Chapter 13

After he left , the weight of her guilt pressed heavy on Aaradhya’s chest , she walked out of the room and  stood outside Vijayendra’s study, her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

She needed to end the mess she created. She can't let him go away from her. 

She had hurt him. And now, she needed to fix it.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly.

No answer.

She hesitated before pushing the door open, stepping inside. The dim light of the room cast long shadows across the walls, but her eyes found him instantly. He stood near the window, his broad shoulders tense, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

He knew she was there. But he didn’t turn.

Aaradhya swallowed hard. “Vijayendra…”

Silence.

She stepped closer. “I—I came to say I’m sorry.”

Nothing.

She clenched her hands into fists, pushing forward. “That night… afyer seeing you entering at the brothel. I should have trusted you. I shouldn’t have believed what I saw without listening to you.”

His fingers tightened around the glass, but he didn’t speak.

Encouraged, she continued. “And after that… when I pushed you away—I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to?” His voice was dangerously quiet, and it made her breath hitch.

Finally, he turned.

His eyes were dark, unreadable, filled with something so raw, so wounded, that it made her chest ache. But there was something else too—something sharp.

Bitter amusement.

“You didn’t mean to?” He let out a low, humorless chuckle, setting his glass down on the table with a soft clink. “You didn’t mean to look at me like I was filth? Like I was someone disgusting for touching you?”

Her lips parted. “No, I—”

“Didn’t mean to flinch when I got close?” He took a step forward, and instinctively, she took a step back. A flicker of something dark flashed across his face. “Look at you. You’re doing it even now.”

Aaradhya’s throat tightened. “Vijayendra, please—”

“Please what, Aaradhya?” His voice was quiet, but it held a storm. “Please forget that you recoiled from me? That after everything I’ve done for you, you still—still—don’t trust me?”

She felt her heart shatter at the pain in his voice. “I do trust you—”

He laughed again, but it wasn’t real. It was hollow, empty. “No, you don’t. You never did.”

“I was scared,” she admitted, her voice shaking.

His jaw clenched. “Of me?”

“No! Of us! Of how much I feel for you—”

“Then why does it always take you so long to realize it? Why you are here after knowing the truth from someone else?” His voice turned sharper, filled with something almost vulnerable making her shocked.

He knows about champa meeting her.

“Why do you always come after you’ve already hurt me?” he said.

Aaradhya stepped forward, reaching for his hand. “I don’t want to hurt you, Vijayendra—”

But before she could touch him, he stepped back.

And that hurt more than any words could.

Something broke in his expression then, his mask slipping just for a moment. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but he just exhaled shakily.

Then, his walls slammed back up.

“You’re late, Aaradhya.” His voice was cold now, detached. “Your apologies mean nothing anymore.”

Her breath caught. “Don’t say that—”

But he was already walking away, grabbing his coat.

Panic surged through her. “Where are you going?”

He turned slightly, looking at her one last time, and this time, there was nothing but exhaustion in his eyes.

“Somewhere I don’t have to beg to be believed.”

And with that, he left—leaving her alone with nothing but the echo of his pain.

Next day the festival gathering was arranged. The whole  village was alive with celebration. The annual mela had begun, bringing together families, merchants, and performers from all nearby regions.

It was supposed to be a day of joy. A break from the suffocating walls of the haveli.

But for Aaradhya, it was nothing more than a stage for her public humiliation.

The moment she arrived, the shift in energy was impossible to ignore.

Whispers. Stares.

Women from the village covered their smiles behind their veils, their eyes flickering toward her with concealed amusement.

Men exchanged looks, some shaking their heads as if they had already judged her.

And then-

Laughter.

A soft, mocking chuckle from a group of elderly women sitting near the temple.

Aaradhya's chest tightened.

And she found out why soon enough.

Because in the very center of the gathering, beneath the lavishly decorated canopy where she should have been sitting-

Rani was there.

Draped in an expensive lahenga-one Aaradhya recognized from her own untouched wardrobe-she sat beside Vijayendra, serving him a plate of sweets as if she belonged there.

Aaradhya's hands clenched at her sides.

"Thakurain, lagta hai Thakur sa ne apna pasandida vyakti chuna liya hai." (Thakurain, it seems Thakur sa has already chosen his preferred person.)

The words were spoken just loud enough for her to hear.

Aaradhya turned sharply, her eyes locking onto an older woman, her lips curved in a knowing smirk.

"She must be foolish," another one added, shaking her head, "to think she could keep a man like him satisfied."

The humiliation sank deep.

Vijayendra had given another woman the seat of his wife.

Publicly.

And worse-he was letting everyone know.

Aaradhya refused to look away. Refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

But when she met Vijayendra's gaze from across the distance-

He smirked.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

And he was enjoying it making her hurt.

Aaradhya left the festival early.

She couldn't bear it.

Not the stares. Not the whispers. Not the indescribable pain in her chest every time she saw Rani practically glued to Vijayendra's side.

As she walked back toward the haveli, her steps quick and uneven, a voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Ruk jaiye, thakurain." (Stop, thakurain.)

Aaradhya's spine stiffened.

She turned slowly-already knowing who it was.

Rani stood a few feet away, arms crossed, a sly smirk playing on her lips.

There was no servitude in her stance. No hesitation.

Only pure confidence.

Aaradhya refused to step back. "What do you want?"

Rani tilted her head, mocking innocence. "Mujhe toh kuch nahi chahiye." (I don't want anything.)

Then, her smile faded, eyes turning sharp. "Lekin tujhe ek chetavani deni thi." (But I wanted to give you a warning.)

Aaradhya's heart pounded.

"Chetavani?"

Rani took a slow, deliberate step closer.

"Thakur sa mujhe pasand karte hain." (Thakur sa likes me.)

The words slashed through Aaradhya like a knife.

But Rani wasn't done.

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to a whisper.

"Aur aap unke liye sirf ek majboori hai." (And you are just an obligation to him.)

Aaradhya's breath caught in her throat.

She wanted to scoff. To deny it.

But hadn't Vijayendra himself made her feel like a mere inconvenience?

"Woh aap saath sirf is liye hai, kyunki tum unke bachpan ka joda gaya vaada hai," Rani continued, her voice oozing with poison. "Lekin pasand? Pyar? Yeh sab unhone mujhme dhoond liya hai." (He is with you only because of a childhood promise. But affection? Love? He has found all of that in me.)

Aaradhya didn't flinch.

She wouldn't.

She couldn't.

Instead, she lifted her chin, meeting Rani's gaze head-on.

"Thakur sa mere pati hain." (Thakur sa is my husband.)

Rani smirked. "Haan, aur main unki pasand." (Yes, and I am his preference.)

Aaradhya's fists clenched.

Rani stepped back, satisfied with the turmoil she had created.

But before leaving, she added one last blow-

"Isliye behtar yahi hoga ki aap rasta chhod de." (So it's better if you step aside.)

Then, with an infuriating smile, she walked away.

Leaving Aaradhya standing in the empty courtyard-

Furious. Hurt. And most of all, determined.

If Vijayendra thought he could erase her from his life, he was wrong.

She was Aaradhya Singh Rathore and now Aaradhya VijayendraPratap Singh.

And no maid could take her place.

.

.

Aaradhya stood at the threshold of the grand dining hall, her posture straight, her hands clasped in front of her. The heavy gold bangles on her wrists jingled as she adjusted her dupatta, trying to ignore the weight of the gazes fixed on her.

It had been nearly a month since she had been  into the Thakur household, and yet she felt more like an outsider than ever.

The whispers, the gossip, the silent accusations-they followed her like a shadow.

And at the center of it all, was Vijayendra's mother.

Thakurain Rajeshwari Devi.

A woman of iron will, sharp tongue, and ruthless expectations.

She sat at the head of the long dining table, her regal lahenga , chunni draped impeccably, her kohl-lined eyes scanning Aaradhya with a critical gaze.

And then-

She smiled.

Aaradhya stiffened.

Because that smile?

It was never a good sign.

"Aaradhya beedani," Rajeshwari Devi called, her voice honey-sweet. "Aao, yahan baitho." (Come, sit here.)

Aaradhya hesitated. The chair was right beside her.

The position of honor.

But also-

A position of judgment.

Still, she walked forward and sat down gracefully, her head held high.

The moment she did, the whispers began.

From the other women of the family.

From the distant relatives.

And from Rani, standing in the corner with a smug smile.

Rajeshwari Devi took a sip of her tea before speaking. "Toh batao, humari nayi bahu kaise hai?" (So, tell me, how is our new daughter-in-law doing?)

Aaradhya knew better than to assume it was a genuine question.

She folded her hands in her lap. "Main theek hoon, Maa sa." (I am fine, Maa sa.)

A delicate laugh left Rajeshwari Devi's lips. "Haan, theek hi toh hai. Karegi bhi kya bechari?" (Yes, fine. What else will she do, poor girl?)

The mockery was unmistakable.

Aaradhya's fingers tightened in her lap.

One of the elder women leaned in. "Vaise bhi, Thakur sa ki zaruraton ka khayal toh ab koi aur hi rakh raha hai." (Anyway, someone else is looking after Thakur sa's needs now.)

A few chuckles followed.

Aaradhya's stomach twisted.

She knew what they were hinting at.

Everyone did.

But before she could speak, Rajeshwari Devi placed her cup down with a loud clink.

Her expression hardened.

"Aur rakhna bhi chahiye, hai na?" she said, tilting her head. "Agar patni apni zimmedariyan nibhaane se inkaar kare, toh ghar ke izzat ko sambhalna kisi aur ko toh padega." (And she should, right? If a wife refuses to fulfill her duties, then someone has to take care of the household's honor.)

Aaradhya's heart pounded.

Every word-a direct attack.

She felt the weight of every pair of eyes on her.

Some curious.

Some judgmental.

Some mocking.

And then, she heard Rani's quiet giggle.

Aaradhya's gaze snapped to hers, and sure enough, Rani was watching her.

Amused. Triumphant.

The nerve.

Aaradhya turned back to Rajeshwari Devi, her jaw tight. "Patni hone ka matlab sirf ek cheez tak seemit nahi hota, Maa sa." (Being a wife isn't limited to just one responsibility, Maa sa.)

Rajeshwari Devi's expression didn't change.

But her eyes-

They sharpened.

"Oh?" she mused, tilting her head. "Aur yeh naya gyaan kisne diya tujhe?" (Oh? And who gave you this new wisdom?)

Aaradhya didn't falter. "Zindagi ne." (Life did.)

The dining hall fell into a heavy silence.

The challenge in her words was clear.

Rajeshwari Devi leaned forward slightly, her gold bangles clinking as she rested her hand on the table.

"Zindagi ne gyaan diya ho ya na diya ho, ek baat yaad rakhna, beendani," she said smoothly. "Is ghar ki auratein sirf bolti nahi hai-apni izzat bhi banati hai." (Whether life has taught you or not, remember one thing, Aaradhya. The women of this house don't just speak-they earn their respect.)

The meaning was clear.

Respect wasn't given freely.

And right now-

Aaradhya had none.

The meal continued, but Aaradhya's appetite had disappeared.

Every word, every glance thrown her way was a reminder-

She was failing.

Not as a woman.

Not as a person.

But as Vijayendra's wife.

And the worst part?

He wasn't even here to witness it.

As if she wasn't even worth defending.

Rajeshwari Devi took a final sip of her tea and stood up, smoothing out the pleats of her saree.

Before leaving, she paused beside Aaradhya.

Her hand lifted, as if she would caress Aaradhya's head-a sign of motherly affection.

But instead-

She fixed her dupatta.

As if it was out of place.

As if Aaradhya wasn't properly dressed.

A clear insult.

Then, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, she murmured-

"Agar patni hone ka haq chahti hai, toh patni banna seekh. Aur apne beend ko apne paas kaise rakhana hai ush par dhyaan de. Wanna Hak aur kirdaar badalte der nahi lagti.  " (If you want the rights of a wife, then learn how to be one. And lure your husband. Otherwise it doesn't take long for characters to change. ) She murmured warning her the consequences of her neglance,  before lowering her lashes toward her, up and down hinting her the idea.

And with that, she walked away.

Leaving behind a silent, burning humiliation.

.

.

The walls of the Thakur Haveli were tall, grand, and imposing. They held within them centuries of power, honor, and ruthlessness.

But for Aaradhya-

They were nothing more than a prison.

Days had turned into weeks since Rani's arrival, and with each passing moment, her existence in this house had been reduced to a mere shadow.

Everywhere she went, whispers followed.

She was the Thakurain in name, but nothing more. She many times tried to talk with him but he ignored her every plea. She had hurt his ego by pushing him and now he was revenging her by giving her place to someone else.

Vijayendra had made that clear.

By choosing Rani-his so-called personal maid-over her every single time.

By humiliating her with his silence and his dismissals.

By making it known that she was nothing more than a burden he had been forced to bring home.

And the household?

They followed his lead.

The servants barely acknowledged her presence.

The women of the family taunted her.

The men ignored her as if she didn't exist.

Every meal was a war zone, where she sat at the farthest end of the table, her presence an afterthought.

Every festival, every gathering, every moment of importance-

She was excluded.

The only time her name was spoken was when Rajeshwari Devi or Rani needed a new excuse to mock her.

"Thakur sa ke dukh ki wajah sirf ek hai-unki naalayak patni." (Thakur sa's only misery is his useless wife.)

"Agar yeh haveli ki Thakurain hai, toh socho iss ghar ka kya hoga?" (If she is the mistress of this haveli, then imagine what will happen to this house.)

"Ek patni apne pati ke nazdeek rehna chahti hai, par yeh toh usse door bhagati hai. Sharam toh aani chahiye." (A wife should want to be close to her husband, but she runs away from him. She should be ashamed.)

She wasn't fighting for love.

She wasn't even fighting for respect.

She was fighting for her basic human rights.

To be treated as a person.

To be acknowledged.

But in a world where a woman's opinion was worth nothing-who was listening?

Aaradhya sat in the courtyard, staring at the sky, when the sound of jeep made her turn.

Her heart clenched.

Because only one man would come for her now.

And she wasn't ready to face him.

Raghvendra Singh Rathore.

Her father.

A man who had once been her protector, but now-

Now, he was just another force pushing her towards her fate.

As he got down and walked toward her, she rose to her feet, her hands tightening around her dupatta.

The moment he reached her, he scanned her from head to toe.

The dark circles beneath her eyes.

The slight hollow of her cheeks.

The stiffness in her shoulders.

A look of displeasure flickered in his gaze.

And then-

He sighed. "Andar chal." (Come inside.)

Inside, Aaradhya stood before her father as he paced the room, his heavy boots echoing against the marble floor.

Then, he turned to her. His expression unreadable.

"Kya chal raha hai yahaan?" (What is happening here?)

Aaradhya's lips parted, but no words came out.

Because what could she say?

That her husband treated her like she didn't exist?

That his so-called maid had taken her place beside him?

That she was being humiliated, mocked, and reduced to nothing?

But her silence was enough of an answer.

Raghvendra's jaw clenched. "Main tujhe yahaan ek Thakurain bana ke chhod kar gaya tha, ek naukrani nahi." (I left you here as the Thakurain, not a servant.)

Aaradhya flinched. "Main-"

"Tu jaanti hai ki iss ghar mein ek patni ki jagah kya hoti hai?" he interrupted, his voice sharp. "Agar tu apni jagah nahi bana payi, toh tujhe koi aur bana ke dikha dega." (Do you know what place a wife holds in this house? If you don't secure your position, someone else will.)

Aaradhya's throat tightened.

He was talking about Rani.

And he was right.

Vijayendra had given Rani more rights than he had ever given his wife.

And if things continued this way-

Aaradhya would be nothing more than another forgotten woman in the Haveli.

Raghvendra took a deep breath and softened his voice, but the warning in his tone remained.

"Yeh teri ladaai hai, Aaradhya. Agar tu ab khud ke liye nahi ladhi, toh tu hamesha ke liye haaregi." (This is your battle, Aaradhya. If you don't fight for yourself now, you will lose forever.)

Aaradhya's hands trembled.

She had tried.

She had tried so hard.

But what could she do against a man who refused to see her?

Raghvendra turned to leave but paused at the doorway.

And his final words sealed her fate.

"Ya toh tu is ghar ki Thakurain banegi, ya phir ek naukrani. Faisla tera hai." (Either you become the Thakurain of this house, or you become a servant. The choice is yours.)

And then-

He was gone.

Leaving behind a daughter who had never felt more alone.

P/s- this chapter will be edited later.

Lots of love to you all

Love you all

Itsyourblackrose