Page 139 of Scars and Crowns

By the time the first light begins slipping through the curtains, I already know what I'm going to do. I'm going to make him understand what it feels like to lose the life he assumed would always belong to him.

Not tonight. Not in one dramatic moment.

That would be too easy.

I want him to wake up every morning and know that something else is gone.

A little more certainty. A little more comfort. Another door closed. Another person who suddenly doesn't return his calls. Another part of the life he thought his father's name had guaranteed him disappearing between one day and the next.

I want him to understand that protection is not the same thing as immunity. And I want him to understand it slowly.

I leave Anamika sleeping. I don't wake her. I don't tell her where I'm going. I don't tell Kairav. I don't tell Samrat. I don't tell anyone. There are some things I refuse to put on another person's conscience. The hotel is exactly where I expect it to be. Three streets away from the gala venue.

I sit in the back of the car for a moment after we arrive, staring through the windshield at the entrance, my hands resting loosely on my knees.

I should feel something. Hesitation, perhaps. The old voice in my head telling me to be sensible. Instead, I feel strangely calm.

I step out.

By the time I reach his door, I've already decided that whatever happens inside this room, I will walk back out with a clear head. I knock once. The door opens.

He is holding a drink.

For half a second, he looks mildly annoyed at the interruption. Then he sees me. I watch recognition spread slowly across his face. His eyebrows draw together. His mouth parts. And something inside me snaps. I don't give him the chance to say my name.

My fist connects with his face. Hard.

His drink flies from his hand, shattering somewhere behind him as he stumbles backward, and I follow. Another punch. Then another. I don't hear what he says. I don't care. I see his face and all I can see is Anamika's face on those ballroom steps.

White. Terrified. Seven years of her life sitting inside that expression.

Another punch.

He tries to raise an arm. I shove it away. My fist hits his jaw. "She had said no." My voice booms in the room, he falls against the side of the table, knocking something onto the floor. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him upright. "And you did it anyway."

I don't know how long it lasts. Long enough for my knuckles to split. Long enough for my breathing to turn ragged. Long enough for the rage to stop feeling like something inside my body and start feeling like something outside it, something I can finally see clearly.

Eventually he stops trying to fight. He drops to the floor. I stand over him, chest rising and falling, my hands aching. He looks nothing like the man I saw laughing at the gala.

Good.

I don't feel better. That's the strange part. I thought I would. I thought perhaps seeing him afraid would give me something back. It doesn't.

Because I know what I want now. And it isn't his blood. It's his certainty. His arrogance. That effortless belief that the world will always bend around him because his father's name has always been strong enough to make consequences disappear.

I crouch in front of him. He flinches. "Please." His voice is barely recognizable. "I'm sorry."

I stare at him. "You weren't sorry when she begged you to stop." His eyes flicker away. "Don't look away from me." He looks back.

I straighten slowly. Then I reach down and fix my jacket. I smooth the front of it. Adjust one cuff. Straighten my collar. The ordinary movements feel almost absurd after what has just happened. But I want him to understand something. The man standing in front of him now isn't the man who lost control five minutes ago.

That man is gone. What remains is much worse. "You know what I find interesting?" I ask. He doesn't answer. "You probably think this is the worst thing I'm going to do to you."

His face changes.

Good.

"It isn't." I take one step closer. "I'm not going to kill you." His eyes widen. "That would be merciful." I let the silence sit. "I'm going to let you live." He swallows. "And I'm going to make sure you understand exactly what that means."