Chapter 3:The Price of Saying No

Sarika didn’t go back.

She sat on the floor of her room, wrapped in her mother’s old silk dupatta like it could hide the bruises on her wrists — or the heat still lingering on her skin from his hands.

She hated the way her body remembered his touch.

She hated that he was right.

She hated him.

But she wasn’t going back.

Not to him.

Not today.

Not ever.

The knock came just past noon.

Sharp. Military.

Her father opened the door, expecting a neighbor.

What he saw made him stagger back.

Four British soldiers. Tall. Stone-faced. Holding rifles like batons. The one in front stepped forward and held out a sealed letter.

> Miss Sarika Mishra is ordered to appear at British Cantonment Headquarters immediately.

Captain Julian Rhodes does not tolerate disobedience.

Failure to comply will be considered defiance of Crown authority.

Her father dropped the letter.

“Tell your Captain,” he said shakily, “my daughter is a Hindu woman of virtue. She will not be dragged around like some—”

“She will come,” the soldier interrupted. “Or we will make her.”

The neighbors watched.

As the soldiers entered the house.

As Sarika’s mother screamed.

As Sarika, trembling but proud, stepped out on her own — saree hurriedly thrown over her shoulder, hair uncombed, chin held high.

The street went silent.

She was marched through the market like a prisoner. No carriage. No veil. Just her and the sound of boots behind her.

Back in his quarters.

Captain Julian Rhodes didn’t rise from his chair when she was shoved through the doors.

“Close them,” he said.

The soldiers obeyed. The echo of the lock was louder than thunder.

Sarika stood still.

He finally looked up.

“You disobeyed me,” he said.

“I’m not yours to command.”

He stood.

She instinctively took a step back — and hated herself for it.

He didn’t stop walking until he was inches from her, voice calm, terrifying.

“No. Not yet. But you will be.”

She stared at him, lips trembling.

“You had no right to drag me through the streets like that,” she hissed.

He grabbed her chin. Hard. Tilted her face toward him.

“I had every right,” he said. “You belong to me the second I decided I wanted you.”

She slapped him again.

He didn’t move this time.

Didn’t smile.

He slammed her against the wall so fast she gasped.

“You really don’t learn, do you?”

She struggled — but he was stronger.

His hand gripped her wrists, pinning them above her head. Her chest heaved. Her saree slipped slightly from her shoulder.

His eyes dropped — darkening.

“I gave you a chance to come willingly,” he said, voice low, hot against her ear. “You want me to become a monster, Sarika? I can be so much worse than you imagine.”

She turned her head, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Do it,” she whispered. “If you're going to ruin me, do it now.”

He stilled.

Then pulled back, slowly.

Her wrists were released. She collapsed into the wall, panting.

He stepped away, pouring a drink with shaking hands.

“No,” he muttered. “Not like this.”

She looked up in shock.

“I will have you,” he said. “But not when you’re daring me to. Not when you're begging for death just to spite me.”

He downed the drink in one shot, slammed the glass down, and turned to her with a voice like fire wrapped in silk.

“Now go home. But remember this—”

He walked to her, gently fixed her saree back over her shoulder, and leaned in.