Falling Destiny

Episode 42 : "The Morning After - Vengeance in Bloom"

(Veer's POV)

The sunlight streamed through the gauzy curtains of my room, bathing the space in a soft golden glow. But there was no warmth in it—none that could reach me. My head throbbed. The scent of alcohol clung to my skin like guilt. I sat on the edge of the couch, fully clothed, the only evidence of the night before being the overturned glass on the floor and the faint, crimson stain near the broken shards in the corner.

I stared blankly at it.

My mind replayed flashes—disjointed, sharp. Her face pale, her lips parted in a silent cry. The way her body recoiled, how she locked herself in the bathroom, how I…

No.

I clenched my fists, the rage from last night still coiled inside me, but now tainted with something else. Disgust. Not at her. At myself.

She hadn’t screamed. Not once. That silence had screamed louder than anything.

She didn’t fight. Not really. She didn’t beg.

She just looked at me.

Like I was a monster.

And maybe I was.

I rose slowly, body aching with the weight of guilt I refused to name. I crossed the room and stepped out into the hallway, half-expecting to find her still huddled there.

She was.

Sitting on the cold floor of the balcony, knees drawn to her chest, her wedding lehenga now dirtied and torn, streaked with blood. Her hands trembled as she picked out tiny glass shards embedded in her skin, biting her lips so hard that they'd turned an angry purple, all to suppress any sound of pain. Her hair was a mess, tangled and dull, but it was her eyes that stopped me.

Dead. Hollow. Like nothing was left inside.

Something inside me cracked.

I walked forward—slow, unsure. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t move. She didn’t even acknowledge my presence.

“I told you to stay here,” I muttered under my breath, a weak attempt to justify the cruelty of my order.

She remained silent.

I stared at her for a long moment. Her bangles had slid down to her wrists, the sindoor smeared across her forehead, looking more like blood than a mark of marriage. I wanted to speak, to say something—anything that would make the night before less vile. But I had no words. I didn’t deserve to.

I turned away.

Back in the room, I grabbed a clean shirt, my cufflinks, my jacket. My movements were mechanical. The mansion staff lingered just beyond the hallways, carefully silent, knowing better than to question me.

I didn’t stop at the breakfast table. Didn’t glance back at the balcony.

In the mirror near the stairs, I caught a glimpse of myself—sharp jaw, cold eyes, perfect attire.

And yet… something was wrong.

I looked like a groom.

But felt like a criminal.

The car was waiting outside, the engine purring softly. I slid into the back seat.

“Office,” I told the driver, voice clipped.

As the mansion disappeared behind me, I leaned back, shutting my eyes. I had business to handle—revenge to chase, enemies to crush. Things that once gave me purpose.

But all I could see was her face, bruised and silent on that cold balcony, under a moon that had seen too much.

---

(Ruhani POV)

I stepped inside the mansion just as the sun kissed the sky with its first golden rays. My heels echoed against the marble floors, each click satisfying, powerful. The air was thick with silence, the kind that dripped with aftermath. I could feel it—something had shifted, broken.

I smiled.

Everything had gone exactly as I wanted. Every step meticulously calculated. Every action executed with precision. Neha, the girl who once walked with her chin held high, thinking she could defy the world—was now crushed beneath it.

And it was delicious.

I made my way upstairs, my pace unhurried, savoring the anticipation. I had every update—every detail of last night. The forced marriage. The threats. The balcony punishment. The blood. The silence.

I reached Veer bhai's room and walked straight to the balcony.

There she was.

Curled in a corner like a discarded rag doll. Her wedding lehenga, which once shimmered like royalty, now hung in tatters—stained, crumpled, and soaked in dried blood. Her face was pale, lips cracked, her eyes swollen with fatigue. Still wearing the vermillion, still bound in the chains of a marriage she never chose.

I tilted my head and studied her, arms crossed.

She looked broken.

But not enough.

I turned around and spotted Mary, the most loyal maid in the entire mansion. She had served our family for years, and her obedience was never in question.

“Mary,” I said calmly. “Bring me a bucket of ice-cold water. Now.”

She looked confused. “Madam, she’s already in a terrible condition. I don’t think—”

I narrowed my eyes. “Did I ask for your opinion?”

Mary flinched. “No, Madam… I’m sorry.”

Minutes later, she returned, the metal bucket in her trembling hands. I gestured toward the balcony with a cruel flick of my fingers. “Throw it on her.”

Mary hesitated again, her eyes pleading. “Please, Madam, she’s bleeding and—”

“Do it,” I snapped, my voice as cold as the water she held. “Or you’ll join her.”

With one final glance at me, she lifted the bucket—and the water came crashing down.

Neha woke with a jolt, gasping, soaked from head to toe. Her eyes darted around, panic-stricken, until they landed on me.

Hope.

That stupid, fragile hope flickered in them.

She stood, shivering, her lips parting in disbelief. “Ruhani…” she whispered, stepping toward me, arms trembling as if reaching for help.

I stepped back and shoved her with a force she clearly didn’t expect. She stumbled, crashing into the balcony railing.

“Stay away from me, b***h,” I sneered, spitting each word like venom. “You deserve worse than this.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth forming a question she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

I turned to Mary, who still stood frozen in the doorway. “Give her some clothes. Old ones. From the storeroom. From now on, she’ll do all the household chores.”

Mary looked horrified. “Madam, this house is huge. And you’re giving her just a handkerchief to clean it all?”

I picked up the small, thin square of cloth from the table and shoved it into Mary’s hands. “Give it to her. And shut your mouth.”

Mary silently obeyed, placing the clothes and the handkerchief near Neha, who stared at me in stunned silence.

I descended the stairs with ease, sitting comfortably in the main hall. Time passed.

Eventually, Neha came down.

Wearing a faded, oversized kurti and leggings, her hair still damp, and the tiny handkerchief clutched in her hand. Her eyes remained on the floor. No questions. No protests.

She bent down and began wiping the marble tiles—on her knees, inch by inch.

I smiled.

I walked across the room deliberately, knocking a vase down with a graceful flick of my wrist. The shatter echoed. She froze, but said nothing.

Then I knocked a book from the shelf.

A glass.

A tray.

Every step she took forward, I dragged her further down.

Still, she remained quiet—until she couldn’t anymore.

With trembling lips and tear-filled eyes, she looked up. “Ruhani… you were like a sister to me. Why are you doing this? What did I do so wrong…?”

I snapped.

I crossed the distance and slapped her across the face. Hard.

“You dare ask me that? You dare pretend you’re innocent?!” I screamed, fury bubbling in my chest. “You destroy lives and then cry when karma visits you? You’ll rot here, in this house, in this hell.”

She held her cheek, stunned. “W-What do you mean? Whose life have I—?”

Smack.

Another slap.

Her head turned with the force, and her lip started to bleed.

“Maid,” I hissed. “That’s what you are now. And maids don’t get to ask questions. You hear me? You filthy w***e. How many lives have you ruined, huh? So many you forgot who, when, where?”

She stared at me, lips trembling, eyes filling again. But not with rebellion. Not with hope.

Only confusion.

And heartbreak.

I turned away from her, my breath heaving, and sat back on the sofa.

She went back to cleaning.

Without a word.

Just like I wanted.

And yet…

A part of me wanted her to scream.

To fight.

To break apart completely.

Because only when she shatters completely…

Will justice feel done.