"Kill me... not her."
His voice was low, deadly calm, but his eyes-bloodshot, burning-never left mine.
Eyes that should have hated me.
Eyes that should have turned away after my betrayal.
But no... even now, he chose me.
And that was the worst punis...
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Karwachauth… I always believed if a husband couldn’t keep a fast for his wife, then he was a big loser. I had seen my parents fast for each other every year—even here, so many husbands and wives do it together.
But Devraj? I had zero expectations. Absolutely none.
Did he do it because I was sulking and complaining it was unfair? Maybe. Probably. He did overhear… and I still can’t decide whether I want to hide in embarrassment or smile like an idiot.
But what matters is— He still did it.
I turned to him suddenly, unable to stop myself. “Did you really not have anything?”
He met my eyes, that annoyingly calm expression on his face. “I did have coffee before the sun fully rose.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
So he tried. He tried.
And that’s what mattered.
He might not have fully followed the tradition, but the fact that he even attempted… …that made my stupid heart flutter in a way it absolutely should NOT.
Just a month ago, I was terrified of him— His refusal to accept me as his wife, His harsh behaviour, His sharp tongue, His wicked smirk that made my blood boil.
But now… Now, sometimes I wonder if he hit his head somewhere because— He’s trying. Genuinely trying.
Ever since the mehndi, ever since that shift in him… Something changed. Yes, I’m angry he stole my firm and is making me work for him. But neither did I play fair. I did destroy his papers. I did mess up badly because of my foolishness.
And maybe… Maybe that’s why this doesn’t feel like a punishment anymore.
Because somewhere between all the hate, the fights, the cold war— I am falling.
Falling for the man I swore I would never care for. The man I called a monster.
But this monster— He fasted for me. He held me gently. He softened when he said sweetheart. He touched me with those rough, big hands as if I were made of something breakable.
Why, Dev? Why now? Why are you doing this to me?
Why are you making me fall?
Just then Adrien clapped loudly, walking toward us like he had been waiting for the perfect dramatic entry. He circled us with that playful smirk of his, like he had caught us under a spotlight.
He shot me a quick smile before leaning his right hand on Devraj’s shoulder for support. “Mr. Rathore being lovey-dovey with his wife is actually a scene worth capturing,” he teased.
Devraj glared at him. If looks could kill, Adrien would’ve turned into ashes on the terrace tiles.
But Adrien being Adrien… pulled away, completely unfazed. “Do you know, bhabhi,” he said dramatically, “your husband was a rough and tough guy in his school and college days. I mean, he still is, but back then he was called the Rowdy Guru. Every girl used to fall for him. Everyone had a crush on him. Even a few teachers.”
