Chapter 14

That night, Aaradhya sat in front of the mirror in her room, staring at her reflection.

Her fingers traced the sindoor in her hairline, the only proof of her marriage.

A marriage that had given her nothing but suffering.

She thought of Vijayendra.

Of his cold eyes.

His dismissive tone.

His touch that was both possessive and cruel.

And then she thought of Rani-

The way she stood beside him.

The way she served him.

The way she acted like she belonged to him.

Aaradhya clenched her fists.

No.

She would not be erased from her own life.

She would not be another forgotten woman.

If Vijayendra thought he could break her, if he thought she would fade away into silence-

Then he had no idea who he had married.

Aaradhya rose to her feet, her heart pounding.

This was her battle.

And she would fight.

Otherside in  a dark room , that was cloaked in silence, broken only by the soft crackling of the fireplace. A dim glow flickered against the walls, but Vijayendra sat in the shadows, lost in thought. His fingers lazily traced the rim of his whiskey glass, yet he hadn’t taken a sip in a long while. His mind was elsewhere—with her.

Aaradhya.

Her laughter echoed in his ears, the memory of her playful scowls, her stubborn defiance, the fire in her eyes. The way she used to challenge him without fear, the way her presence once filled the empty corners of his life without even trying.

And now?

She was away, not from his home but from him.

Yet, her presence never truly left around him.

She lingered in his thoughts, in his every breath, in the silence of his nights.

Vijayendra exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. The weight of her absence pressed against his chest, suffocating and relentless.

Then, the air shifted.

A sweet, overwhelming scent filled the room—one that didn’t belong here.

His jaw clenched.

Rani.

His personal maid. The woman he had accepted into his house for one reason alone—to make Aaradhya regret pushing him away. To make her see what she had lost.

But now, she had become nothing more than an irritation. A reminder of the hollow game he no longer had the patience to play.

Rani stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate. The rustling of her clothes and the faint chime of her bangles filled the space between them.

"Thakursa…" her voice was honeyed, laced with unspoken intentions. "Why do you always sit alone like this?"

Vijayendra didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at her. His grip on the glass tightened, but his eyes remained fixed on the fire.

Undeterred, Rani took another step forward, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"You work so hard," she murmured, trailing her fingers along his arm. "You should let someone take care of you."

Wrong move.

Vijayendra’s entire body went rigid.

Before she could move another inch, his hand shot up—gripping her wrist in a brutal hold.

"Enough." His voice was ice, sharp and merciless.

Rani gasped, wincing under his grasp. But she quickly masked it with a forced smile.

"Thakur sa," she tried again, tilting her head, "why do you push me away? I am the only one who truly cares for you—"

His fingers tightened around her wrist, cutting her words short.

"I don’t need it." His voice held no warmth, no hesitation.

Her smile faltered. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to free herself from his grip.

"But—"

"Leave."

One word. Cold. Final.

She flinched, yanking her wrist away as if burned. Hurt flashed across her face, but Vijayendra didn’t care. She wasn’t worth his attention.

With an irritated huff, Rani turned and stormed out of the room, the sound of the door slamming behind her echoing through the silent halls.

Vijayendra didn’t move.

For a moment, he simply sat there, staring at his hand.

Then, without hesitation, he stood and walked to the washroom.

Turning on the faucet, he let the ice-cold water run over his skin, scrubbing the spot where she had touched him. Over and over again. As if washing away something filthy.

His reflection in the mirror was unreadable, his eyes dark and hollow.

No one.

No one could touch him.

Except for one.

Aaradhya.

The Haveli stood tall and proud, but for Aaradhya, it was nothing more than a battlefield.

Her father's warning echoed in her mind, a harsh reminder that she had two choices-

Fight for her place.

Or be erased.

She had spent days suffocating in silence, enduring humiliation, while Vijayendra paraded Rani in front of her.

No more.

If he wanted a war-

She would give him one.

The morning sun bathed the Haveli in golden light as Aaradhya stepped into the grand hall. Servants bustled around, preparing for breakfast, but her eyes landed on only one sight-

Vijayendra.

Seated at the head of the dining table, dressed in a deep maroon kurta, his presence was commanding, ruthless, and untouched by emotion.

And beside him-

Rani.

She stood close, too close, her fingers gracefully pouring tea into his cup, a small smirk playing at her lips.

Aaradhya's stomach twisted, but she forced herself to stand tall.

She walked forward, ignoring the shameless glances and whispers from the rest of the household.

Just as she reached her seat, Rani turned to her with a sickly sweet smile.

"Thakur sa ke chai main hi bana ke deti hoon," she said, placing the cup in front of Vijayendra. "Pata nahi aur koi unke swaad ko samajh bhi payega ya nahi." (I prepare Thakur sa's tea myself. I don't know if anyone else can understand his taste.)

Aaradhya's fingernails dug into her palm.

Before she could respond, Vijayendra spoke-

His deep voice calm, yet cruel.

"Aur koi nahi samajh sakta," he said, taking a sip of his tea, his eyes never once meeting Aaradhya's. "Isliye yeh kaam Rani hi karegi." (No one else can understand it. That's why Rani will handle this.)

Laughter rippled across the table.

Aaradhya felt the heat of humiliation crawl up her skin.

This wasn't just about tea.

This was a message.

A public display that she held no place beside him.

She was the Thakurain in name only.

But if Vijayendra thought she would sit and watch him insult her, he was gravely mistaken.

Aaradhya exhaled, her hands steadying.

And then-

She reached forward and picked up his cup of tea.

The room went silent.

Vijayendra's gaze snapped to her, his dark eyes filled with warning.

But Aaradhya met his stare head-on.

Without breaking eye contact, she brought the cup to her lips-

And took a slow, deliberate sip.

Gasps filled the air.

Rani's face twisted in shock.

Even Damayanti Devi's(Vijayendra’s Masi ma but everyone calls her bua sa) spoon clattered against her plate, while Rajeshwari(Vijayendra’s mother) smirked.

Aaradhya placed the cup back in front of Vijayendra and spoke, her voice steady and sharp-

"Agle baar chai main bana ke dungi, Thakur sa." (Next time, I will prepare your tea, Thakur sa.)

The challenge in her voice was unmistakable.

Vijayendra's jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the arms of his chair.

For the first time-

She had defied him.

And she wasn't afraid.

Later that day, as Aaradhya walked through the Haveli gardens, she heard footsteps behind her.

She turned-

And found herself face-to-face with Rani.

The woman's usual mask of sweetness was gone, replaced with pure venom.

"Kya soch rahi ho, Aaradhya?" Rani sneered, stepping closer. "Ki ek din ka tamasha karke Thakur sa ko jeet logi?" (What are you thinking, Aaradhya? That one little act will win over Thakur sa?)

Aaradhya didn't flinch.

Instead, she smiled-mocking, fearless.

"Mujhe jeetne ki zaroorat nahi," she said coolly. "Main pehle se hi jeeti hoon." (I don't need to win. I already have.)

Rani's eyes flashed with rage.

She took another step forward, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Thakur sa sirf mujhe dekhte hain, mujhe pasand karte hain," she taunted. "Aur tum? Tum bas ek naam ho, ek majboori." (Thakur sa only looks at me, only likes me. And you? You're just a name, a burden.)

Aaradhya's heart pounded, but she refused to show weakness.

Instead, she leaned in-

And whispered, "Toh phir ek naukrani itni chinta kyun kar rahi hai?" (Then why is a mere maid so worried?)

Rani's face darkened.

“Himmat mat dikhaiyega, Thakurain ji,” she purred. “Aap jitna ladhengi, utna neecha girengi. Yeh jagah aapki nahi rahi.”

(Don’t try to show courage, Thakurain ji. The more you fight, the lower you’ll fall. This place is no longer yours.)

Aaradhya’s breath stilled. Her eyes, dark and unyielding, met Rani’s amused ones. “Aur yeh faisla tumne kar liya?” she asked, her voice like steel wrapped in silk.

(And you’ve decided this?)

Rani let out a soft chuckle. “Main toh sirf Thakur sahib ki pasand samajhne ki koshish kar rahi hoon.”

(I’m only trying to understand what Thakur sahib prefers.)

That was it. The final strike.

Before Rani could blink, Aaradhya’s hand shot out, gripping her chin between her fingers. Her hold wasn’t gentle—it was a warning, a reminder of who she truly was.

“Zindagi bhar ek naukrani hi rahogi, Rani.” Aaradhya’s voice was low, controlled, and dripping with venom. “Aur jab jung hoti hai, to raaniyaan nahi, maharaniyaan jeeti hain.”

(You will remain a maid for the rest of your life, Rani. And when wars are fought, it isn’t the concubines who win, but the queens.)

Rani’s smirk faltered.

Aaradhya released her face, stepping back gracefully. Without another glance, she turned and walked away, her back straight, her dignity untouched.

But in her heart, she knew—this was only the beginning.

Let her seethe in silence.

Aaradhya had battles to fight.

And she had just made her first move.

And in this war, she could no longer afford to lose.

Vijayendra had mocked her, ignored her, and humiliated her in front of everyone.

Now, she would show him-

She was not a woman who could be erased.

---

That evening, a small gathering was held in the courtyard of the Thakur haveli. The influential families of the region had arrived, their conversations flowing effortlessly over the scent of burning incense and freshly brewed chai. The men sat discussing politics and land disputes, while the women admired each other’s jewelry and exchanged sly remarks.

Aaradhya arrived dressed in a regal red lahenga, her golden jhumkas swaying as she walked. Her presence alone was enough to command attention—she was the first Thakurain in decades, after all.

But the moment she stepped in, her eyes landed on Vijayendra, seated comfortably in the center. And beside him?

Rani.

She was pouring tea into his cup with deliberate slowness, her fingers brushing against his hand as she set it down. The sight sent a ripple of shock through the gathering. A mere maid, sitting beside the Thakur? It was a blatant insult, one that could not be ignored.

Aaradhya’s jaw tightened.

The murmurs started again.

"Bichari Thakurain... abhi se parayi ho gayi apne hi pati ke liye?"

(Poor Thakurain… has she already been replaced in her husband’s life?)

"Ek naukrani ko itni izzat? Yeh toh ashleelta hai!"

(Giving a mere maid such importance? This is disgraceful!)

Aaradhya clenched her fists beneath the folds of her Dupatta , her nails digging into her skin. The humiliation stung, but what made it worse was Vijayendra’s expression—completely unbothered, as if he was enjoying the spectacle.

Then, as if the situation wasn’t degrading enough, Rani turned to Aaradhya with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Thakurain ji,” she said, her voice dripping with false respect, “aap bhi baithiye na. Par main kya karoon? Thakur sahib ne mujhe yahin bethne ko kaha tha…”

(Thakurain ji, please have a seat too. But what can I do? Thakur sahib told me to sit here…)

Aaradhya’s fingers curled around the edges of her dupatta. The audacity.

The woman was not just a pawn; she was being used as a weapon against her.

And the man pulling the strings? Vijayendra Thakur.

And when his cold gaze flickered toward Aaradhya-

He smirked.

As if daring her to react.

Aaradhya felt her pride shatter into pieces.

But she wouldn't beg.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

So, she smiled-

Slow, sharp, and dangerous.

And then, she walked.

Silence fell as Aaradhya lifted her chin from her long semi transparent veil, her voice loud and clear.

"Haveli ke niyam ke mutaabik, sirf Thakurain ko yeh jagah milti hai."

(According to Haveli traditions, only the Thakurain gets this seat.)

Her words were calm, yet each syllable was a blade.

"Agar Thakur sa yeh niyam todna chahte hain, toh mujhe bata dein," she continued. "Main turant iss haveli ko chhod dungi."

(If Thakur sa wants to break this tradition, then let me know. I will leave this Haveli immediately.)

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Even Rajeshwari Devi's face stunned.

But it was Vijayendra's reaction that mattered the most.

His smirk faded.

For the first time, he looked-surprised.

Aaradhya's heartbeat pounded in her ears, but she didn't waver.

She had spent too long suffering.

Tonight, she had drawn a line.

And then-

She turned on her heel and walked away.

Let him see what it felt like to be discarded.

Let him feel the weight of her absence.

Let him realize that she was not just a pawn in his game.

She was his equal.

And one day-

He would beg for her.

Later that evening the Haveli was silent, but the tension screamed in the air.

Aaradhya had walked away from Vijayendra in front of everyone.

And now-

She would pay the price.

Aaradhya sat in her chamber, her fingers trembling as she removed her jewelry.

Her reflection in the mirror mocked her-her face still carried the remnants of her anger, but beneath it...

Fear lurked.

She had never challenged Vijayendra like that before.

What would he do now?

Would he punish her?

Would he hurt her pride even more?

As these thoughts circled in her mind, she heard it-

The heavy sound of boots against the marble floor.

Her heart lurched.

The door slammed open.

And there he stood-

Her husband, Thakur Vijayendra Pratap Singh.

His dark eyes burned with a storm.

His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like he was holding himself back from tearing something apart.

Or rather-

Tearing her apart.

Aaradhya's throat dried, but she refused to look away.

She had faced humiliation for weeks.

If tonight was her punishment, so be it.

Vijayendra strode forward, his every step slow and dangerous.

Then, in one swift motion-

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

His grip wasn't painful, but it was unyielding.

"Bahut zubaan chalne lagi hai thari," he murmured, his voice laced with warning.

(Your tongue has started working too much.)

Aaradhya refused to flinch.

"Thakurain hoon," she shot back. "Apni izzat ki raksha karna seekh rahi hoon."

(I am the Thakurain. I am learning to protect my honor.)

His eyes darkened.

For a second-

It almost looked like he was impressed.

But then-

His fingers tightened around her jaw.

"Izzat?" His voice was mockingly soft. "Kis izzat ki baat kar rahi hai tu, Aaradhya?"

(Honor? What honor are you talking about, Aaradhya?)

He leaned in, his breath warm against her lips.

"Jo maine tujhe di bhi nahi?"

(The one I haven't even given you yet?)

Aaradhya's stomach clenched.

Her body went rigid as his meaning sank in.

His closeness was suffocating.

The heat in his eyes was not just anger-it was something darker.

Something that scared her.

She tried to pull away, but his grip didn't loosen.

Instead, he tilted her head back, lowering his lips near her ear.

"Yeh sirf shuruat hai, Aaradhya," he whispered.

(This is just the beginning, Aaradhya.)

Her heart pounded-

Was that a threat?

Or a promise?

And before she could say a word-

He let her go.

Just like that.

And walked away.

Leaving her breathless.

Leaving her confused.

Leaving her with a terrifying realization-

The battle between them had truly begun.

Lots of love to you all

Love you all

Itsyourblackrose