Free to leave

Ranvijay watched Myra storm past him, her saree swaying with every determined step. His smirk remained, but his jaw ticked as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyes dark with unspoken warnings.

She wasn't changing.

Defiant little thing.

The thought alone was enough to stir something primal inside him—something possessive, dangerous. But he didn't stop her. Not yet.

Instead, he followed.

Down the long corridor, Myra's anklets chimed with every step, a stark contrast to the heavy silence that followed. She wasn't looking at him, but she could feel his presence like a shadow looming behind her.

The moment she reached the grand staircase, the palace guards straightened at the sight of their prince. The tension in the air was thick—none of them dared to intervene, but their eyes flickered between the two, sensing the brewing storm.

Ranvijay descended the stairs with slow, deliberate steps, his dark gaze locked onto her. He didn't have to rush. Myra could try to outrun him, but there was no escaping him—not now, not ever.

When she reached the palace entrance, she turned to the driver. "Get the car ready. We're leaving for Rajgarh immediately."

The driver hesitated, flicking a glance toward Ranvijay, who now stood behind her, hands in his pockets, exuding effortless authority.

"You heard her," Ranvijay said smoothly. "Get the car ready."

Myra's brows furrowed as she turned to face him. "You're not coming."

His expression didn't change, but the amused glint in his eyes deepened. "You think I'd let you leave alone, dressed like this?"

She crossed her arms, standing her ground. "I don't need your permission."

Ranvijay's smirk was slow, almost lazy. "You don't. But you do need my protection."

"I can take care of myself."

"Is that so?" He took a step closer, towering over her. "Because last I checked, you couldn't even handle my touch without falling apart."

Myra's breath hitched. She hated how he affected her, how his words seeped under her skin, igniting a fire she didn't understand.

She lifted her chin. "Then stay here and let me prove you wrong."

His smirk vanished. In its place, something darker settled in his gaze. He exhaled slowly, as if she was testing the last thread of his control.

"Fine," he murmured, stepping back. "Go ahead, Myra."

For a fleeting moment, victory flashed in her eyes.

But then—

Just as she turned toward the car, Ranvijay moved.

Swift, precise.

Before she could react, she was off the ground, her body lifted effortlessly into his arms.

A gasp escaped her lips. "Ranvijay! Put me down!"

He didn't even falter. Carrying her as if she weighed nothing, he turned toward the palace doors. The guards lowered their gazes, pretending not to witness their prince's unwavering dominance.

"Change into something else," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Or I will change you myself."

Myra thrashed in his hold, her fists pounding against his chest. "You wouldn't dare!"

Ranvijay's lips brushed against her ear, his voice a dark promise.

"Try me, sweetheart."

Myra's breath hitched at his low, taunting words. His arms were firm, unyielding, holding her against his solid chest as if she belonged there.

Her heart pounded furiously, a mixture of rage and something else—something she refused to name—coursing through her veins.

"Ranvijay!" she hissed, twisting in his grip. "Put me down this instant!"

He didn't respond.

Instead, he carried her effortlessly through the palace halls, his strides slow and deliberate. He wasn't in a rush—no, he was savoring this, reveling in her helpless frustration.

"You're impossible!" she seethed, kicking her feet, but he didn't even flinch. "You have no right to do this!"

Ranvijay chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Sweetheart, I have every right. You're my wife."

Her eyes burned with defiance. "Only because you forced me into this marriage!"

He came to an abrupt halt, his grip on her tightening just slightly. Myra barely had time to process before he shifted her, pressing her against the nearest pillar.

His body caged her in, the cold marble behind her a stark contrast to his burning gaze.

"Yes," he admitted, his voice dark, unwavering. "I forced you. And I'd do it again if it meant keeping you safe."

Myra's breath came in short, uneven bursts. His face was close—too close. Every time he spoke, his lips nearly brushed hers, teasing her with something dangerous.

She tried to push him away, but he caught her wrists again, pinning them gently against the pillar.

"You think I'll let you walk out of here," he murmured, his fingers pressing lightly against her pulse, feeling its frantic beat, "wearing this—looking like this—when I can barely control myself?"

Heat surged to her cheeks. "That's your problem, not mine."

Ranvijay let out a low, humorless chuckle. "No, Myra. That is very much your problem."

Her throat went dry.

Because his gaze had shifted, his dark eyes trailing over the damp tendrils of her hair, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the curve of her exposed waist.

Possessiveness flared in his expression, something raw and primal.

"You don't get it, do you?" he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm a patient man, but with you…" He exhaled sharply, his fingers grazing the side of her neck. "You make me forget what patience is."

Myra swallowed hard. She hated the way her body reacted to his words, the way her pulse betrayed her.

Gathering every ounce of defiance, she glared at him. "I will leave for Rajgarh, Ranvijay. Whether you like it or not."

His smirk returned, slow and knowing.

"Go ahead," he murmured, releasing her wrists.

For a moment, she was stunned. He was letting her go?

She straightened, composing herself, trying to ignore the way her skin still tingled where he had touched her. Without another word, she turned toward the grand entrance.

But just as she took a step—

Ranvijay's hand shot out, gripping her saree's pallu.

The soft fabric slipped from her shoulder, pooling slightly against his fingers.

Myra sucked in a breath, freezing in place.

She turned back, eyes widening as she found him watching her with a smoldering gaze.

"You're free to leave," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "But if you step outside like this, sweetheart…" He twirled the end of her saree between his fingers. "Then I'll have no choice but to follow. And trust me, Myra, you won't like what happens next."

A challenge.

A warning.

And Myra wasn't sure she was ready for the consequences.

The palace air felt thick with tension, crackling like a storm about to break. Myra's breath stilled as she glanced down at the soft fabric of her saree, the delicate pallu slipping from Ranvijay's fingers like silk through fire.

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She wanted to snatch it back, to fix it, to hold onto some semblance of control—but she wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders. "I'm still leaving," she said, her voice steady, even as her pulse betrayed her.

Ranvijay's smirk deepened, his fingers tightening around the fabric for a moment before he let it go. The way he watched her, like a predator watching its prey make a foolish move, sent a shiver down her spine.

"Then go," he murmured.

Her steps were slow, deliberate as she walked away, refusing to let him see her falter.

But she felt it.

His gaze followed her every move, burning into her skin with an intensity that made her stomach coil.

As Myra stepped out, the palace guards straightened, but their eyes hesitated to meet hers. She walked with quiet defiance, her baby pink saree flowing with each step, oblivious to the chaos she left in her wake.

Ranvijay followed at a slow, deliberate pace, his presence looming behind her like a shadow. His jaw was tight, his hands curled into fists. Every single man in sight—the guards, the attendants, even the driver—looked away the second his glare landed on them.

His patience had limits.

"One glance," his voice was deadly calm, yet it sent a shudder through the air. "One wrong look at her, and I'll gauge Everyone's eyes out."

Silence.

No one dared to move.

The guards instantly averted their gazes, their heads bowed. Even the driver stiffened, focusing straight ahead as if his life depended on it.

Satisfied, Ranvijay stepped forward, his grip tightening around Myra's wrist before she could reach the car on her own.

She gasped, turning toward him in protest. "Ranvijay—"

But before she could finish, he pulled open the door and, with one swift motion, guided her inside.

The door shut with a resounding thud.

Myra blinked, her chest rising and falling as she tried to process what had just happened.

She turned to him. "Why did you—"

Ranvijay leaned back against the seat, his fingers drumming against his knee as the car pulled forward.

"You're not leaving without me," he murmured. His tone was final, leaving no room for argument.

Her hands curled into fists. "You can't control everything, Ranvijay!"

He finally turned his head, his dark gaze locking onto hers.

"I can," he said smoothly, tilting his head slightly. "And I just did."

Myra's lips parted, her frustration simmering beneath her skin.

The car moved steadily, but the tension inside was suffocating.

She was trapped.

Not just in the car.

But in his world.