Her Deviant Husband

Chapter 45 (M)

Trigger warning Mature:
1.) Non-Consensual
2.) Mild Somnophilia
3.) Blood. (Not blood play)

Reyansh's pov.

The Roy mansion had settled into an almost eerie quiet after the hustle of the entire day. Most of the family members had retired for the night after the exhausting rituals and the chaotic dinner they all had.

There wasn't a moment of silence up until now.

Regardless, of the exhaustion few of them stayed back in the living room as I had requested due to what I needed to talk to them about.

I felt Athira's soft breathing filled my world. Her head rested against my shoulder, her hair tickling my neck as I sat motionless, unwilling to disturb her.

I glanced down at her. God, she was breathtaking. The golden glow of the chandelier above cast soft light over her face, highlighting her delicate features. Her lashes fluttered slightly, lost in some peaceful dream, while her lips parted just enough to show her steady breaths. She didn't even realize the effect she had on me—the way she had turned my chaos into something resembling peace.

Last night flashed through my mind: her laughter, her tears, her hands tangled in my hair, her whispers that melted into moans. The memory made my throat tighten not now... She'd barely gotten any sleep after we'd finally collapsed in each other's arms, and today's endless rituals must have definitely been exhausting. Now, she was here, dozing off without a care in this world.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

The sound of her father's voice caught me off guard. I lifted my gaze to meet his. Athira's father and Dadi were watching me, their sharp eyes filled with a kind of knowing that made me uneasy at times.

"She is," I replied, my voice low. I brushed a strand of Athira's hair out of her face, careful not to wake her. "More than words could ever say."

Dadi's lips twitched. "She takes after her mother in that aspect I believe. Evara had the same stubborn fire in her when she was Athira's age."

I nodded. As, I saw across the room, Athira's mother was gently leading Evansh upstairs. He  grumbled, protesting slightly whinning that he wasn't tired, but eventually he gave in when she told him something about painting together tomorrow morning. Athira's cousins Ayaan and Aiyanna had already left with their parents, followed by her Chachu and Chachi, who had turned in early.

The room thinned out until it was just me, Dadi, her Dadu, her papa, and of course Shaurya, who was sprawled in an armchair, scrolling on his phone typing casually with a small smirk like he didn't have a care in the world.

I felt the weight of their gazes, especially her dadu's.

He sat across from me, his dark eyes studying me with the intensity of a man who didn't trust easily. I couldn't blame him. I wasn't exactly an open book, and as much as I loved Athira, I was still a Sehgal—a mafia prince by blood and reputation.

That wasn't something her family could ignore no matter how much they forgave me or tried to accept me.

"So, Reyansh," Her papa said finally. "What did you find? What is it you wanted to say."

I adjusted Athira's sleeping form against me, careful not to wake her, and leaned back in my seat.

"As you all already know," I began, my voice low, "my family was slaughtered 19 years ago. But what you don't fully understand is that this wasn't just a simple act of revenge. It seems far more complicated than simply that. It was a mass murder. A meticulously orchestrated hit that wiped out not only my family but also some of our most trusted guards and close allies. All of them, gone, one after another. As if to erase something—something that someone desperately wanted to keep hidden."