Chapter 16

Aaradhya stepped closer, the fabric of her dupatta brushing against the floor as she moved.

Her scent-jasmine and sandalwood-wrapped around him like a spell.

She stopped just a step away, looking down at him as he leaned back, his expression unreadable.

"Kya baat hai, Thakur sahib?" she mused, tilting her head. "Aaj chup kyun ho?"

(What happened, Thakur sahib? Why so silent today?)

Vijayendra didn't answer. He simply watched her.

Like a lion watching his prey-except tonight, the prey was hunting the predator.

Aaradhya lowered herself, settling onto his lap with deliberate slowness.

His breath hitched.

His hands twitched-but he did not touch her.

She smirked. Good. Let him suffer.

"You've spent so long pushing me away," she murmured, her fingers lightly tracing the buttons of his kurta. "Lekin socha hai? Jab ek mard ke paas sirf do raahein hoti hain... ek aurat ke paas do sau hoti hain."

(But have you ever thought? When a man has only two options... a woman has two hundred.)

His jaw clenched.

"Aur jab ek aurat chahe," she whispered, leaning in, her lips brushing against his ear, "toh woh ek mard ko uske hi khel mein hara sakti hai."

(And when a woman wants... she can defeat a man in his own game.)

A single muscle in Vijayendra's cheek ticked.

"Tu soch rahi hai ki tu jeet rahi hai?" he asked, voice like gravel, low and rough.

(You think you're winning?)

Aaradhya smiled, pressing herself against him, forcing him to feel every inch of her.

His breath came out uneven. His restraint? Tearing at the seams.

She was pushing him to his limits.

And she knew it.

In one swift motion, he gripped her waist and flipped her, pressing her back against the bed.

His body hovered over hers, his weight caging her in.

His fingers traced up her arms-slow, teasing, punishing.

"Aur jab ek mard chahe," he murmured, his lips hovering just above hers, "toh woh ek aurat ke saare raahein bandh bhi kar sakta hai."

(And when a man wants... he can close off all of a woman's paths.)

Aaradhya's breath hitched-but she didn't back down.

"Phir koshish kar lo," she whispered, her nails dragging down his chest.

(Then try.)

A challenge.

A war.

A dance of fire and fury.

And neither of them was willing to lose.

The air in the room was molten.

Not warm. Not heavy. But molten—like something was about to erupt.

Moonlight filtered in through the intricately carved jharokhas, spilling across the room in silver streaks, painting soft shadows over the royal bed where passion and pride were locked in a silent battle.

Vijayendra’s fingers tightened on her waist, pulling Aaradhya against the cool silk sheets. Her lehenga rustled softly beneath them—an exquisite piece of crimson and gold that shimmered with every breath she took.

Her back arched slightly as he loomed over her, the rich, musky scent of him clouding her thoughts. His breath fanned her face—warm, deliberate, possessive.

She had won.

Tonight, Aaradhya had played his game—seduced him with silence, challenged him with her gaze, dared him with her presence.

And he had walked straight into her trap.

But if she had won this round… she also knew, he wouldn't take it lightly.

Vijayendra Pratap Singh was a storm wrapped in velvet—a man who didn’t know how to lose.

He stared down at her, his fingers moving to the edge of her dupatta, brushing her skin with maddening slowness. The fine embroidery scratched her collarbone as he slid it down, inch by inch, revealing skin he had claimed in his thoughts a thousand times.

Aaradhya shivered.

But not from fear.

Not from weakness.

From the sheer thrill of being desired—by a man who ruled empires but had no power unless she allowed it.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he dipped his head, letting his lips ghost across the curve of her neck, just below her ear, his one finger dipping inside her deep navel hardly, making a soft gasp escaped her mouth, and her hands, almost instinctively, gripped his shoulders—tighter than she intended.

“Rok sakti hai toh rok le…” he whispered against her skin, rolling his finger inside her slowly yet making her feel sensation on her lower body, his each word a caress, a challenge, a declaration of war.

(Stop me if you can…)

Then he removed it before moving his hand to the bulging part of her upper body and pressing it hard from above her blouse.

"Ahh.." a soft moa* escaped her lips , feeling his hard hand from the thin clothes which covered soft blossom making him smirk. Then he moved his hand to the delicate dori of her choli, slowly undoing it—his fingers brushing against the bare skin of her back.

But just as the knot came undone, Aaradhya’s hand shot up, grabbing his wrist.

Her eyes locked with his—clear, intense, and unshakably bold.

“Agar yeh haath kisi aur ko chhuke aaya hai, toh mujhe mat chhuna.”

(If these hands have touched someone else before coming to me… then don’t touch me.)

The air went still.

Like the earth itself had stopped spinning.

Vijayendra’s entire body went rigid.

Her words weren’t loud—but they struck with the force of thunder.

He stared at her, stunned—not because she resisted, but because she questioned his exclusivity.

That he, Vijayendra Pratap Singh, could be tainted in her eyes.

His grip on her loosened. The fire in his eyes dimmed for a moment, replaced by something else.

A crack.

A moment of truth.

Aaradhya pushed him back gently, gathering her dupatta and covering herself with calm elegance. Not anger. Not fear. But with dignity.

She wasn’t a woman begging for affection.

She was a woman who demanded respect.

She adjusted her lehenga, eyes fixed on him. “Main woh nahi hoon jo aapke kadmon mein gir jaaye,” she said quietly.

(I’m not the kind of woman who’ll fall at your feet.)

Vijayendra sat back, eyes narrowed, fists clenched into the sheets.

The heat hadn’t vanished—it had simply changed form.

No longer lust. No longer anger.

But something darker, deeper.

A need that couldn’t be quenched by force.

He stood, grabbing his shawl and draping it over his broad shoulders, each movement controlled—dangerously restrained.

“Tu bhool rahi hai, Aaradhya… tu maari lugai hai. Aur ek Thakur apni lugai se ijaazat nahi mangta.”

(You’re forgetting… you are my wife. And a Thakur does not ask his wife for permission.)

Aaradhya didn’t flinch.

Instead, her gaze sharpened. “Toh ek Thakur apni lugai ki izzat bhi nahi karta?”

(So a Thakur doesn’t respect his wife either?)

Silence.

A pause that said more than words ever could.

Then… a cold chuckle escaped him. He turned on his heel, his shawl whipping behind him like the tail of a lion.

“Yeh khel abhi khatam nahi hua, Aaradhya. Aakhri jeet maari hogi.”

(This game isn't over, Aaradhya. The final victory will be mine.)

And with that—he left.

Aaradhya sank back against the pillows, breath shallow, heart racing.

She closed her eyes, a satisfied smile touching her lips.

“Jeet toh maine aaj hi le li hai, Thakur sahib.”

(I’ve already won today, Thakur sahib.)

.

.

Two days passed.

And with it… silence.

No footsteps outside her room. No veiled threats. No fiery stares.

But also—no Rani. 

The atmosphere in the haveli had changed.

Whispers floated through the corridors like restless spirits. Servants spoke in hushed tones, their eyes darting around, avoiding the harsh gaze of their master. Something had happened—and the news had spread like wildfire.

Rani was gone.

Thrown out of the house. No explanation given. No mercy shown.

Vijayendra hadn’t uttered a single word to anyone beyond a sharp command:

“She doesn’t belong here. I don’t want to see her again.”

And just like that, she was gone—her position stripped, her belongings thrown outside the servant’s quarters like yesterday’s dust. The same woman who once held a place at his side—only in name—was now just a memory.

But not to Aaradhya.

She had witnessed it from afar. From the corner of the staircase, she had seen Rani being dragged out, her face swollen with humiliation, her voice begging to explain, to stay.

Aaradhya hadn’t said a word.

Her fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tightened.

She didn’t feel pity.

She didn’t feel relief either.

What she felt was conflict.

Because while a part of her wanted to believe that Vijayendra had thrown Rani out for her, another part of her refused to be softened by it.

Not yet.

The wind whispered through the open arches of her balcony, tugging at the ends of her soft dupatta. Aaradhya stood alone, staring at the moon—her silver anklets chiming as she shifted on the cool marble.

She was lost in thought when she felt it.

His presence.

She didn’t need to turn.

Her heart already recognized the pull, the weight of his eyes on her back.

Slowly, she turned—and there he was.

Draped in a deep maroon kurta that glowed like embers in the dim light, the golden embroidery at his collar catching the firelight. His hair was slightly tousled. His eyes… unreadable and for a brief moment, he looked exhausted—not physically, but emotionally drained.

There was something in him had changed.

He looked at her like she was the war he wanted to lose himself in.

“Aap yahan?” she asked, voice soft.(You here?)

He didn’t reply. Just stepped closer.

Then again.

And again.

Until the space between them was nothing but breath and heat.

“Aapne Rani ko kyun hataya?” she asked, voice steadier now.

His jaw flexed.

“Kyuki kisi ne kaha tha ki… ek Thakur ko apni lugai ki izzat karni chahiye.”

(Because someone told me that a Thakur should respect his wife.)

Her lips parted, stunned.

She hadn’t expected that.

Seeing her not speaking, he continued, his voice more quieter. “I threw her out because I couldn’t bear the thought of you looking at me with that same disgust… even one more day.”

Hearing him Aaradhya’s heart skipped, but she didn’t let it show.

“So now you want me to forgive you?” she snapped. “Because you sent her away? After parading her around like your shadow to punish me for walking away from you?”

“I didn’t parade her,” he growled. “I tolerated her. There’s a difference.”

She scoffed. “You used her.”

Vijayendra stepped forward, his voice lowering into something rougher. “I used her to hurt you because I was hurting. And yes, I regret that.”

Aaradhya’s eyes stung, but she didn’t back down. “You broke me, Thakur sa. And apologies or grand gestures won’t fix that overnight.”

He looked at her then—not with frustration or arrogance, but with something unfamiliar.

For a moment, they just stood there in silence. So close, yet so far. The storm between them hadn’t settled, but it wasn’t raging either. It was… suspended.

And before she could speak again, he closed the gap between them.

His hand rose—slow, deliberate. Not to claim, not to command…

But to caress.

His fingers brushed her cheek, feather-light, reverent.

Aaradhya inhaled sharply.

His thumb stroked the curve of her lower lip, eyes locked on her mouth.

His touch… was dangerous in its gentleness.

And then, his hand slipped lower, skimming the line of her jaw, trailing down her throat until it rested above her pounding heart.

“Mai beeta Kal toh na badal sakta Lekin thare se yeh vada jaroor kar sakta hu ki , maare se yeh galati dobara nahi hogi. Yeh mera vaada hai thare se. ” he murmured, voice molten.

(I can't change the past, but I can promise you that  I won't do this,I mistake again. This is my promise to you.) 

"Tu bas ek baar mari ho jaa," he whispered again, inhaling her  femine smell, which always drove him insane. (You just be mine)

"Aur agar mai na Banu toh?" She asked , lifting her  chin up. (And if I don't want to become then?)

"Toh mai tane tab tak thare patni hone ka ehsaas dilata rahuga jaa jab tak tu maari na ho jati," He said. (Then I will keep making gou remember that you are my wife, till the time you yourself become mine. )

His fingers slipped to the exposed skin above her blouse—where her lehenga's neckline dipped low.

Her breath hitched.

The world spun.

Heat unfurled in her belly—tight, unbearable.

But then—he gripped her waist and pulled her flush against him.

Her palms flattened against his chest, but he didn’t let her push him away.

His breath touched her lips, his nose almost grazing hers, his hands caressing her waist curves.

And then—

“Jab tak tu khud nahi chahegi… tab tak tujh par haq jataunga bhi nahi.”

(Until you want it yourself, I won’t claim you.)

Aaradhya’s eyes widened.

Because that… that was the most seductive thing he had ever said.

Not a touch.

Not a kiss.

But restraint.

He stepped back slowly, deliberately, letting his fingers trail down her arm before falling away.

“Aaj nahi… par ek din tu khud maare gale ka haar banegi, Aaradhya.”

(Not today… but one day, you’ll willingly become mine.)

And just like that—he left.

Leaving her alone under the moonlight.

Breathless.

Shaken.

And dangerously close to surrender.

Lots of love to you all

Love you all

Itsyourblackrose