CHAPTER 11: Part 3 (THE SCAR & THE SURRENDER)
~MRITYUNJAY (POV)~
The desert wind on the Sky Deck was warm, but the anticipation in my chest burned hotter.
I checked my watch. 8:05 PM.
Any other person who kept me waiting would have been erased from my contact list. But for her? I found myself checking the elevator doors not with irritation, but with a hunger I hadn't felt in years.
The chime of the elevator shattered the silence.
I turned, and the breath stalled in my lungs.
She stepped out, looking like a vision woven from the night sky itself. The deep blue dress hugged her curves, the fabric shimmering with every hesitant step she took.
She clutched her purse tightly, her eyes wide, no glasses must be wearing contacts-my frightened little rabbit entering the wolf's den.
"Hi," she whispered, stopping a few feet away.
I walked toward her, unable to keep the distance. I needed to be close enough to verify she was real.
"Ishika," I breathed out her name. It tasted like prayer and sin all at once.
A blush crept up her neck, dusting her cheeks pink. "I'm late. The traffic near the old city..."
"You're perfect," I interrupted, offering my arm. "I would have waited all night."
I led her to the single candlelit table set against the railing. As I pulled out her chair, I leaned in close, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You look beautiful, Ishika."
She shivered, and I smiled.
Dinner was... peaceful. A word I rarely associate with my life. I watched her eat, amused by how she carefully picked at the spicy paneer I'd ordered for her.
"You're barely eating," I noted, resting my chin on my hand.
"I'm nervous," she admitted, glancing at the vast drop of the city below us. "This place... it's very high up."
"I won't let you fall," I murmured. "Eat, my Little Rabbit. You need your strength if you're going to keep up with me."
She looked up, startled, but a shy smile tugged at her lips. "I'm not a rabbit."
"You tremble like one," I countered softly, reaching across to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "And you have a habit of running away before I'm done looking at you."
Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a shadow of worry. She put her fork down.
"Mrityunjay..." she started, hesitating. "The news. About the marriage alliance. About... the Jaiswals."
My hand stilled on the table. The bubble of peace threatened to burst.
"Don't," I said, my voice hardening. "Don't bring them here, Ishika. Not tonight."
"But I need to know," she pressed, her voice trembling but brave. "Everyone says you hate them. That you want to destroy them. But... looking at you... it feels like there's more than just business rivalry. It feels like a wound."
I looked at her. Her eyes were searching mine, full of a terrifying amount of empathy.
I realized then that I couldn't lie to her. If I wanted to keep her, she had to know the darkness she was stepping into.
"It is a wound," I admitted quietly.
I looked out at the distant lights of the Fort. "I was eight years old. It was raining. I was in the back seat of my mother's car. She had just bought me a toy tiger."
Ishika went still.
"We were at the Clock Tower intersection. The light was green," I whispered, the memory clawing at my throat. "The other car... it didn't stop. It smashed into us. Into her."
I heard Ishika's sharp intake of breath.
"I was trapped in the wreckage," I said, forcing myself to look at Ishika. "I watched the light leave her eyes. I held her hand while she turned cold."
"Oh god," Ishika whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. "Mrityunjay..."
"The man driving the other car," I continued, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I saw him get out. I saw him through the shattered glass. He was swaying... stumbling. He couldn't even stand straight."
I clenched my fist on the tablecloth. "He looked at the wreck. He looked at a dying woman and a bleeding child... and he walked away. He left us there."
Ishika's face had drained all the color. She looked sick.
"Who?" she choked out, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "Who was it?"
"Anant Jaiswal," I said the name, like a curse.
I saw her flinch violently, as if I had struck her.
"He claimed his brakes failed. He claimed he was a victim," I spat. "But I saw him stumble away. I saw the cowardice. That is why I hate them, Ishika. I don't just want their money. I want Anant Jaiswal to feel the same helplessness I felt that night."
Ishika was weeping now, silent, shaking sobs that racked her small frame.
"He... he didn't..." she stammered, her voice broken. "Maybe... maybe he was hurt too? Maybe he went to find help?"
"He fled," I said coldly, cutting off her defense, the memory of the rain and the blood vivid behind my eyelids. "I woke up in the hospital alone. He killed my mother and walked free."
I waited for her to run. I waited for the look of disgust, or for her to tell me I was wrong to hold onto a grudge for twenty years.
But she didn't run.
Instead, I heard the soft rustle of silk.
I stared at the empty wine glass on the table, my jaw clenched so hard it ached, waiting for the sound of the elevator doors. But the footsteps didn't move away. They moved closer.
I looked up, startled, just as she stopped right in front of my chair.
Her eyes were swimming with tears, but the terror was gone, replaced by a devastating softness that made my chest tighten.
She didn't see the King. She saw the eight-year-old boy trapped in a wreck.
"Mrityunjay," she whispered, a broken sound.
She reached out, her trembling hand cupping my cheek. Her thumb brushed over the jagged scar near my eyebrow-the very mark left by that accident.
The touch shattered me.
I let out a ragged breath and slumped forward, wrapping my arms around her waist. I buried my face in the soft fabric of her dress, pressing my forehead against her stomach.
I surrendered.
For the first time since that night in the rain, I stopped fighting. I closed my eyes, breathing in her scent-vanilla and peace-and let the darkness recede.
Her hands moved to my hair, her fingers carding through the strands in a slow, soothing rhythm.
"I'm so sorry," she murmured into the silence, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry you had to carry that alone."
I tightened my grip on her waist, pulling her closer, anchoring myself to her. I felt her warmth seep into my cold bones. This was it.
This was the quiet I had been hunting for my entire life.
"You are the only thing that makes it stop," I mumbled against her dress, my voice muffled and raw. "The noise. The rage. It stops when you're here."
Her hands paused in my hair. I felt her take a shuddering breath.
"That's why this is impossible," she said softly, her voice laced with a gentle, heartbreaking finality.
I went still, but I didn't let go.
"Mrityunjay, look at where we are standing," she whispered, her fingers tracing the nape of my neck.
"You are built of fire and vengeance. And I... I am just a girl who wants a simple life."
She gently tried to pull back, but I held her fast.
"The hate you carry for the Jaiswals... it's a chasm," she continued, her voice trembling. "It's too deep. Too dark. You can't build a home on a graveyard, Mrityunjay. We... we aren't meant to be."
It sounded like a goodbye. It sounded like she was trying to save herself from the crossfire.
"No," I growled low in my throat, refusing to lift my head. "Don't say that."
"We are worlds apart," she pleaded gently. "You want to burn the world down. I'm afraid of the fire. It's better if we stop this now. Before it destroys us both."
I pulled back just enough to look up at her. Her face was framed by the moonlight, tears glistening on her lashes. She looked like an angel trying to fly away from hell.
"You think I care about 'meant to be'?" I asked, my voice, rough. "Fate took everything from me, Ishika. I don't trust fate. I take what I need."
I stood up slowly, my hands sliding from her waist to cup her face, trapping her gaze.
"You say we are worlds apart?" I brushed my thumb over her tear-stained cheek. "Then I will bridge them. If you are afraid of the fire, I will extinguish it. But do not ask me to let you go."
I leaned my forehead against hers, closing my eyes, breathing her in.
"You are my salvation, Little Rabbit," I whispered, a vow carved in stone. "And I don't know how to exist without you anymore."
She let out a small sob, her hands clutching the lapels of my jacket. She didn't push me away. In that moment, she held onto me just as tightly as I held onto her.
We stood there on the edge of the world, a monster and his rabbit, bound by a tragedy she didn't fully understand and a love I was terrified to lose.