𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟔 ：𝑬𝒌 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒎 𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒂 ✓

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘟𝘐𝘟. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩

Edward's POV;

I felt my breath hitch as his words settled in. Shock coursed through me like an electric current, paralyzing me for a moment. My eyes darted down to the paper in my trembling hands-the official letter confirming my acceptance as an officer. My application had been approved. I was expected to report for training the very next day.

But the weight of this acceptance was crushing rather than exhilarating. This wasn't just any position; this meant I would have to fight against India. Against everything I respected and cherished.

A sinking feeling settled in my chest as realization struck me like a hammer. This was my father's doing. A carefully laid plan. He had orchestrated all of this to force me into submission, to mold me into the image he desired. He wanted me to fight for a cause I did not believe in. He wanted to turn me into a weapon against a nation, against innocent lives. Against her.

A lump formed in my throat, and my vision blurred with unshed tears. I clenched my fists, trying to ground myself, trying to steady the storm raging within me. My gaze lifted to my father, my emotions shifting rapidly from disbelief to fury.

I couldn't allow this to happen. I wouldn't let him control me any longer. I had spent too much time obeying his every command, bending to his every whim, but no more.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I raised my chin and met his gaze head-on. My voice, though laced with restrained anger, was unwavering.

"Father, I'm not interested. I don't want to be an officer."

His smirk faltered, his expression darkening instantly. His icy stare drilled into me as he took a step forward. His voice, low and controlled, carried an unmistakable edge of menace.

"I didn't ask you, my son," he said, each word cutting sharper than a blade. "I told you. And you have no choice in the matter."

My jaw clenched as I fought the rising tide of frustration and rage. My entire life, I had lived in his shadow, following his orders, but this was where I drew the line.

"Why don't I have a choice?" I countered, my voice rising. "Remember, Father, this is my life! I'm an adult now, and I refuse to be a puppet in your twisted schemes."

He merely raised an eyebrow, his expression one of amusement rather than concern. "And why, pray tell, don't you want this?" His tone was laced with condescension. "You would be working for your country, protecting its people. Isn't that what matters?"

I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief. "Yeah," I spat, "By killing the innocent!"

A slow, sinister smirk curled his lips. "Oh?" he drawled, feigning curiosity. "And since when did you start caring so much about those who fall in battle? Were you not the same boy who once declared he would do anything to protect his country?"

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. "I said that when I was a child," I stated firmly. "But I've grown up now."

A chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest as he turned slightly, throwing a glance at my mother. His expression was taunting, almost delighted by the conflict he had ignited.

"Oh, look, Claire!" he called out mockingly. "Your son has changed so much! He's developed quite the sharp tongue, hasn't he?"

My mother, who had been silent until now, shifted uneasily. Her lips parted several times before she finally found her voice, though it trembled under the weight of fear and desperation.

"My lord," she pleaded softly, stepping forward. "Please, leave him out of this. I beg of you."

For the first time in my life, I saw something shift in my father's expression-surprise. Amusement. He tilted his head, regarding her with interest.