Chapter 82: I won't marry you

And it all happened in a flash. Within seconds. Milliseconds. One moment, I was pointing the

shard of glass at him, and the next, it was pressed against my neck. My hands were forced

behind my waist, held tightly by his one hand as if they belonged to a doll rather than a

living, breathing person.

Fear began to creep into my nerves, paralyzing my body with its icy grip.

"I don't want to marry you," I said, my lips trembling as I tried to keep my voice steady.

"Now, now, now," he said in a tone that was almost playful, yet laced with menace. "Did I not

teach you how to turn a no into a yes? Have you already forgotten?"

His words sent a chill down my spine. I gulped, unable to respond and too terrified to make

a single wrong move. The blade pressed against my throat gleamed in the dim light, a silent

reminder of his control.

"Let me go," I gritted through my teeth, anger and fear warring within me.

"Let me go!" I repeated, my voice rising. "Let me go! Go!"

But he didn’t flinch. Instead, his lips curled into a smirk. "And you are going to be the wife of

a mafia leader, yet you don’t even know how to use a piece of glass properly." His mocking

words made my breath hitch.

My breath hitched, and he grabbed my right hand with brutal force and slammed it flat

against the nearby dressing table that had crumbles of glass on it. They pierced my skin, and

I croaked out with pain.

And then I felt him slashing the skin around my ring finger, drawing blood.

Third person's POV

Her eyes saw the blood spurting out through her skin, and when she tried to snatch her

hand back, the blade went in deeper. She screamed with agony, but he didn't budge, and

when he had created a ring of blood around her ring finger, that was when he let her go.

Tears floated down her eyes as she took a step back, holding the injured organ close to her

chest. Her body shook with her sobs.

"I don't want to marry you," she said again, but this time her voice was toned down to a

helpless whisper.

He stepped closer, and she instinctively retreated, her back hitting the cold wall behind her.

She pressed herself against it, desperate to put any distance between them.

"Don't come close to me," she warned, her voice trembling. But he ignored her, continuing

to close the gap between them.

"I don't want to marry you," she muttered again, weaker this time, as though the words had

lost their power.

"You've no other option, Sheharzaad," he stated, and she opened her eyes and looked at him

with disgust.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, a flicker of defiance shining through her tears. "I won't

marry you," she hissed. "I'll kill myself, or I'll run away. And I'm not bluffing."

He leaned closer, invading her personal space, his hands bracing on either side of her head.

The walls seemed to shrink, trapping her in his shadow.

He clicked his tongue, the sound sharp and mocking. "I repeat," he said, his voice

dangerously low, "you will marry me. By hook or by crook. I’m not bluffing either."

Her hands balled into fists, the pain in her injured hand momentarily forgotten. With a

sudden surge of courage, she shoved him, her strength fueled by her anger.

"I won't marry you! Kill me if you want to, but I won't marry you!" Her voice cracked as

tears poured freely down her face. She shook with a mix of rage and despair. "I WON’T!" she

screamed, her sobs raking through her body. She began punching his chest, her fists small

but relentless. "Kill me if you want! I don’t fear death anymore. Kill me, but I will never

marry you!"

Each word was punctuated with a blow to his chest, her voice breaking with hiccupped

sobs. She kept on sobbing while punching at his chest when suddenly he held both her

wrists and shook her slightly, forcing her tear-streaked face to look up at him.

His face was stoic. Plain. Emotionless. His expression was unreadable. His voice was the

same. Stoic, cold, and detached.

"Alright," he said after a long, heavy pause. "I won’t marry you."

The words hung in the air, their impact slow to register. She blinked, her sobs subsiding as

confusion washed over her. "What?" she asked, her voice soft and disbelieving.

"I said I won’t marry you," he repeated, his tone flat.

Her struggles ceased, and her arms fell limp in his grasp. She stared at him, trying to process

his words. "You're lying," she accused, her voice shaky.

How could he possibly agree so easily? Something did not feel right, something was wrong,

but she was far too drained emotionally, mentally, and physically to even think about it.

"I’m not," he replied plainly, releasing her wrists. He stepped back, his posture casual as he

walked to the sofa and sat down. Crossing one leg over the other, he leaned back, his arms

resting on the armrests like a king surveying his kingdom.

She stayed rooted in place, her mind racing. The sight of him so calm, so unaffected, only

added to her confusion. "Are you telling the truth?" she asked again, her voice tinged with

suspicion.

"I am," he said with a slow nod, his gaze unwavering.

She couldn't help but smile out of disbelief. She didn’t know whether to believe him or not,

but at that moment, relief mingled in her heart. A welcomed emotion after so long.

But then he spoke again, his words dragging her back into anxiety and anticipation. "I’m

ready not to marry you," he said, pausing deliberately, "but I have a condition."

That tiny flicker of hope and relief that had ignited in her heart extinguished immediately.

"What condition?" she asked, her voice