Falling Destiny

Episode 41 : "The price of Silence"

(Neha POV)

The Wedding Ceremony

The priest’s mantras were a droning hum, meaningless sounds in the face of my agony. I sat beside him, a statue of despair. I couldn’t look at him. Every fiber of my being recoiled from his presence. The flickering flames of the Havan kund cast dancing shadows on my face, revealing the fear, the sadness, and that crushing defeat.

“Please stand,” the priest instructed. I couldn’t move. My limbs were leaden, my spirit broken.

“Get up,” his voice, a low growl, snapped me back to the present. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising, and forced me to stand. “Stop pretending,” he warned, his voice laced with venom. “One more mistake, and you know what I’ll do.” The pheras were a blur of forced movements, my feet stumbling, my heart aching.

Then came the end. The mangalsutra, a heavy chain of bondage, around my neck. I flinched, my skin crawling at his touch. The vermillion, bright red against my pale skin, was a brand, marking me as his property. I shut my eyes, a single tear escaping, a testament to the death of my freedom. “The wedding is complete,” the priest announced, and he walked away, leaving me to my misery.

That Night

Darkness had fallen, a fitting shroud for my shattered world. I was still there, a discarded doll in the vast, empty hall. The heavy lehenga was a suffocating weight, my makeup smeared, my eyes swollen and red from unshed tears. He returned, a silent, imposing figure. He didn't speak. He just grabbed my arm, his touch a violation, and dragged me through the echoing corridors of his mansion, into his bedroom.

I stumbled onto the bed, the luxurious softness a cruel mockery of my despair. The silence in the room was deafening, every beat of my own terrified heart thudding in my ears. I hunched, arms wrapped tightly around my knees, trying to disappear, to vanish into the folds of the heavy red fabric. The faint clinking of my jewelry, a broken melody of my trembling, echoed in the stillness. My veil had slipped, revealing the streaks of faded makeup, the pale, trembling lips.

He stood at the doorway, watching, his gaze a physical weight. The rage I had sensed earlier seemed to have dissipated, replaced by a chilling silence. He closed the door, the click resonating in the quiet. I flinched. He removed his jacket, tossed it aside, unfastened his cuffs. He poured himself a drink, amber liquid shimmering in the glass, but his eyes never left me. Still, small, like a wounded bird trapped in a cage. His silence was loud, screaming, accusing.

He entered the bathroom, and the sound of the shower filled the space. I stared blankly at the floor, lost in a haze of fear and despair. When he returned, I was still in the same position, but my head was up now. The tears had stopped. I was numb.

He moved toward the bed, his footsteps soft, deliberate. My body stiffened, but I couldn't look at him. He crouched before me, his presence overwhelming. “Look at me,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. I couldn't. He reached out, and his gentle touch on my wrist sent shivers down my spine. My skin was cold, my pulse a faint flutter.

“Be a good wife,” he whispered, leaning in. “It’s our wedding night.” My head snapped up, my eyes wide with shock, disbelief, and a profound dread. My lips parted, but no words came. Just that look in my eyes, as if the world had stopped turning.

He leaned in further, his breath on my face. “You’re mine now,” he said, his voice a chilling promise. “Not just for today. Forever. Mine to protect… or destroy. You’ll learn.” I didn't move. I didn't resist. I just stared. My silence screamed my rejection, a silent defiance in the face of his brutality.

He stood, walked to the window, and pulled aside the curtain. The moon hung low, silver and indifferent. I could feel his eyes on me even as I curled myself back into a trembling cocoon on the edge of the bed. He didn’t touch me again. Not that night. He simply sat on the couch across the room, nursing his drink in silence, while I, his bride, sat on his bed, dressed in red, folded into myself like a soul on the verge of breaking.

Then, his silence shattered. The amber liquid in his glass was nearly gone. He was completely drunk. Suddenly, his eyes, which had been fixed on the moonlit window, turned towards me, blazing with a rage I hadn’t seen before. It was a cold, brutal fury. With a guttural roar, he hurled the glass against the far corner of the room. It shattered with a deafening crash, shards scattering across the polished floor.

He was on me in an instant. I gasped as his hand clamped around my throat, his fingers digging into my windpipe, cutting off my breath. The world swam. “You like to hurt others’ feelings, don’t you?” he snarled, his voice a low, terrifying growl, vibrating through me. “Like to destroy… lives. I’ll show you real pain, real suffering.” I choked, unable to comprehend his words, unable to understand what I had done to deserve this. Who had I destroyed? I was clueless, terrified.

He shoved me off the bed, sending me sprawling to the floor. The impact jarred my teeth, a dull ache blooming in my head. I tried to scramble up, my vision blurring, but he was on me again. A searing pain erupted on my cheek as his hand connected with my face, a slap so hard it made my ears ring. Why was he punishing me? What had I done? He loomed over me, ripping my veil from my head. I thrashed, pushing against his chest with my fists, but he was immovable, a wall of pure muscle and fury. He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, his other hand twisting in my hair, pulling my head back.

Then his lips, cold and hard, crashed down on mine. It wasn’t a kiss; it was an assault. He bit down, a sharp, excruciating pain, and I tasted blood. My own blood. With a surge of adrenaline, I pushed him with all my might. He stumbled back, just for a moment, and I scrambled to my feet, desperate to escape. I spun around, intent on running, but his hand shot out, grabbing a handful of my hair, pulling me back with a violent jerk. I cried out as he flung me forward, sending me tumbling directly onto the shattered glass. A thousand tiny knives pierced my palms, my knees, my arms. Agonizing pain ripped through me.

But before he could reach me again, before he could inflict more torment, I was up, propelled by pure terror. I scrambled on my hands and knees, ignoring the searing pain, and lunged for the bathroom door. I slammed it shut, twisting the lock, my heart hammering against my ribs. I pressed my back against the cold wood, sobbing, panting, listening to his furious banging on the other side.

The banging continued for a few agonizing minutes, each pound echoing the thumping of my heart. Then, silence. A terrifying, unnerving silence. My breath hitched. The click of a lock. He had a key. The door swung open, revealing his enraged face, his eyes glinting in the dim light. He dragged me out, his grip bruising. Not back to the bed. Not back to the room. He dragged me through the hallway, through the darkness, and onto the balcony. The night air was cold, biting. He pointed to the wrought iron railing. “Stay here,” he growled, his voice thick with malicious triumph. “For the whole night.” He left me there, bleeding and broken, under the indifferent gaze of the moon.

I sat there " removing the glass pieces from my skin by biting my lips so my pain doesn't make noise"

And waiting what this marriage offers.