Evening had fallen.

The weather was strangely restless; the winds were harsh, as if it would rain any moment.

Just then, a black Land Rover Defender entered through the main gate. From it stepped down the most handsome man anyone had ever seen—though because of the dim light, his face wasn’t clearly visible. Yet his aura alone was enough for anyone to understand that he was someone with power… authority… a man with rank.

Taking small but sharp steps, he entered the house. Without paying a second of attention to the people sitting in the hall, he headed straight for the stairs.

Someone suddenly called out from behind:

“You’ve grown up and already forgotten how to respect elders? Is this what you’ve been taught?”

The man stopped, his voice low and icy:

“Respect… interesting word.

But perhaps you’re forgetting something—

I only give respect to those who deserve it.

And if I don’t wish to, then even my father does not have the power to force me.”

“Mind your tongue! That is your grandfather!” another man growled from the sofa.

The cold-eyed man shifted only slightly, voice dropping into a dangerous whisper:

“And you… lower your voice.

I don’t tolerate anyone raising their voice in front of me.

No one.”

His voice slid through the air like molten glass.

Everyone standing or sitting in the hall felt a tremor in their body.

The man was still on the staircase—neither turning back nor moving ahead.

Then again, that chilling voice echoed:

“If you’re done, let me go.

Otherwise… what happens next won’t be good for any of you.

I’m here for a reason—

don’t give me a reason to end it.”

Without waiting, he continued climbing.

Soon, he stopped before a door—his room.

He touched the door with his long fingers.

His chest tightened suddenly, the lines of his face hardened.

He opened the door and stepped inside.

Nothing had changed.

The black-painted walls still gleamed.

And right in front hung a large portrait—his own, from years ago.

He remembered exactly when he got it clicked.

He was lost in that memory when his phone rang.

“Hello… Chote Saab?”

“Hmm,” he answered.

The man on the other end hesitated—he knew what was coming.

Before he could finish, the call cut.

The servant standing by the door swallowed hard—sweat dripping down his neck.

He had no idea what would happen next.

The man slid his phone into his pocket and ordered the boy beside him:

“Go. Check how they are doing now.”

“Yes… Sir,” the boy bowed and left immediately.

On the other side of the house

A loud voice echoed in a huge hall filled with relatives.

“How dare you insult my mother, Ayesha?”

A young man—Armaan—was yelling at his wife.

Ayesha’s eyes were swollen with tears.

“I didn’t do anything, Armaan… you’re misunderstanding me,” she cried.

“I’m not misunderstanding anything!” Armaan snapped.

“I never stopped you from anything. That’s why your courage has grown so much that today you insult my mother in front of me!

Just because I love you, do you think I’ll tolerate everything?

Never.”

“Either apologize to my mother… or—”

“Or what, Armaan? What will you do?” Ayesha whispered through tears.

Before she could finish, a loud slap cracked across her face.

Her head jerked to the side.

Everyone watched like it was entertainment.

No one stepped forward.

Ayesha clutched her cheek, tears spilling endlessly.

“You said you loved me,” she whispered.

“Is this love?

Judging me without listening?

Shaming your wife in front of everyone?

If this is love… then I made a mistake loving you.”

She wiped her tears and ran upstairs.

Armaan started to follow—

but a sudden scream stopped him.

His mother had collapsed.

Armaan rushed to her, panic in his eyes.

Behind him, Ayesha paused on the stairs and looked back.

Her heart twisted painfully.

Armaan held his mother.

“Maa! Are you okay?”

“Yes, beta… I’m fine. Just slipped a little. Go… your wife is crying.”

“No, Maa,” Armaan said firmly.

“If I go now, I’ll be disrespecting you.

She made a mistake today.

She must face consequences.”

Ayesha’s room

Ayesha lay face-down on the bed, crying into the pillow.

“What mistake did I make, Papa?” she sobbed.

“You never scolded me… you never said I was useless… you never forced me to learn anything.”

“You called me your princess…

You said the people we love break when we break…”

“So why did my husband do this to me today?”

She clutched a photo of her father—both smiling brightly.

She pressed it to her chest, crying until sleep overtook her.

A while later, a man entered through the window.

His face softened with pain when he saw her.

He pulled out a handkerchief and gently placed it beneath her cheek.

His long fingers brushed her face…

then froze when he noticed the five-finger mark on her cheek.

His fists tightened.

Rage reddened his face.

He slapped himself repeatedly—again and again—until a hundred blows fell.

Breathing hard, he looked at her again.

“My love… forgive me.

You were suffering and I wasn’t there.

But now… I’m here.

I won’t go anywhere.

Ever.”

He stepped closer and slowly removed the sandals from her feet.

He moved closer, slowly… cautiously…

and instead of touching her feet, he only let his fingers hover above them—

almost touching, but not touching.

His breath brushed her skin, warm and trembling.

And the moment Ekaaksh’s breath touched Ayesha’s ankles,

Ayesha shivered—her body reacting before her mind could.

“N…not Armaan…”

she whispered unconsciously in her sleep.

Her voice cracked something inside him.

He wasn’t worshipping her feet—

No. Boys like him never bowed…

not in front of anyone.

What he did next wasn’t submission…

it was possession.

He raised his head, his jaw clenched, eyes burning with a darkness only he carried.

A cold, dangerous smirk touched his lips.

“Interesting…” he murmured softly.

“So she calls his name even now…”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for the shadows:

“I wonder who will burn more when they find out—

hearing her whisper my name instead.”

The room felt charged, heavy, almost forbidden.

In that moment, there was no doubt—

he wasn’t a boy who touched anyone’s feet.

He was the kind of man who made others fall to their knees.