Destiny For Unlikely Vows

Chapter 37

Today was exhausting. I spent the evening cooking dinner, questioning why I have to face all these challenges. Ankit was out visiting family in the city. He invited me to join him, but honestly, I was too tired to attend anything.
I made pasta for myself, grabbed a book, and settled in to enjoy my meal and the story. It was a moment of peace, but then the thought of facing that "devil" again tomorrow haunted me. I silently prayed for a miracle—anything to keep him out of the office the next day.
After dinner, I messaged my best friend, Mourya. At first, he didn’t reply, so I called him directly. When he picked up, he sounded annoyed and joked, “Hello, do I know you?” I quickly apologized, cracked a few jokes, and opened up about everything. Mourya knew I got married, but he wasn’t aware of how bad things were between us.
I adore Mourya—he’s genuinely the best person on earth, like a personal therapist. He listened to all my troubles and even offered financial help, which I declined. I didn’t want to take advantage of him, but I promised to reach out if I couldn’t manage. He always helps me see things from a positive perspective, offering the best advice. We talked for two hours before saying goodbye, and I finally fell asleep.
The next eight days were pure torture. He—Mr. Rathore—made me skip lunches, kept me in the office past 9 PM, and though he promised to reimburse cab fares, the stress was too much. My low blood pressure and skipped meals took a toll on me. By the ninth day, I felt weak, dizzy, and utterly drained.
That day, it was already 4:30 PM when he finally allowed me to take a break. I tried to stand up, but everything went black, and I fainted.
When I opened my eyes, an IV drip was attached to my hand, and I found myself in a sterile, white room. My head pounded with a migraine. Then I saw him—Mr. Rathore—sitting in a chair.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I thought, still groggy.
As I tried to sit up, he approached and ordered me not to move. He carefully adjusted a pillow behind my back and helped me sit up. His touch was surprisingly gentle.
“You don’t have a fever now,” he said, placing a hand on my forehead. “You need to rest. Why didn’t you tell me you have low blood sugar and low blood pressure?”
His sudden concern infuriated me. “For your kind information, Mr. Rathore, even if I had told you, would you have let me eat lunch on time? This is entirely your fault! And now I’ll have to deal with insurance paperwork on top of everything else!”
He scowled. “Seriously? Even now, you’re worried about money?”
“Yes, Mr. Rathore. Not everyone is born with a silver spoon like you. I have to think about every penny!”
He stepped closer, his face taut with anger. “You don’t need to worry about money. I can handle these things.”
“I don’t want your help!” I snapped, tears threatening to fall. “I don’t need anything from you.”
Suddenly, he kissed me. I was shocked, struggling to push him away, but he didn’t let go until I was out of breath.
“You talk too much,” he said smugly. “I know how to keep you quiet.”
Before I could respond, a nurse entered with a bowl of soup. I was starving, so I ate quickly. When I glanced up, he was staring at me in that unsettling way he always did.
His intense gaze made my stomach flutter, but I reminded myself, You’re nothing to him. He has a girlfriend.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he said, standing up.
“I’m fine. You don’t need to stay,” I insisted.
He shot me a sharp look. “I didn’t ask for your permission, Miss Riya. I’ll do as I see fit.”
With that, he left. True to his word, he returned later in jeans and a t-shirt, carrying homemade food.
“It’s less oily, less spicy, but it tastes good,” he said, handing me a plate.
After eating, I freshened up in the bathroom. When I came back, he was lying on the bed.
“What the hell? If you’re sleeping there, where am I supposed to sleep?” I demanded.
He smirked. “Do you really think I’ll sit up all night? This room doesn’t come with a premium bed for me to let you sleep alone.”
I argued, but he shut me up by effortlessly picking me up and placing me on the bed. Then he lay down beside me.
I turned away, but he wrapped an arm around me. “Sleep,” he commanded, his voice firm.
I tried to wriggle free, but he leaned in close and whispered, “You’re not going to sleep like this. Do you want me to use another method?”
Terrified of his implications, I squeezed my eyes shut and stayed still.
He pulled me closer, his scent filling the space around me. It was strangely comforting, and despite the awkwardness, I eventually fell asleep.