But how do I say it out loud? How do I put years of silent pain into words that won’t tear me apart?
A sob catches in my throat, and I clamp a hand over my mouth, trying to hold it in. The moment my shoulders shake, he moves without hesitation. He’s at my side, pulling me into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His chest rises and falls steadily, grounding me as I cry. And I cry like I haven’t in years—loud, broken, and raw.
He says nothing, just holds me through the storm. When the tears finally begin to slow, his voice is there again—low, careful, but insistent.
“How bad, Shivani?” His arms tighten around me. “How bad was it?”
I can feel his fingers in my hair, his touch gentle, calming. I know he means well. I know he needs to hear it. But I can’t go back there.
“I don’t want to say,” I whisper, eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t go back to those memories. Please.”
There's a deafening silence. He doesn’t push, but he doesn’t let go either.
“I need to know, baby,” he demands finally, softer than before. His hand comes up to my face, coaxing me gently to look at him. I keep my eyes shut.
“It was a belt yesterday,” I murmur heavily. The words leave my lips like shattered glass. His body tenses immediately.
He freezes. Completely. I open my eyes slowly, afraid of what I’ll see. His jaw is locked. His eyes—once so warm—are blazing now, dark and wild.
“Bastards,” he mutters, almost inaudible.
He inhales deeply, trying to rein it in. I see the war behind his eyes, the kind of rage that doesn’t come from just anger—it comes from helplessness, fromlove, maybe?
“And what else have they used?” He asks, his voice shaking with restraint, and the veins of his temple pop out.
I hesitate. But there's no use in hiding anything now, and probably I don't want to hide anything either, so I answer truthfully, “Anything they could find.”
His hand stops on my back, unmoving now, like he doesn’t trust himself to move. Doesn’t trust that he won’t destroy something.
“How long has this been going on?” I stare at the ceiling on his question.
The truth is bitter.
“Since I have memory.”
I take a deep breath, feeling small and unworthy in the space he’s filled with so much care.
“I’m broken, Rudra,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “You don’t need me in your life.” I mean it. I truly believe it. I am broken beyond repair.
His expression changes instantly. His eyes harden—not in anger, but in decision. Like he’s just made up his mind about something irreversible. And I am scared, although I realize he deserves better, but I still want him. Maybe because I am selfish. He pulls me into his arms again, holding me so tightly it feels like he’s trying to piece me together just by touch.
“Don’t say that,” he whispers fiercely. “Don’t you ever say that.” His words come out firm and stern as he fists his fingers. “If you’re broken, I’ll fucking glue you back together, but I’m not leaving. I need you in my life.”
And then he kisses me again. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just there. Soft. Unmoving. Steady. Like he’s anchoring me to the present, to him, to something safe. When he pulls back, his eyes darken, “I’m going to make them pay,” he growls, voice low and filled with quiet rage and a promise.
My heart drops. This is what I feared. His anger. His need to protect me… turning into something dangerous.
“No, Rudra,” I whisper, urgency edging my tone, fingers gripping his shirt. “You don’t know what my father is capable of.” My voice shakes. “He’s selfish. He doesn’t care about human lives unless they benefit him.”
But Rudraksh just smiles—sharp and cold. He looks so dangerous as he leans in, brushing his nose against mine, eyes burning with something primal.
“No, darling,” he murmurs, “he doesn’t know what I’m capable of.”
His grip around me tightens as he says those words.
“Just wait and watch.” He doesn’t only say that but actually promises me. His eyes ignite with a fire I haven't seen.
It's a promise.
