Meher sat alone in the garden, the morning sun offering a warmth she hadn’t felt in days.
But peace never lasted in Kabir’s world.
He appeared beside her, silent as a shadow. “You’ve been quiet.”
She didn’t look at him. “I’ve been surviving.”
He crouched, eye-level now, studying her. “That bruise on your wrist… you think it makes me the villain.”
“It does,” she said coldly.
He smirked. “Then hate me. But play your part.”
She stood up, refusing to flinch. “I’m not your puppet.”
“No,” he said. “You’re my wife. And tonight, we’ll prove that to the world.”
Her breath caught. “What does that mean?”
He stood too. “Vows. A second wedding. Public. Lavish. Legal.”
She laughed, hollow. “You already branded me with your sindoor. Isn’t that enough?”
“For my enemies? No. They need to see devotion.”
“And if I don’t?”
He leaned in close, his voice ice. “Your father will pay. In pain or blood. Your choice.”
Meher felt her world spin. Her skin burned where his breath touched. But this time, she didn’t cry.
Instead, she said, “Then I’ll wear your ring. I’ll smile for your guests. And I’ll become the perfect little queen you need.”
His brows lifted slightly—surprised?
“But remember,” she whispered, stepping past him, “queens have a way of cutting kings when they least expect it.”
And with that, she walked away.
Not broken.
Just sharpening her claws.
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