It was done.
No music. No wedding band. No crowd.
Just quiet mantras, a few nervous relatives, and a priest who rushed through the ceremony like he wanted it over quickly.
Sarika sat still in her red silk saree. Her hands rested in her lap, wrists cold beneath the weight of gold bangles. The man beside her — Arjun — was kind, but quiet. Distant. He was the son of her father’s old friend. A marriage arranged in secret.
All to protect her.
From him.
From Julian Rhodes.
No one dared say his name out loud. But it echoed in every corner of the house.
And in Sarika’s heart, it screamed.
Her body still remembered his touch. The heat of his grip on her waist. The way his eyes burned through her like fire.
Her lips still tingled from words never spoken.
And her soul? Still trapped in the cage he had once built around her.
But it didn’t matter now.
She was married.
It was done.
---
Two days later
The crash came first — glass shattering against stone.
Julian’s fist was bleeding, but he didn’t notice. Didn’t care.
“She’s what?” he snapped.
The soldier stood stiff. “Married, sir. Two days ago. It was a small ceremony. No guests. No public notice.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. The muscles in his face twitched with fury.
“They hid her from me.”
“They were scared, sir.”
Julian turned his head slowly.
“They should be.”
---
His anger didn’t explode all at once.
It came quietly. Like a slow storm that destroyed everything in its path.
The next morning, a British tax order was filed against Sarika’s father. His home was taken. Servants arrested. His letters stopped before they ever left the post.
And Sarika?
She was taken during her husband’s afternoon prayer. Soldiers dragged her out, ignored her screams. Tossed her into a cantonment carriage.
Straight back into Julian’s quarters.
Again.
---
Inside his office
Julian sat behind his desk.
His gloves were on. His uniform perfect. A glass of whiskey sat on the table, untouched.
Sarika stood in front of him — out of breath, wrists red where they had grabbed her. Her hair was messy. Her saree looked torn at the edge.
She said nothing.
Julian looked at her for a long time before speaking.
“Do you feel married?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Do you feel safe in his arms?”
Still silent.
He stood up slowly, his tone sharper.
“I gave you time. I gave you space. I even gave you a way out. And this is what you chose?” His voice rose. “You ran to another man’s bed. Like a coward.”
Sarika’s voice finally came, soft but steady.
“You don’t own me.”
His eyes turned dark. “I did,” he said through clenched teeth. “Until your father stole you like a thief in the night.”
And then he moved.
Fast.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her back into the door. The impact made her gasp, but she didn’t cry out.
His face was close. His breath warm against her skin. His voice low and shaking.
“I should destroy him.”
She met his eyes. “Go ahead. But that won’t make me yours.”
He froze.
Then laughed — cold and bitter.
“You still don’t get it, do you?”
He leaned in, so close their noses nearly touched.
“This isn’t about love.”
He paused.
“This is about debt.”
His voice dropped lower. His words like knives.
“You owe me. For every time I craved you. For every second I held back from breaking you.”
His lips touched her cheek. Not softly. Not kindly.
More like a warning.
“You think your marriage protects you?”
His hand slid into her hair. He pulled, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her — he was still in control.
“I don’t care who touches you now,” he said. “You’re mine. You always were.”
---
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