Rudra

Rudra Malhotra was thirty-two.

She was twenty-one.

Ten years separated them, but it felt like an entire lifetime.

He had already built an empire when she was still figuring out what she wanted from hers.

And now she was his wife.

Three months into their marriage, she still hated him.

She hated the way he controlled the house.

Hated the guards outside her door.

Hated the way he could silence an entire room with one look.

Most of all, she hated the fact that no matter how cruel he was to her, he never allowed anyone else to hurt her.

But Rudra had a secret.

His father had left him one final command before dying.

“Destroy the Kapoors. Make their daughter suffer for what they did to us. Never forgive them.”

Rudra had promised.

And Rudra Malhotra never broke a promise.

So every morning, he reminded himself that she wasn't his wife.

She was his revenge.

Except his heart had stopped listening.

He began noticing ridiculous things.

That she hummed when she was nervous.

That she hated thunderstorms.

That she fell asleep with a book beside her.

That she always stole the cherries from his dessert.

And he started losing his mind over things that shouldn't have mattered.

A male classmate calling her.

A driver smiling at her.

A stranger looking at her for too long.

He would become furious.

Then he'd remember his father's photograph on his desk.

And hate himself for caring.

So he became colder.

Crueler.

He deliberately called her Kapoors' daughter instead of her name.

Whenever she came near him, he reminded himself why she was there.

“Don't forget what you are to me.”

She would glare at him.

“And don't forget what you are to me.”

His jaw would tighten.

“What?”

“My biggest mistake.”

Those words would stay inside his head for hours.

And because Rudra didn't know how to handle the fact that he was falling helplessly in love with the woman he had sworn to destroy, his obsession turned destructive.

He lashed out.

He hurt her during their worst arguments.

And afterward, when he saw the fear in her eyes, something inside him shattered.

But instead of apologizing, he became even colder.

Because apologizing meant admitting that she mattered.

And admitting that she mattered meant betraying his father's last wish.

One night, she finally confronted him.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

He stared at her.

She continued, voice trembling with anger.

“You watch me. You control me. You get angry when anyone comes near me. You won't let me leave. You act like I'm the only person in this house who matters—and then you treat me like you can't stand looking at me.”

Silence.

She stepped closer.

“What do you actually want from me?”

For one dangerous second, Rudra almost told her.

Everything.

Her trust.

Her love.

Her entire life.

But then his father's final words echoed in his head.

So he gave her the cruelest answer he could.

“I want you to suffer.”

Her expression fell.

And Rudra hated himself for saying it.

But she didn't see the way his hands trembled after she walked away.

She didn't see him stare at her closed bedroom door for an hour.

She didn't know that the man pretending to hate her had become completely, hopelessly obsessed with her.

And she certainly didn't know that Rudra had begun keeping two photographs on his desk.

One of his father.

And one of her.

Every night, he looked at both.

And every night, he asked himself the same question:

How long can I keep destroying the woman I've already started loving more than myself?