✨Chapter 9✨

Don’t Look at Her

Meera barely slept that night.

Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered the warmth of Veer’s hand wrapped around hers beneath the fireworks.

The way he hadn’t let go.

The way she hadn’t wanted him to.

And that was the problem.

A very big problem.

Because somewhere between the forced wedding, the cold silences, and the unexpected moments of kindness...

Veer Pratap Singh was becoming dangerous.

Not because he frightened her anymore.

Because he didn't.

And that terrified her far more.

The next morning, Devgarh's weekly market buzzed with life.

Colorful stalls lined both sides of the road.

Women bargained loudly.

Children ran through the crowd.

Vendors shouted prices from every direction.

For the first time since arriving, Meera convinced Gauri to take her into the village alone.

Well... almost alone.

Two of Veer's security men followed at a distance.

Which felt ridiculous.

"I'm not a politician," Meera muttered.

Gauri laughed.

"No." Then she lowered her voice.

"You're Veer baba's wife."

As if that explained everything.

Apparently, in Devgarh, it did.

The market was beautiful.

Fresh flowers.

Handmade jewelry.

Traditional clothes.

The atmosphere reminded Meera of childhood visits to local fairs.

For a little while, she forgot about complicated feelings and mysterious locked rooms.

She simply enjoyed herself.

Until trouble arrived.

Meera stood near a bangle stall examining a set of green glass bangles.

The shopkeeper smiled warmly.

"They'll suit you, bahu sa."

Before Meera could respond, another voice interrupted.

"They'll suit her because she's beautiful."

Her smile disappeared instantly.

The man standing nearby looked older.

Drunk.

Arrogant.

The smell of alcohol reached her immediately.

Uneasiness settled in her stomach.

Gauri stepped closer protectively.

"Move aside."

The man ignored her.

His eyes remained fixed on Meera.

"I've never seen eyes like yours."

Meera took a step back.

The crowd around them grew quieter.

Watching.

Nobody intervened.

The man smiled.

"Why hide such beauty inside the haveli?"

Every instinct screamed at Meera to leave.

Now.

Immediately.

She turned.

The man grabbed her wrist.

The world stopped.

Not for long.

Only a second.

But it was enough.

Enough for fear to flash through her.

Enough for the crowd to gasp.

Enough for someone across the market to see.

Veer had been speaking with a farmer near the opposite end of the market.

Then he noticed the crowd.

The tension.

The frightened expression on Meera's face.

Everything after that happened very quickly.

One moment the drunk man held her wrist.

The next—

his hand was gone.

A painful scream tore through the market.

The crowd stumbled backward.

Creating distance.

Creating space.

Creating silence.

Veer stood between them.

His grip crushed the man's wrist mercilessly.

The drunk man cried out again.

Veer's face remained expressionless.

Which somehow made it worse.

Much worse.

"Let go!"

The man struggled.

Veer's grip tightened.

The scream became louder.

Around them, nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody breathed.

Because everyone knew.

The sarpanch was angry.

"She said move aside."

Veer's voice came out calm.

Terrifyingly calm.

The man winced in pain.

"I was only talking—"

"Then learn to listen."

The grip tightened again.

Another scream.

Meera stared.

She had never seen Veer like this before.

Not cold.

Not distant.

Furious.

Finally, Veer released him.

The man stumbled backward immediately.

Holding his injured wrist.

Humiliated.

Terrified.

Veer's eyes remained fixed on him.

Dark.

Dangerous.

And then he said the words the entire market would remember for years.

"Look at me."

The man obeyed instantly.

"Next time," Veer said quietly, "if you touch my wife without permission..."

His voice dropped lower.

"...pray someone stops me before I reach you."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

The threat wasn't loud.

It wasn't dramatic.

It was worse.

Because everyone believed him.

Including the man.

Within seconds, the drunk man disappeared into the crowd.

Nobody stopped him.

Nobody spoke.

The market remained frozen.

Watching.

Waiting.

Then Veer turned toward Meera.

And everything changed.

The anger vanished.

Just like that.

Replaced by concern.

"Are you hurt?"

The question surprised her.

So did the softness in his voice.

Meera shook her head slowly.

"No."

Veer's gaze dropped toward her wrist.

Red marks already appeared where the man had grabbed her.

Something dark flashed across his face.

Gone quickly.

Not quickly enough.

Without warning, Veer took her hand gently.

The contrast shocked her.

The same man who looked ready to break bones moments ago now touched her as if she might shatter.

His thumb brushed lightly over the red mark.

Meera's heartbeat immediately betrayed her.

The market suddenly felt very warm.

Very crowded.

Very aware.

Because everyone was watching.

Veer looked up.

His eyes met hers.

For one dangerous moment, neither spoke.

Then he said quietly—

"We're leaving."

Not because he was angry.

Because he was worried.

And somehow that realization affected her far more than it should have.

The ride back to the haveli remained silent.

Not awkward.

Just heavy.

Too many emotions.

Too many thoughts.

Neither seemed sure where to begin.

Finally, halfway home,

Meera spoke.

"You didn't need to do that."

Veer looked out the window.

"Yes."

His answer came immediately.

"I did."

The certainty in his voice made her chest tighten.

"He wasn't worth your anger."

For the first time, Veer looked directly at her.

And something inside his eyes made her breath catch.

"That wasn't anger."

The answer came quietly.

Almost dangerously.

Meera frowned.

Then what was it?

Veer seemed to read the question on her face.

His jaw tightened.

His gaze dropped briefly toward the fading mark on her wrist.

And for the first time since meeting him...

he looked close to losing control.

"When I saw him touching you..."

His voice became rough.

"...I stopped thinking clearly."

The confession hit harder than any compliment ever could.

Silence filled the car.

Heavy.

Dangerous.

Electric.

Neither looked away.

Neither moved.

And suddenly—

the space between them felt much smaller than before.

Much, much smaller.

The slow burn was no longer slow.

It was becoming something far more difficult to ignore.

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