Chapter 15

The walls of the Thakur Haveli had witnessed countless battles-bloodshed, power struggles, and conquests.

But now, it would witness something else-

A battle between a husband and a wife.

A battle between power and resistance.

A battle between Vijayendra Pratap Singh and Aaradhya Rathore Singh.

And neither was willing to lose.

Aaradhya had expected retaliation.

But she had not expected this.

The next morning, the Haveli was buzzing with whispers.

"Thakur sahab aaj Rani ko saath lekar bazaar gaye hain."

(Thakur Sahib took Rani to the market today.)

"Ab toh usi ko Thakurain maan lena chahiye!"

(Now she is the real Thakurain!)

Aaradhya's grip on her dupatta tightened.

He was challenging her.

Taunting her.

Making her feel like nothing.

By parading Rani in front of the village, he was sending a message-

"If you don't accept me, I have someone who will."

Rani returned, smirking, draped in a silk saree and wearing golden bangles.

Aaradhya recognized them-

They were hers.

Aaradhya's blood boiled.

But she kept her chin high.

She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her hurt.

Later that evening, a small gathering was held in the Haveli's courtyard.

Vijayendra sat at the center, his presence commanding.

And beside him-

Rani.

Aaradhya entered, her back straight, ignoring the looks thrown her way.

But the moment she stepped forward, a servant quickly moved a chair for her.

Not beside Vijayendra.

But on the farthest side of the room.

Aaradhya's fingers clenched.

She turned, meeting Vijayendra's calm, amused gaze.

"Baith jao, Thakurain."

(Sit down, Thakurain.)

There was mockery in his tone.

She knew it.

Everyone knew it.

Rani smirked, adjusting her pallu as if claiming her place beside him.

Aaradhya looked at the chair meant for her.

Then she looked back at him.

And walked away.

Gasps filled the room.

She had refused to sit.

She had refused to accept this insult.

And Vijayendra...

He smiled.

A dangerous, dark smile.

The game had only begun.

That night, Aaradhya sat in front of the mirror, removing her jewelry with sharp, quick movements.

Every taunt, every whisper echoed in her head.

Her father's warning returned-

"Secure your place, or you will be left no more than a maid in his life."

Aaradhya refused.

She was not a maid.

She was his wife.

The Thakurain of this Haveli.

And she would not fade into the background.

She would fight.

For her respect.

For her existence.

For her right.

No matter what Vijayendra did.

No matter how hard he tried to break her.

She would never surrender.

Since the Haveli had become a battlefield.

It's the time for her to fight.

Aaradhya had been pushed, humiliated, and taunted.

But she was not weak.

And tonight, she would prove it.

The marketplace was bustling with energy as villagers went about their daily chores.

But all eyes were fixated on one scene.

Vijayendra Pratap Singh stood in front of a jeweler's shop, his broad frame commanding attention.

And beside him, Rani.

Aaradhya stood across the street, hidden under the shade of a vendor's stall, her heart pounding.

Her fingers clenched into fists as she watched the shopkeeper place a heavy gold necklace around Rani's neck.

"Bilkul Thakurain jaisi lag rahi hai!"

(She looks just like the Thakurain!)

Laughter rang out around them.

Aaradhya's nails dug into her palm.

She had endured enough.

The murmurs of the villagers, the smirks of the servants, the way people now looked at her with pity.

As if she was nothing more than an abandoned wife.

As if she had lost.

She turned, walking away before her anger consumed her.

That evening, Aaradhya waited.

Waited for Vijayendra to return.

She stood at the entrance of the Haveli, her fingers gripping her Chunni draped in fierce determination.

The sky had turned a deep shade of red and gold by the time he arrived.

Seated on his horse, Raunak. Tall and imposing, he dismounted with the ease of a ruler who knew he owned everything around him.

Rani followed behind him, laughing at something he had said, adjusting her dupatta with feigned modesty.

Aaradhya did not move.

Her heartbeat was loud in her ears as she stepped forward, placing herself directly in his path.

"Bas bahut ho gaya."

(Enough is enough.)

Silence.

The laughter around them died.

Even the servants stilled, their eyes darting between them.

Vijayendra's lips curled slightly. Mocking.

"Ho gaya? Kis baat ka?"

(Enough? Of what?)

Aaradhya's voice was steel. Unyielding.

"Yeh jo bhi tum kar rahe ho- mujhe neecha dikhana, mujhe majboor banana- yeh sab band karo."

(Whatever you are doing- humiliating me, forcing me to bend- stop it.)

His gaze darkened.

"Majboor toh tu khud hai, Aaradhya."

(You are the one who is helpless, Aaradhya.)

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat of his body.

His fingers reached out, brushing against her cheek in a touch so gentle, yet suffocating.

"Main tujhe yeh sab dikhata nahi, toh tu kaise samajhti ki mera hona kya hota hai?"

(If I didn't show you all this, how would you understand what it means to be mine?)

Aaradhya jerked away, her breath uneven.

"Tum mujhe apna banana nahi chahte, tum bas mujhe todna chahte ho."

(You don't want to make me yours, you just want to break me.)

A flicker of something flashed in his eyes-something dark, something dangerous.

"Aur agar dono ek hi baat ho toh?"

(And what if both are the same thing?)

Aaradhya's entire body stiffened.

This man.

This ruthless, manipulative man.

He did not just want her submission.

He wanted her soul.

And that, she would never give.

Lifting her chin, she met his gaze head-on.

"Mujhe harane ki koshish mat karo, Vijayendra. Main har nahi manungi."

(Don't try to defeat me, Vijayendra. I will not lose.)

His lips quirked, as if her defiance amused him.

As if she were nothing more than a challenge he would eventually conquer.

But Aaradhya knew better.

This was not just his game.

It was hers too.

And she would play until the very end.

The moonlight bathed the Haveli in a ghostly glow, casting long shadows across the marble floors.

Aaradhya stood in front of the ornate mirror, adjusting the heavy gold earrings that adorned her ears.

Her reflection stared back at her-a woman transformed.

Gone was the hesitant girl who once shied away from confrontation.

She had learned.

She had suffered.

And now, it was her turn.

Vijayendra was seated in the private lounge, his long fingers tracing the rim of a crystal glass filled with dark amber liquid.

Rani stood beside him, her hands folded modestly, her eyes downcast-a perfect image of servitude.

Aaradhya watched them from the doorway, her lips curving into a smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Aaj mujhe bhi ek naukar ki zaroorat mehsoos ho rahi hai."

(Today, I too feel the need for a personal servant.)

The room fell silent.

Vijayendra lifted his gaze lazily, one brow arching in amusement.

"Haan? Kis liye?"

(Oh? For what?)

Aaradhya turned, stepping to the side as the tall, broad-shouldered man behind her entered.

His name was Indrajit Singh.

A distant relative of hers-young, handsome, and obedient.

She watched as a flicker of something dangerous passed through Vijayendra's eyes.

"Indrajit yehan aaj se mere saath rahega," she announced smoothly.

(Indrajit will stay with me from today.)

"Meri pasand ki chai banayega.

(He will make my tea.)

Meri pasand ke kapde nikal ke dega."

(He will select my clothes.)

She turned, walking gracefully toward Vijayendra, her voice dropping into something sultry, mocking.

"Aur agar kabhi mann kare toh mujhe baith ke bhi khilayega."

(And if I ever feel like it, he will even feed me.)

A slow smirk played on her lips as she leaned down, her face inches from his.

Exactly how he had done to her countless times.

But this time, she was the one holding the knife.

She saw the shift in his gaze, the way his fingers curled tightly around the glass until his knuckles turned white.

Vijayendra was a man who could break empires without blinking.

But tonight, she had shaken his throne.

"Everyone leave" He shouted, making them nod before walking.

The moment they were alone, the storm unleashed.

Aaradhya barely turned when strong fingers wrapped around her throat.

Her back hit the nearest wall, the impact sending a tremor through her body.

Vijayendra's face was inches from hers, his breath hot against her skin.

"Kya samajhti hai tu apne aap ko?"

(What do you think of yourself?)

His voice was deadly quiet, but his grip was iron.

She did not flinch.

Instead, she smiled. Sweet. Slow. Dangerous.

"Sirf ek aurat," she whispered.

(Just a woman.)

His fingers tightened for a brief second before loosening, his body vibrating with restrained fury.

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something darkly victorious.

For the first time in her life, she saw it-

The flicker of doubt.

The smallest hint of unsettled rage.

She had won this round.

And she would never stop fighting.

The tension in the air was suffocating. Aaradhya could feel the heat of Vijayendra's palm around her neck, his grip a silent warning. His jaw was clenched, his breathing uneven, but she held her ground, her gaze locked onto his with unwavering defiance.

For the first time, he was the one losing control.

And she? She had never felt more powerful.

His fingers finally loosened, but he didn't move away. His forehead nearly touched hers, his dark eyes burning with something primal, something dangerous.

"Tu kya samajhti hai? Ki tu mujhe aaine dikhaegi?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

(Do you think you can show me my own reflection?)

She let out a soft laugh, unfazed.

"Aap jo bhi kahen, par sach toh yahi hai na? Maine wahi kiya jo aap karte aaye hain."

(Say whatever you want, but isn't this the truth? I only did what you've been doing all along.)

His eyes darkened further, the space between them charged with a storm neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

Aaradhya refused to look away. She had spent too long being silenced, too long being humiliated. If this was a war for her respect, she would fight till her last breath.

And tonight, she had landed her first strike.

Vijayendra took a deep breath, stepping back. The air around them felt like crackling fire, threatening to consume everything in its path.

His lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer.

"Toh tu bhi yahi chahti hai? Ki sabko lage ki maari lugai ek doosre aadmi ke saath hai?"

(So this is what you want? That people think my wife is with another man?)

Aaradhya's fists clenched, but she kept her face impassive.

"Jab aapko Rani ke saath bethne mein koi dikkat nahi, toh mujhe kisi aur ke saath hone par kyun takleef ho rahi hai?"

(When you have no problem sitting with Rani, why should it bother you if I have someone beside me?)

Vijayendra's face darkened instantly.

He had controlled everything-until now.

In one swift move, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward, forcing her against his chest. His grip was firm, unyielding.

"Yaad rakh, Aaradhya..." he whispered against her ear, his voice filled with menace. "Tu sirf maari hai. Mera sabar todne ki galti mat kar."

(Remember, Aaradhya... you are only mine. Don't make the mistake of testing my patience.)

She swallowed hard, refusing to let the shiver running down her spine betray her.

Instead, she smiled. Slow. Fearless. Challenging.

"Toh tod dijiye. Mujhe dekhna hai, aapka yeh sabar kitna der tak tikta hai."

(Then break it. I want to see how long this patience of yours lasts.)

Vijayendra's grip tightened, but this time, there was something else in his gaze-something dangerously close to admiration.

And that terrified her more than his rage.

Because a man like Vijayendra never admired a woman without making her completely his.

From next day, Indrajeet was assigned to Aaradhya's service. Unlike the others, he showed her the respect a Thakurain deserved-something that had become rare in the haveli.

He was attentive, obedient, and most importantly, loyal.

"Thakurain ji, aaj ka din kaise raha?" Indrajeet asked one evening, offering her a glass of sherbet as they sat in the inner courtyard.

(Thakurain ji, how was your day?)

Aaradhya looked at him, appreciating the simple courtesy he showed-something her so-called husband had long abandoned.

"Shaant raha," she replied, taking the drink. Then, with a small smirk, she added, "Tumhare malik ke bina toh shaanti hi rehni thi."

(It was peaceful... Without your master, it was bound to be.)

Indrajeet chuckled. He had seen the war between the Thakur and his wife from the sidelines. Unlike the others, he didn't fear getting caught in it.

"If aap chahein, toh aaj aapke liye sitar baja sakta hoon," he offered with a teasing grin.

(If you want, I can play the sitar for you today.)

Aaradhya let out a small laugh. A real laugh-something she hadn't done in a while.

And unbeknownst to her, standing at the balcony above, Vijayendra saw everything.

His grip on the railing tightened as he watched Aaradhya-his wife-smiling with another man.

Indrajeet knelt at her feet, arranging flowers for the evening puja, his head bowed, his tone easy and playful.

And she... she was responding.

Vijayendra's jaw clenched. This was not how things were meant to be.

"Meri lugai kisi aur se hassi bol rahi hai..."

(My wife is laughing and talking with another man...)

The thought alone was enough to make his blood boil.

She should be pining, suffering, regretting.

Instead, she was moving on.

That night, as Aaradhya walked towards her chamber, the temperature in the haveli seemed to drop.

The moment she stepped inside, a strong hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back.

Before she could react, her back slammed against the heavy wooden door, trapping her between it and the furious form of her husband.

Vijayendra's eyes burned like molten gold, his face mere inches from hers.

"Bahut hasi aa rahi thi na?" he whispered darkly, his breath fanning against her cheek.

(You were laughing a lot, weren't you?)

Aaradhya didn't flinch. Instead, she met his gaze head-on, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Aapne kya farq padta hai, Thakur sahib?" she challenged.

(Why does it matter to you, Thakur sahib?)

His hand came up, gripping her jaw roughly, forcing her to look only at him.

"Farq padta hai." His voice was low, dangerous. "Tu maari hai, Aaradhya. Tane kise aur ke saath dekhna bardasht nahi hota."

(It matters. You are mine, Aaradhya. I cannot tolerate seeing you with someone else.)

Aaradhya chuckled, her defiance only fueling his rage.

"Kya maari?" she taunted. "Jise aap izzat dena toh door, apni pasand se bhi girane se nahi sharmate?"

(Yours? Someone you don't even respect? Someone you don't hesitate to degrade in public?)

Vijayendra's grip on her tightened before he suddenly let go, stepping back. His rage was undeniable, but for the first time, so was his vulnerability.

Aaradhya tilted her head, watching him with amusement. She had struck where it hurt.

Then, with one last smirk, she turned and walked away-leaving him standing there, fists clenched, burning in the fire of his own jealousy.

The war between Aaradhya and Vijayendra had reached its peak.

For weeks, he had ignored her, humiliated her, pushed her away-expecting her to break.

But instead... she had risen.

She had begun playing the same game he started-and now, she was about to turn the tables completely.

That night, the air in Thakur Haveli was thick with tension.

Vijayendra had been avoiding her chambers, spending nights in the outhouse, ensuring that his wife knew exactly where she stood in his life.

"A Thakurain in name only."

But tonight, she would remind him exactly who she was.

Dressed in a deep red blouse and ghaghara, her dupatta draped so loosely that it barely clung to her curves, Aaradhya entered his study room.

The dim glow of oil lamps bathed the space in golden light, casting flickering shadows along the walls as she stepped inside, the soft chime of her anklets breaking the heavy silence.

Vijayendra, who had been reclining in his chair, looked up-and froze.

His gaze darkened at the sight of the goddess standing before him-her milky waist, the tantalizing dip of her navel, and her soft, full curves rising from a deep cleavage that left little to the imagination. His fingers, which had been resting on the armrest, curled into fists as he struggled to suppress the overwhelming desire to pull her close and blur the lines between dreams and reality.

This was the vision he had imagined for the past thirteen years-ever since he turned into a teenager. He was thirty now, and she was nineteen. They had married when she was just four and he, fifteen. She didn't remember him, but he remembered everything.

His fingers itched to touch her, to grab her, to feel the softness of her skin. His mouth watered at the glimpse of her deep navel, teasing him through the sheer fabric of her dupatta. His breath grew heavier, and all the blood in his body seemed to rush downward, making him painfully hard.

She was breathtaking.

And she knew it.

Lots of love to you all

Love you all

Itsyourblackrose