The night consumed the palace, yet it refused to grow dark, glowing with endless lights for Sreehan’s engagement celebration tomorrow; everywhere felt like a festival.

Myra went into her room, changed out of her saree into a simple dress, and tied her hair into a messy bun.

A wild idea lodged itself in her head, and without warning she pushed past the shelf’s hidden passage and entered Adhvay’s chamber.

Adhvay, who was lying on the bed, sat up abruptly, staring at her in shock. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“Um… I can’t sleep, so I came to my husband,” Myra said softly, walking toward his bed with deliberate innocence.

The denial on Adhvay’s face shattered despite his effort to look angry. “If you can’t sleep, go take some fresh air like you always do. What are you doing here?”

“I want to sleep with you,” Myra replied, smirking. Déjà vu hit him hard, his heartbeat raging as he pressed a hand to his chest.

“Next time, come up with your own lines. Don’t copy me,” Adhvay warned as he stood to leave.

Myra blocked his path, sliding her hands over his shoulders and standing so close that they were almost touching. “The beard doesn’t suit you, Raja varu,” she murmured, brushing his cheek.

( Raja varu = king)

Heat crashed through him, his hands curling into fists as her breath grazed his skin and awakened everything he was trying to bury. “Get away from me, Myra,” he protested, his voice rough as he tried to reject her touch.

She said nothing, only stared at him, her gaze drifting to his lips as his chest rose and fell heavily, the tension between them thick and suffocating.

Her presence broke the last thread of his restraint; he closed the distance, yanked her to him by the waist, and their lips collided in a devouring kiss, a year of denial exploding in a single moment.

Myra stumbled back as the kiss deepened, her back hitting the cupboard while his grip tightened, rough and desperate.

Suddenly, reality slammed into him and he tore himself away, breathing hard, his eyes dark with regret. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry,” he whispered again and again, stepping back as if burned. “I didn’t mean to touch you.”

“Adhvay…” Myra called, her eyes never leaving his face, but he turned away, his steps unsteady, leaving the room with the taste of her still haunting his lips.

Adhvay ran to his drawing room and collapsed into his chair. “Fuck… fuck… fuck,” he shouted, gripping his forehead, his voice breaking.

"Why couldn’t I control myself? What the fuck is wrong with me?"

Meanwhile, Myra sat on his bed in his chamber, crushed by the realization of how badly she had hurt him. She lay down on his side of bed, inhaling the faint trace of his perfume, and closed her eyes. “Adhvay, I don’t know how to express my feelings properly,” she sobbed into the mattress.

“I’m sorry....”

She drifted into sleep after crying for an hour, but suddenly jolted awake. It was 3 a.m., and he still hadn’t returned.

Myra walked slowly to his drawing room, pushing the door open carefully so it wouldn’t make a sound. He was asleep in the chair.

She moved closer to his resting figure and gently touched his cheek. Her gaze fell on the paint smeared across his hands and then on the drawing beside him.

Eyes.

Her eyes.

Her Angry eyes.

She slowly looked around the room, and her breath caught in her throat—every inch of the space was covered with paintings of her eyes.

Some were smiling, some were teary, some were furious. Some were excited.

Thousands of paintings.

It felt like she had stepped into her own temple, built entirely from his love and longing.

“You love me this much? Hmm?” she mumbled shakily. Her promise trembled on her lips, heavy with everything she had finally understood.

“I promise, I will love you as much as you do.” She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, before quietly turning and slipping out of the room.

__________

Myra didn’t return to her room; she went straight into Adhvay’s chamber.

Whatever happens next, she silently vowed to herself—she would face it.

It was Sreehan’s engagement day. Myra got ready, draping herself in a gold silk saree, her bangles and anklets softly ringing through the chamber.

She made the staff clean Adhvay’s chamber, neatly arranging his clothes and belongings just like before.

Standing before the mirror, checking herself, her eyes fell on the waist chain. She picked it up and wrapped it around her waist, struggling with the stubborn lock.

Just then the door opened, and Adhvay appeared before her with messy hair and unreadable eyes. Myra somehow managed to lock the chain around her waist.

“Didn’t I tell you not to stay here?” Adhvay’s voice raised as he scan her from head to toe, visibly losing himself to her presence.

“I’m not your bodyguard anymore,” she said, walking toward him as he instinctively stepped back.

“I’m your wife.”

“I _ I told you to stay away from me,” Adhvay stuttered.

“That’s not possible, Raja Varu. You’re stuck with me,” she whispered, kissing his cheek before running out of the room.

( Raja varu = king).

__________

A beautiful woman stepped into the palace, her presence instantly irresistible. Sreehan, dressed in a crisp white kurta and looking effortlessly handsome, ran toward her the moment he saw her. She threw herself into his arms without hesitation, and Sreehan twirled her around, her red lehenga flaring as her laughter echoed through the grand hall.

Veda Sharma—the only daughter of Abhishek Sharma and Soundarya Sharma—was beauty wrapped in warmth. Kind-hearted, bubbly, and full of life, she carried her joy as naturally as her smile. Her family owned one of the greatest corporate legacies in India, yet there was nothing distant or arrogant about her.

“I missed you, potti,” Sreehan said, finally setting her down.

(Potti = Shorty)

“I told you not to call me that. What’s my fault if you decided to grew like a palm tree?” Veda snapped back, clearly annoyed, though her eyes still sparkled with affection.

Sreehan touched the elders’ feet, and Veda’s parents blessed him with warm smiles. Shanti Devi entered next, receiving them into the palace with graceful affection.

Soon, the hall filled with guests, their conversations blending into a festive hum. Myra walked into the hall , regal and poised, turning every head in her direction.

“Vadinamma… this is Veda,” Sreehan introduced proudly.

Veda immediately wrapped Myra in a tight hug, nearly crushing her in excitement. “Oh my God, you are so beautiful, akka. Sreehan talks about you all the time,” Veda said, holding Myra’s hands with sparkling eyes.

( Akka = sister)

“You’re beautiful too, Veda. You both are made for each other,” Myra said lovingly, gently touching Veda’s cheek.

“Maybe it’s destiny. I’m the only child—I always wanted a sister. Now I’ve got you,” Veda said thrilled, her radiant smile making Myra’s heart genuinely happy.

Aditya Varman’s heart flourished as he watched Sreehan’s happiness, a quiet pride settling deep within him. He felt he had raised the boy right, and seeing that unguarded smile on Sreehan’s face, he knew—finally, Sreehan had found his happiness.

“Panthulu gaaru, start the rituals,” Aditya Varman ordered.

(Panthulu gaaru = Pandit / priest)

“Wait… where is anna?” Sreehan asked, looking at Myra.

Myra stood speechless, a plate of flowers trembling slightly in her hands.

“There he is,” Rudra Dev said, pointing toward the long staircase.

Adhvay descended slowly, radiating authority, charisma, and a lethal calm. Sharp-featured and clean-shaved, he is  looking every bit the ruler he is, his hands folded behind his back as his presence alone silenced the hall.

Myra blinked hard, his presence dominating the entire hall, stealing the air. An irrational, possessive urge rose within her—she wanted to pull him into her saree pallu, hide him from every wandering gaze, shield him from the world as  he belonged to her and no one else deserved to look at him.

Veda greeted Adhvay nervously. “Namaskaram, bava garu.”

(Namaskaram = Namaste.

Bava garu = Brother in law who is elder)

Adhvay nodded, a faint smile touching his lips, careful not to intimidate her.

“I’m here. Now Start the rituals,” he commanded, his voice steady as it echoed through the palace.

Sreehan and Veda moved to the beautifully decorated stage, smiling, giggling, and murmuring into each other’s ears, completely lost in their happiness. Soon, they exchanged rings, and flowers showered over them, falling like blessings upon the couple.

Myra slowly walked up to Adhvay and stood beside him, close enough to feel the quiet power radiating from him.

“You’re looking very handsome,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to hide you from the world.” Her eyes never left his face, as if looking away would shatter the moment, and she drowned completely in his aura—commanding, dangerous, and devastatingly hers.

“Why do you want to hide me?” Adhvay asked, his voice low and curious.

“Because you are mine,” Myra replied without hesitation, her gaze unwavering, “and mine alone.”

“That’s what people in love do,” Adhvay said quietly, his voice edged with restraint, “but I think until now, you never accepted me.” He turned his gaze away.

Myra fell silent, her breath shaking as the excitement died painfully in her throat. Adhvay hated how deeply he was hurting her; his hand lifted instinctively to touch her shoulder, to pull her back into him, but he stopped himself midair. With a clenched jaw and a heart at war, he turned and walked away.

Myra followed him without a second thought, completely ignoring the celebration behind her. Adhvay knew she was following him even without turning back; her anklets rang softly through the silent corridors, each sound tightening something in his chest.

He entered his chamber, anger and frustration coiling inside him . Myra reached the shelf and pulled out a small box, her hands steady despite the chaos in her heart. Adhvay refused to face her, his jaw clenched, but she stepped closer and placed her hand on his shoulder, firm and warm, forcing him to turn and look at her.

“Ma-maybe this doesn’t reach your status but_,” she whispered, opening the box to reveal a simple golden band ring.

Myra lifted her eyes to him, trembling but determined. “Adhvay, I never knew how to express my feelings from my childhood. I didn’t grow up like that—I learned to hide every emotion. When your grandfather said I didn’t deserve you, that I trapped you, that he would throw away our child, I didn’t know how to face it. I was terrified, so I tried to escape, because deep down I too believed I could never match your  royal status.” Her voice cracked as tears slid down her cheeks, yet she didn’t stop.

“But trust me, I never wanted to compare you with any man in this world. You gave me the love I never received from anyone. You are my heart, Adhvay, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“So… will you accept me?” Myra asked softly, her voice breaking.

“Even with the truth that I am the daughter of your mother’s murderer, and the truth that I left you heartbroken?” She held out the ring, trembling, silently asking for his hand, her eyes filled with fear, love, and a desperate hope that refused to die.

Adhvay just looked into her eyes. Her gaze reflected nothing but honesty. Without a word, he slipped the massive, royal, shining family heirloom ring from his finger, kept it aside as if it meant nothing and held out his hand to Myra.

Myra laughed through her tears and slid the ring onto his finger.

Adhvay cupped her face, his gaze fierce yet vulnerable.

“For the last time, I’m asking you,” he said, his voice low and heavy. “After this, there’s no turning back. Do you accept me… even with the truth that I hid the past from you,  the truth that I killed your father in front of your eyes?”

Myra nodded saying yes  and hit his chest lightly, her voice breaking, “But you shouldn’t have done that . It gave me nightmares for weeks.”

Adhvay pulled her into a tight hug, his arms locking her against his heart. “I would have killed him anyway,” he whispered fiercely. “Even if he wasn’t involved in my mother’s murder, I would have killed him for not choosing you—for not choosing the little Myra who wanted nothing but love.”

Myra sobbed into his chest, holding on to him tightly. “This means you won’t be angry at me anymore, right?”

“How can I be angry at you, little storm, A slow, agonizing death is far better than losing you by my side.”

He locked her lips fiercely, his movements urgent. Myra matched him instantly, heart and breath in sync. “Don’t ever call my love lust again,” he growled. “If you want to do that … you’ll have to kill me first.”

___________*0*0*0*0*_________