Rudhran’s POV

Her words lingered in the air between us, daring me to challenge them.

“I told you, Rudhran. I’m not leaving.”

I should have laughed. I should have told her she had no idea what she was signing up for. But all I could do was stand there, staring at her, feeling the last remnants of my restraint snapping like brittle twigs in a storm.

The courtyard was silent, every pair of eyes locked on us, waiting. My uncle, my cousin, my men—all of them knew better than to interrupt. The blood still staining the stone at my feet, the lingering scent of iron in the air—it was a testament to what I was capable of. What I had done.

But Amrutha? She stood before me, untouched by fear.

And that was my undoing.

I exhaled slowly, stepping into her space, my voice dangerously low. “Do you even understand what you’re saying, Amrutha?”

Her chin lifted, her fingers still entwined with mine, refusing to waver. “I do.”

I should have broken away. Should have left before I did something reckless. But her touch was fire, burning through the layers of control I had spent years mastering.

My bloodied fingers tightened around hers as I pulled her closer, my lips hovering just above her ear. “Then stay.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, her body tensing.

“Stay, and you’ll see the real me,” I murmured, my voice rough. “The man you’re trying so hard to save might be the one who ruins you in the end.”

Her fingers curled against my palm. “Maybe I don’t need saving.”

I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, battling the war raging inside me. Then, just as quickly, I released her and turned to my men.

“If anything like this happens again,” I said, my voice sharp enough to cut, “I will not be so forgiving.”

The weight of my fury crashed down on them, and they lowered their heads, accepting their failure.

But my focus was no longer on them. It was on her.

“Inside. Now.”

I wasn’t sure if I was ordering her or pleading with her. Either way, she obeyed, stepping past me into the house, her steps slow, deliberate.

I followed, my body still thrumming with adrenaline. The moment we were alone in the dimly lit hall, I turned to face her.

“You should have left.”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “And yet, I didn’t.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “You think this is a game, Amrutha?”

“No,” she said softly. “I think this is real.”

I took a step closer, towering over her, my hands braced on either side of the wooden pillar she stood against. “Then tell me, what happens when you realize you’ve tied yourself to a monster?”

Her fingers lifted, brushing lightly against the wound on my cheek, her touch so gentle it made my breath catch.

“Then I’ll remind you that monsters are only men who have forgotten how to be loved.”

Something in my chest cracked open, and before I could stop myself, I closed the distance between us.

My lips hovered over hers, the air between us charged, electric. But I didn’t kiss her.

Not yet.

Because if I did—

I wouldn’t stop.

The silence in the Hall was suffocating, thick with unspoken words and unexpressed emotions. No one dared to breathe as Amrutha stood before Rudhran, her gaze unwavering, her delicate frame an unmovable force against his towering presence.

The scent of blood still lingered in the air, mixing with the dampness of the early morning mist. His dhoti was soaked, the fabric clinging to his powerful legs, his broad chest streaked with blood and grime. Yet, despite the chaos that had just unfolded, despite the wreckage of his fury still echoing in the courtyard, he looked at her as if she was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

Without breaking eye contact, Amrutha held his wrist and dragged him to the backyard.  He silently followed behind her shoking everyone.  She turnrd "Bring water. Now," she ordered, her voice steady, unwavering.

The maids hesitated, their eyes darting toward Rudhran as if seeking permission. His men stood frozen, their postures rigid, caught between fear and disbelief.

Janani,  stepped forward instinctively, ready to obey, but before she could move, a firm hand caught her wrist.

"Don’t," his cousin’s wife whispered, her voice low and urgent. "You don’t know what you’re doing. This is not our place."

Amrutha’s sharp gaze flickered toward them, her jaw tightening, but she said nothing. Instead, she lifted her chin, her authority undeniable. "A stool. Bring a stool for him."

Gasps rippled through the onlookers. No one ordered Rudhran around. No one. Yet, as if compelled by some unseen force, one of his men rushed forward, dragging a wooden stool into the backyard . He hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at Rudhran, but to everyone’s utter shock, Rudhran sat down without a word.

A hushed murmur spread through the gathered family members. His grandmother clutched her stick  , his aunt exchanged nervous glances with Janani, and the maids looked on in stunned disbelief. Never in their lifetime had they seen the master of the house take orders from anyone—let alone a woman.

Ignoring their reactions, Amrutha stepped forward, her every movement deliberate. She reached down, tucking the edge of her saree at her waist, exposing the graceful curve of her hips. A deep hush fell over the backyard  as the men respectfully averted their gazes, yet Rudhran’s dark eyes remained locked onto her, unreadable.

She lifted the heavy brass vase, the water inside cool from the night air. Without hesitation, she poured it over his head.

The backyard  erupted in a collective gasp as the water crashed over his broad shoulders, washing away the blood in slow rivulets. The crimson streams curled at his feet, seeping into the cracks of the stone floor, mingling with the dirt.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

Again.

Amrutha grabbed another vase, heavier this time, and poured it over him. The water cascaded down his chest, revealing the raw wounds beneath, the deep scratches along his arms, the bruises darkening his skin.

She didn’t stop.

A third time.

A fourth.

Until the last traces of blood were gone, until only the man remained—the man who had fought, bled, and raged, but had, for reasons unknown, allowed her to do this.

Amrutha exhaled, her fingers tightening around the empty vase as she studied him. His hair was slicked back, his face clean, his dark eyes burning into her with something she couldn’t name. Something dangerous. Something unspoken.

The backyard fell silent except the sound of birds and water flowing. His grandmother cursed under her breath and left from there.

And then—

"Leave," Rudhran’s voice cut through the air, deep and rough, sending a shiver down everyone’s spine.

No one moved.

His gaze flickered up, sharper this time. "Out. All of you."

The command was absolute.

His  aunt opened her mouth as if to say , but his cousin's wife tugged at her wrist, shaking her head.

Janani lowered her gaze and stepped away, followed by the maids, the men, his uncle, his cousin—one by one, they retreated, until only the two of them remained in the backyard.

Rudhran sat there, drenched, his hands resting on his knees, his body still as a predator in wait.

Amrutha stood before him, her saree damp, her chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then, slowly, he leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees, his voice low, dark, edged with something lethal.

"Now, tell me, Amrutha," he murmured, "what exactly do you plan to do with me?"

The world outside stirred awake with the morning light, but inside this courtyard, inside this moment—

The war between them had only just began.

Bye bye, read vote and enjoy.