Chapter 25 ✦ A Promise

「 ✧ 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐤 ✧ 」

It was my sense of touch that woke me up first. Slowly, I opened my eyes to see what the wet, cold thing was on my face.

"Shhh..." Someone hushed and gently wiped a damp cloth on my face, weaving their fingers through my hair. "Sleep..." they whispered. My body listened, and my eyes blinked closed.

Next, I woke up, and I could hear a man speaking with someone.

"I don't care if you are not in India at the moment, you should be here within the next 2 hours. She has fainted and has an injury on her foot," they said, and the drowsiness in my head and eyes won, and I went back to sleep again.

Next, it was the soreness in my body that I felt first when I woke up. My eyelids were heavier, and as I tried to open them, I realised that the heaviness in my body was nothing compared to what had settled on my delicate eyelids. The mucus build-up thwarted any attempts, and struggling with such a simple task reminded me of the events of last night.

I rubbed my eyes a little in an attempt to clear them, but even lifting my hands was difficult. And that's when I felt it.

The light touch of fingers on the sole of my right foot.

My eyes opened to the strange sensation, and through the bleary eyes and the darkness in the room, I could make out the silhouette that sat at the foot of the bed, slouched over, rubbing something on my foot.

I shot up!

Aryan was there, his face and eyes covered by his long hair, as he continued to apply something. "Go back to sleep," he whispered.

I jerk my foot away.

Or tried to, because he grabbed it, halting my attempts to free it from his grasp.

"Let go!" I said, my voice coming out in more than a whisper. My throat was clogged up, and my body was aching.

He did this to me.

"After I finish applying the medicine," he spoke, from the same crouched position.

I laughed. "Healing the wound you gave me?"

He didn't reply but continued to apply the medicine with extremely gentle hands. The difference in his temperament, his nature and his force from what he was last night had me pausing.

Was he back to normal?

"Are you...?" I tried to ask. "Are you... normal now?"

I was met with silence.

He had to be.

Otherwise, I would have woken up on the floor, my leg chained to the bed, with him probably collecting torture devices, in order to punish me more.

I looked around.

The sight that greeted me made me dry heave. The wisteria creepers mixed with fairy lights that adorned the four-poster bed, the cala lilies that were put in antique vases all around the room, half-burnt out candles, and the rose petals on black satin sheets that I lay on, everything reminded me of my reality.

I was married to Aryan, and from today, I will be living with him.

In his room.

The room I had entered just once before, and still remembered the details of. Dark grey walls with carvings and one analogue clock, showing 4:16 adorning them. The dark ceiling, where the four posters of the bed touched. The sofa set was covered with dark red velvet fabric, and there was just one photo frame sitting on the nightstand, a digital clock which told me it was still AM, an intercom and snuffed out candles.

I remember thinking that he was probably a vampire to be living in such a dark room, devoid of any bright colours.

However, right now, it was still dark, but with the addition of all my favourite flowers, the dark had turned into decadent.

Sensual.

They had prepared for our wedding night.

The faint soreness in my throat was a reminder of the gift that Aryan had given me, something he himself had no idea of.

I looked at him.

Still slouched, still being gentle, I didn't know when he would be triggered again. Even if he was better now, how would I make sure that he didn't turn into that again?

I inspected my leg and cringed. The wound on my sole wasn't too deep, but it would take more than a week to heal enough for me to walk. My ankles and feet were littered with small scratches, which would probably take two days to heal.

I was sure my face looked worse. The branches that cut through my skin, as I was half-dragged by him through the forest to the abandoned temple.

The faint sound of water drops made me look at him again. With a damp cloth in his hand, he began to wipe away the dirt and dried blood from the rest of my foot. I had no idea where the bowl of water was kept. I didn't even know where he kept the first-aid kit.

I leaned over, closer to him, to get a better look when his voice broke the silence.

"Stop," he murmured.

I did. But I saw everything I needed to in that one moment.

Aryan wasn't sitting at the foot of the bed. He was sitting on the floor, which is why I couldn't see anything. Not the gauze or the bowl of water.

At the first dawn of our marriage, my husband was sitting on the bedroom floor, cleaning and healing the wound he had given to his wife.

"Why?" I asked.

He paused at my question, but renewed his work. "I might be better now," he began, "but don't come near me."

I clenched my jaw. "Why?"

He looked up, and my breath caught in my chest.

His eyes were red and bloodshot. They were swollen, puffed up. His face was still the same, devoid of all emotion, but the way his eyes looked, the way he looked at me, I saw everything in it.

Guilt.

He was feeling guilty.

"I know my applying medicine to the wounds I gave you won't cut the boundaries I had crossed last night," he said, and then looked down. Putting away the dirty cloth, he applied ointment to the small scratches that were all around my foot, up to my ankles. "But, please," he whispered. "Allow me this, as a way to apologise."

My heart was beating fast in my chest. The complete 180-degree change in his behaviour was enough to turn someone insane. It was enough to question their memories.

If he hadn't admitted to what he had done last night while he was apologising, I would have definitely questioned everything that had happened yesterday.

But there he was, trying to heal the wounds he had inflicted on me.

Finishing his task, he packed everything up and got up on his feet. "Do you think you will be able to get up and get ready, or should I call for help?" He asked, and then looked at the foot.

"Of course you need help," he murmured, rubbing his forehead with his palm, and walked over to the intercom that was placed on the nightstand.

He clicked a button on it and called someone. "Send a staff to help my wi—" he paused. "Send a female staff member to my room."

He then turned to look at me. "I know it's very early in the morning, but if you want, you can sleep some more, and then, we can go."

What?

"Go where?" I asked.

What was happening to him? Even before, he had never acted this way. In this gentle, caring way. Before, he would completely ignore my presence or be too nonchalant. Either he would be silent or would just scream at me.

Mostly, he would be silent. And ignore my presence. And be silent some more.

But right now, he was talking, moving around, and taking care of me.

I didn't know which Aryan I was afraid of more. The complete psychopath or the one in front of me.

He looked at me. "Where else?" He asked. "Thakur Mansion."

My eyebrows jumped at his declaration. "Why?" I asked.

He turned fully to face me. His expression did not help in settling my nerves. At all. "Because that's your home, Kanak Thakur. So, you should be staying there!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I yelled.

There was a knock on the door, and I turned to look at it. A woman in a simple suit stood there, with her hands clasped in front of her.

"Poonam, assist her." With that, he left the room.

Oh, fuck him! I was still clueless as to how to handle his psycho side, but I knew how to handle everything else about him.

Not giving a shit about my freshly dressed wound, I got up on my feet and walked behind him.

If he thought that my injury would prevent me from walking, he was wrong. If I could walk in the middle of the forest, barefoot with a cut on my sole, I could definitely walk on the shiny marble floors of Rathore Haveli.

"Aryan, wait," I said, as I ran behind him, half limping, half swallowing the pain.

He turned at my voice and then clenched his jaw. "What the hell are you doing, walking in this state?" He said and turned to look at Poonam. "Take her back in!"

I scoffed. "How? By lifting me with her dainty hands? Because I sure as hell am not walking back to the room!"

He placed his hands on his waist and then looked at the corner of the hall. I followed his gaze, and after looking at the thing, I wanted to smack the loving shit out of him. "If you think I am sitting in that thing," I said as I pointed at the wheelchair, "you have another thing coming!"

He raised a brow at my challenge and proceeded to walk towards me. His eyes glinted with promises. And I wanted to see them all.

And then, he stopped.

His eyes roamed all over my face and then dropped down to my bandaged foot. He exhaled and turned. "It's okay if you want to leave in this state. Just know that your father won't be too happy seeing you like this."

Taking out his keys, he proceeded to walk towards the main gate, when he paused again. Turning to Poonam, he barked, "Why hasn't this been cleaned yet?"

Poonam flinched at his tone and averted her gaze downward. "I apologise, Bhaiya. Most staff members were given leave on the occasion of your wedding. They will come tomorrow."

He clenched his fist. "Where is Nath? Bring him to me!" Looking at me, he said, "Take her back to my room, first!"

Frowning at that, I looked around. The Haveli still had fairy lights and garlands all around. It was still decorated to bring a bride home.

A new bride.

Their daughter-in-law.

So, why was he getting upset over one thing?

"Ma'am, please," Poonam whispered, her eyes not looking at me. "Please allow me to help you back to your room."

Your room.

I turned when my eyes caught sight of something that was peeking from behind him. Curiosity got the best of me, and I leaned to the side to have a better look when Aryan stepped in the middle and prevented me from looking. "Go back to the room. And don't come out until I tell you to."

I smiled. "What are you going to do if I don't listen to you? Shoot at me? Huh? Try to kill me?" I asked and placed my finger on his chest. "You've already done that, and I am not scared anymore," I said like a liar.

With that, I pushed him enough to see what he was trying to hide and at the first look at it, I recalled another part of the night that I had, apparently, forgotten. It came rushing back at me.

As Aryan walked me back to the car, the forest behind us now empty and silent, I looked at him. The ache in my foot and the sharp sting of scratches across my face, arms, and legs kept me alert, anchored in pain. Without it, I might've slipped into unconsciousness long ago.

"Don't forget your promise, Aryan," I said softly as he opened the door for me.

He smiled, just faintly. "You don't forget yours, Mrs Rathore."

I swallowed hard at his choice of words and slid into the car. Aryan circled to his side. Darsh started the ignition, and we drove off, leaving behind the wreckage of a wedding that was never meant to happen.

And carrying the consequence of it with us.

I didn't speak.

Neither did he.

But somewhere along the silent drive, as I stared out at the passing trees and deserted roads, the adrenaline began to fade. My body grew heavier. My eyelids, too.

Then, his hand found mine.

I didn't flinch. Didn't pull away.

Instead, I kept my gaze on the window as his fingers slowly laced through mine. Maybe he looked out his own window too, saying nothing. And even after everything, after tonight, my heart soared at the quiet act.

We stayed like that for the rest of the drive: holding hands in silence, clinging to something. What was I holding on to? What was he?

By the time we reached home, I still didn't know. Only that our hands parted when he stepped out to open the door for me.

I followed him up the driveway, across the porch, until we reached the main entrance, where Tara Aunty waited with an aarti thali at the threshold. Everyone else stood behind her, watching.

"It doesn't matter how the marriage came to be," she said gently. "Her Grah Pravesh must be done right."

She turned to the staff. "Bring the kalash and mahavar."

Someone nodded and disappeared inside.

Then she stepped forward to begin the ritual. Aryan stood tense beside me, visibly restless as she performed the aarti. She dabbed kumkum onto our foreheads.

"Wait for the kalash and the mahavar," she said. "Then you can go and rest."

"She needs to rest now," Aryan snapped, grabbing my hand.

Without waiting, he pulled me across the threshold through the crowd gathered near the doorway. My foot throbbed, blood trailing behind me, each step a fresh smear on the floor.

I blinked against the pain, dazed.

"Aryan!" Dev Uncle stepped in front of him, blocking our way. "You've done enough!"

Aryan didn't stop. He stared down at his father. "And I will do more tonight."

A chill washed over me.

My knees buckled.

And the world turned black.

"Go back to the room," he said, reaching a hand toward me. But halfway there, his fingers faltered... then curled into a fist and dropped to his side. "Rest a bit more. I'll take you to your parents after that."

I stared at him, then let out a low, disbelieving laugh. "So that's it?" I said, tilting my head. "You're abandoning me on the very first day of our marriage?"

His eyes snapped to mine. "What?"

"You heard me." My voice hardened. "You dragged me into this house as your wife, threatened to kill my father if I didn't comply, and now you want to return me like some borrowed thing you regret taking?" I stepped closer, my words sharper now. "What is this, Aryan? A clean conscience at the cost of my dignity?"

He stood there, silent.

The man before me now wasn't the same one from last night. That version of Aryan, ruthless, unhinged, a storm in human form, would've swallowed this quiet, guilt-stricken man whole.

And now?

Now, he couldn't even look me in the eye.

His guilt hung heavy in the air, weighing down the space between us. But I wasn't going to let it absolve him.

I stepped closer, my voice sharp with disbelief and hurt. "And what about your promise, huh?" I asked. "What about your promise to find Phantom? To bring him to me?"

His eyes flicked up, startled, not by the question, but by the fact that I still remembered.

"You think you can just wipe the slate clean by sending me back? Like, none of it happened?" I continued, my voice rising. "You think you get to shatter everything and then pick which pieces to keep?"

His throat moved with a swallow. "I haven't forgotten," he said quietly. "About Phantom. Or anything."

"Then act like it," I spat. "Because last night you made me your wife at gunpoint, and today you want to return me like baggage. But you promised me something while all this madness unfolded."

He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. Maybe he didn't have the right words. Or maybe no words would've mattered.

I took a breath and steadied my voice, softer now, but no less sharp.

"Keep your promise, Aryan," I said, my eyes never leaving his. "Keep the promise you made to me. Keep the promise you made to your fiancée... while you chased her through a forest to marry her like a psychopath."

He flinched.

Not visibly, but I saw it. The tightening around his eyes, the way his lips parted and then pressed shut again. The wound had landed.

Good.

Because mine were still bleeding.

And even though, in the morning, he had dressed it, he was the one who gave it.

Aryan reached over slowly, brushing aside a strand of hair that had fallen across my face. His fingers lingered, tucking it gently behind my ear. But he didn't pull his hand away.

His touch was soft, so unlike the man from the forest.

"Do you realise what you're asking of me, darling?" he whispered.

I swallowed. Hard. Because yes, I knew exactly what I was asking for.

"You're asking to stay married to the madman who forced you into this... at gunpoint?" he said, voice low and rough.

I nodded.

His brows drew together. "You're willing to stay married to me... just because you want me to find Phantom?"

"You saw a side of me that my family has spent years burying from the world," he said, his voice low, almost hollow. "You've seen what I'm capable of. You've seen what I am. And you still want to stay?"

"Yes," I said, steady, though my chest ached with the weight of it.

He let out a sharp breath as if my answer bruised something in him. "Do you even understand what you're saying?" He asked, through clenched teeth.

I closed my eyes.

And there it was again, the forest. The sound of branches snapping underfoot, the cold air scraping against my skin, his voice chasing me through the dark like a fever dream I couldn't wake from. My own ragged breath.

But I opened my eyes, looked at him, not the ghost of the man from last night, but the broken one in front of me.

The man who was riddled with guilt.

The man I loved.

The man who hated me.

"I'm asking you to honour your word," I whispered.

My hand found his, still resting near my cheek. I pressed it there, grounding myself in its warmth, its solidity.

"Do your duty as my husband," I said softly, "and fight the ghosts that haunt your wife."

He stared at me then, like I'd said something impossible. His eyes searched mine, stormy and unreadable, guilt churning with something more fragile.

And without warning, he stepped forward and pulled me to him and then, in one swift movement, he lifted me off the ground. I let out a small yelp, the kind that wasn't fear, but surprise. My feet dangled mid-air, and I was helpless in the arms of the man who had once terrified me, and now held me like I was something breakable.

My heart thundered against my ribs. This wasn't safe. It wasn't dangerous either. It was something in between.

He carried me wordlessly through the corridor. Poonam stood near the door. He didn't glance at her.

"Leave," he said.

She bowed and disappeared without a sound.

Inside the room, he lowered me onto the bed slowly, as if afraid of adding even a gram more pain to the ones I already carried.

"Don't hurt your leg more than I already have," he murmured, kneeling before me like a man ready to confess his sins.

He reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out something I recognised instantly. The ornate knife.

The same one that had drawn blood.

The same one that had sealed our fate.

He placed it in my hand with reverence, curling my fingers around the cold, heavy hilt.

"Yesterday," he said, voice tight, "I gave my gun to your father. It was my promise to protect you."

His gaze dropped to the dagger.

"This... I'm giving it to you."

Then he looked up. And the weight of his eyes made the air feel too heavy to breathe.

"Use it," he said. "Use it to kill me if I ever fail to protect you."

His grip tightened over mine, firm, shaking slightly. "Use it to kill me... if I ever become that again."

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