance in Aaradhya's direction.

Not a single acknowledgement that she had been the one to make his tea every morning since she had arrived here.

And she understood.

This wasn't about tea.

This was a statement.

Aaradhya exhaled slowly, set the untouched tray down on the table, and turned on her heels. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her react.

But inside, her blood boiled

The next strike came in the afternoon.

The family had gathered in the central courtyard-an everyday ritual where the elders discussed land matters, and the younger members listened in silence. It was also a display of power, a reminder that Vijayendra was the head of this dynasty.

As tradition dictated, Aaradhya approached with a tray of water and fresh fruit, prepared to serve him first, as a wife should.

But before she could take another step, a soft giggle echoed through the air.

The maid-her presence now almost permanent beside Vijayendra-had already taken her place.

She leaned toward him, placing a small plate of cut fruits on the table, her fingers lingering on the silver fork as she handed it to him.

"Thakur sa, maine khud kaata hai yeh fal. Aap bataiye, kaisa hai?" (Thakur sa, I cut these fruits myself. Tell me how they taste?)

Aaradhya stopped breathing.

Because Vijayendra-the same man who demanded perfection in everything-picked up the fork without hesitation, without even looking at Aaradhya, and took a bite.

A low hum of appreciation left his lips.

"Sahi hai." (It's good.)

The moment shattered something inside her.

A wife's place beside her husband was not just tradition-it was a declaration of respect. And Vijayendra, in front of the entire family, had replaced her.

The message was clear.

And the whispers returned.

"She's not fulfilling her duties, so someone else has to."

"She shouldn't have angered Thakur sa."

"She is still here, but she has already lost."

Aaradhya swallowed the lump in her throat, straightened her spine, and walked away.

But inside, her chest burned with something more dangerous than anger.

Determination.

That night, she waited for him.

As the house settled into silence, Aaradhya stood by the large window of their room, staring at the vast fields that surrounded the haveli.

Her hands clenched into fists as she heard his footsteps approach.

She didn't turn.

Not even when he stepped inside.

Not even when he removed his shawl and threw it onto the chair like he always did.

The air between them was thick with tension. A war waiting to explode.

Finally, she spoke.

"Why her?"

Vijayendra didn't answer immediately. He walked to the wooden dresser, poured himself a drink, and took his time before responding.

"Kyon nahi?" (Why not?)

Aaradhya turned now, her eyes blazing.

"You're humiliating me in front of everyone."

He took a slow sip of his drink. "Toh?" (So?)

Aaradhya's nails dug into her palms. "You're my husband."

A dark chuckle left his lips.

"Aur tu maari lugai." (And you are my wife.)

He placed the glass down and took a step closer.

"And yet, tu na toh apni jagah samajh rahi hai, na maari zarooraton ka khayal rakh rahi hai." (And yet, you neither understand your place nor care about my needs.)

His words struck like venom.

Aaradhya refused to step back.

"I will never be one of your servants."

His smirk vanished.

In an instant, Vijayendra's fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her against him.

She gasped, her body colliding with his, her breath stolen by the sheer force of his presence.

His grip was firm, possessive. His eyes darkened, the amber hue burning with something dangerous.

"Tu maari hai, lekin" he murmured, his voice low, threatening. "Tere pasand ki koi keemat na hai yahan. Aur ab yeh hi teri saza se. Tujhe maara tere paas aana, tujhe chuna, tujh par apna haq jatana pasand na se na. Toh bas ab khush ho ja, na aauga tere paas. " (You are mine. Your preferences don't matter here. And now this is your punishment. You dont like me coming close to you, to touch you, to show my rights to you. So now be happy, from now i won't come to you anymore. )

Aaradhya swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs.

But she wasn't weak.

She wouldn't be.

So she lifted her chin, challenging him.

"Fir mujhe chod kyon nahi dete?" (Then why don't you let me go?)

For a moment-just a fraction of a second-something flickered in his gaze.

Something unreadable.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

He released her wrist, stepping back.

And with a smirk that sent chills down her spine, he simply said-

"Abhi nahi." (Not yet.)

Then, without another word, he walked out of the room.

Leaving her standing there, her skin still burning from his touch, her mind drowning in the mess he had created.

And as the night stretched on, Aaradhya realized one terrifying truth -

This war had only just begun.

Lots of love to you all

Love you all

Itsyourblackrose