Price of Dignity

As soon as Paakhi felt the touch of someone's hand brushing against her cheek, she flung her eyes open in shock. Without thinking, she shoved Prashant away with all her strength.

Caught completely off guard, Prashant stumbled and fell hard to the floor.

Confused by her sudden reaction, Prashant sat there for a second, stunned. His confusion quickly turned to rage. Before he could even rise to his feet, Paakhi stormed toward him and slapped him—fiercely, without hesitation.

The slap echoed louder in Prashant's mind than it did in the room. He hadn't even recovered from being pushed, and now this. His eyes darkened with fury. No one—absolutely no one—had ever dared raise their voice at Prashant Singh Rathore, let alone their hand.

And yet, Paakhi had not only pushed him… she had hit him.

His pride scorched and his ego burning, Prashant stood up, his breathing heavy with rage. In one swift motion, he pinned Paakhi against the wall.

"How dare you?" he growled, his voice low and venomous. "How dare you raise your hand on me, Prashant Singh Rathore?"

His hand gripped her throat, not enough to choke, but enough to frighten. "What gave a girl like you the courage to touch me? One night with me, and now you think you can lay a finger on me?"

Fear flickered in Paakhi's eyes as the strength of his grip began to sting. Her eyes welled up with tears from the pain—but she refused to look weak.

With the same fire burning inside her, she glared into his eyes. "After what you did to me," she spat, "you should be behind bars. Men like you belong behind iron bars, not out here pretending to be gods!"

Her voice trembled with pain, anger, and disgust, but she didn't hold back. Prashant had crossed a line. And now, so would she.

She continued to yell at him, her fury echoing off the walls, her soul refusing to be silenced.

As Paakhi tried to protest, her words were cut off—Prashant covered her mouth with his hand. He stepped even closer, staring straight into her eyes with a wicked smirk.

"For your kind information," he whispered coldly, "you came into my room. On your own. And got close to me—on your own."

His grip tightened. "You were the one who seduced me first. And now you're blaming me?"

Paakhi struggled to break free from his grip, but compared to his strength, she was still too weak. Her body was already aching with pain. All she could do was glare at him with tear-filled, helpless eyes.

Prashant leaned even closer. "If you were so innocent, what were you doing in my room, hmm?"

He gave a cruel laugh. "Oh, I get it now… Girls like you have found a new way to trap rich men—lure them in, then blackmail them. But let me tell you, Paakhi, your tricks won't work on me."

His words made her blood boil.

Without a second thought, Paakhi used every ounce of her remaining strength and pushed him away—hard. He stumbled back. Before he could react, she raised her hand again to slap him.

But this time, Prashant was ready.

He caught her wrist mid-air and yanked her close.

"Don't you dare," he hissed. "You'll pay a heavy price for this, Paakhi."

Paakhi looked straight into his eyes, burning with anger. "Don't think so highly of yourself that the whole world starts to look small. The day you realize what you've done… it might already be too late."

With that, she grabbed her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Prashant stood there, stunned for a moment—then anger took over. Still in his bathrobe, he poured himself a drink, muttering under his breath. No woman had ever dared talk to him like that. Girls usually begged for his attention… and this one?

This one slapped him.

Inside the bathroom, Paakhi quickly dressed. She didn't want to see Prashant's face for even another minute. She needed to leave—immediately.

She stepped out, clutching her bag, trying to make as little noise as possible. But just as she reached the door and twisted the handle, his voice stopped her cold.

"Wait."

She turned around cautiously.

Prashant walked up to her and thrust a cheque into her hand.

"Here," he said. "Fifty lakhs. That's the price of all this drama. I hope you enjoy your luxurious life with it."

Paakhi looked down at the cheque, then back at him. Her eyes burned with disgust. She slowly tore the cheque into pieces and threw the scraps right into his face.

"My dignity is not so cheap that a lowlife like you could ever afford it," she snapped.

Without giving him a chance to reply, she opened the door and walked out of the room with her head held high.

Prashant stood frozen, stunned. No woman had ever rejected his money before. No one had ever insulted him like this—especially not a girl like her. He thought she was the kind who would sell her soul for a few notes. But now…

He was confused. And angry.

Meanwhile, Paakhi ran down the hallway, praying no one would see her in this condition. The hotel lobby was quiet, and she darted past like a shadow. If even one person had seen her now, she would have been tomorrow's breaking news.

Thankfully, no one did.

She reached her room, shut the door, and collapsed onto the floor—sobbing, shaking. The weight of what had just happened came crashing down. Her heart ached, her body throbbed, and her spirit felt crushed.

Back in his room, Prashant poured himself another drink. He couldn't stop thinking about her. No girl had ever made him feel this… powerless. Girls usually chased him. Craved him. But Paakhi had walked away with fire in her eyes.

As he mulled over his thoughts, his phone rang. Without checking the screen, he answered.

"Mr. Rathore, did you like the diamonds?" came the voice on the other end.

Prashant frowned. Diamonds?

His confusion grew. "What diamonds?"

The man sounded alarmed. "The diamonds I sent you as a gift. The ones placed on the table near your bed. I even sent you a message about it!"

Prashant looked to the side table—and there it was. A box filled with sparkling diamonds.

So, the man had sent the diamonds… but not the girl.

He hung up, suddenly dizzy with confusion.

If he didn't send Paakhi… then who did? Why was she in my room?

If it were an enemy, she would've tried to harm me.

If she were a thief, she would've taken something.

But she did neither.

Then who was she?

Why did she come?

His head throbbed with questions he couldn't answer. He clutched it tightly and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to block out her face… her voice… her tears.

"I don't want to think about her anymore," he told himself aloud. "She doesn't matter."

And with that, he forced himself to return to work.

Elsewhere, Paakhi woke up in her own room like a broken child. She quietly walked to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. Turning the tap to hot, she stood under the stream, scrubbing her body with all the strength she had left—as if trying to erase every trace of what had happened.

Her skin turned red from rubbing. Her soul wept harder than her eyes.

Eventually, she slid down and sat on the bathroom floor, crying under the water—letting it hide her tears.

After a long time, she composed herself. She got dressed, packed her bag, and without looking back even once… she checked out of the hotel.