Hey readers 💌

Before we jump into the chapter, I just wanted to clear up a few things!

•When Veer was signing the marriage papers, Vikram had already changed Shanaya’s name to Aranya’s. Veer didn’t notice because he’d already seen a copy of the papers earlier—Vikram had sent it to him before the wedding. So on the wedding day, he didn’t bother checking again.

•And about why she can’t eat—don’t worry, the reason’s right here in this chapter 👀

Hope this clears the confusion! Enjoy reading 💕
..............................................................................................................................

Veer’s POV

The doctor stepped closer, voice calm but commanding. “Sir, she needs nourishment immediately—something light, something she can tolerate. She cannot remain without food, not in her state. Her body… it’s giving warning signs.”

I didn’t move. My jaw locked tight, hands curling into fists at my sides. The faint hum of Navratri chants drifted from the courtyard, the sound of conch shells and temple bells echoing through the night. Everyone was celebrating their goddess… while mine lay pale and trembling on that bed, fighting the wreck I’d unknowingly turned her life into.

The doctor’s gaze lingered, hesitant. “Sir?

My throat burned. The words came out low, rough, almost a growl. “Do whatever is necessary.”

He nodded quickly, gathering his things. The moment he left, silence filled the room—thick and suffocating. The flicker of oil lamps outside painted shadows across the walls, each movement making the room look alive… haunted. I sat on the couch, running a hand through my hair. The night felt endless.

Her breathing was steady now, soft and uneven. She looked fragile—too fragile for someone who’d stood up to fire earlier that day.

My gaze didn’t waver. “What really happened to you, Aranya?” I whispered, more to myself than her. “I thought you were the pampered princess of the Rathore mansion. Turns out, you’re the one they abandoned. Why did they push you into this marriage? What did they use to blackmail you?”

No answer. Only the slow, painful rhythm of her breath.
“Why can’t you eat? Why are you this broken? What did they do to you… and what happened to your mother?"

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, eyes burning holes into the floor. The questions swirled in my mind, clawing at the last bit of patience I had. I was Veer Pratap Singh Chauhan—the man the entire underworld feared to cross. But right now? I couldn’t even protect the woman sleeping inches away from me.

The shrill tone of my phone sliced through the silence. I grabbed it, irritation flashing before I saw the name—Abhishek.

My most trusted man. My right hand. The one who rarely called unless it mattered.

“Sir,” his voice came through the line, low and firm. “We got him.”
Just three words.

And that was enough.

My eyes darkened instantly, the softness in me burning away. The coldness returned—the one that ruled the shadows, the one that didn’t hesitate.

“I’m coming,” I said flatly, cutting the call.

I stood, forcing the storm in my chest back where it belonged. Within seconds, the businessman disappeared, and the king of the underground returned. I changed quickly into a crisp white shirt, black pants—nothing loud, nothing showy. Just clean, lethal simplicity.

Before leaving, my eyes landed on her again. She lay there, quiet and unaware of the world.

“I’ll find out what they did to you, Aranya,” I murmured under my breath. “And whoever’s responsible… won’t live to regret it.”

Turning away, I stepped into my study—what everyone believed was just an office. But inside these walls, no one really knew how deep my world ran.

I stopped in front of the tall mahogany cupboard. My hand moved to the small key hanging from the chain around my neck. Sliding it into the corner lock, I pressed it once—click.

The panel shifted soundlessly.

Wood split.

A hidden passage opened behind it.

Cool air rushed up from below, carrying the faint scent of gunmetal and smoke. A staircase spiraled down, dimly lit by motion sensors.

This wasn’t the office of a businessman. This was The Den.

The real heart of the empire—the place where the world called me something else entirely.

Not Veer.

Not CEO.

🦋Author’s POV🦋

The grand chandelier flickered as Veer Pratap Singh Chauhan descended the marble staircase, his every step echoing with the authority of a man no one dared defy. Outside, the night storm raged against the windows, but inside, the tension was thicker than the air itself.

His men stood in a half circle, silent and alert. At the center, a man hung upside down—bound by chains, blood dripping slowly onto the black-and-white tiles.

And standing near the bar counter, leaning casually with a glass of whiskey in hand, was Neil Khanna—Veer’s best friend, business partner, and self-proclaimed "comic relief in the house of devils."

Neil was the kind of man who could walk into a gunfight in a designer suit and still complain about the dust. Tonight, he wore a crisp black shirt rolled up at the sleeves, his golden wristwatch glinting under the dim lights. His hair was slicked back, his smirk permanently etched in place.

“Look who decided to show up,” Neil called out the moment he saw Veer. “The great Veer Pratap Singh Chauhan—sorry, correction—the newly married Veer Pratap Singh Chauhan.”

He raised his glass dramatically. “Marriage really suits you, bro. There’s this glow on your face. Love, maybe? Or maybe just exhaustion from dealing with your wife’s tantrums?”

Aaryan and Kabir chuckled. Vivaan tried to hide his grin, but when Veer’s cold eyes met theirs, the laughter died instantly.
Neil sighed. “Yup, there goes the mood again. Man’s allergic to humor.”

Ignoring the banter, Veer walked straight past them, his gaze locked on the trembling man hanging before him. The aura in the room shifted.

Abhishek, his right hand in the mafia world, stepped forward respectfully. “Sir, we caught him near the docks. Tried to escape with the shipment.”

Veer’s tone was calm but carried the weight of fire. “Which shipment?”

“The one from the East port. The hijacked vessel.”

The man hanging above them coughed weakly. “I swear—I didn’t know—”
“Who sent you?” Veer’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and quiet.

No answer. Just labored breathing.

Veer tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. Aaryan immediately understood the signal. He pressed a button, and the pulley spun—turning the man faster, the chain cutting into his ankles. His scream echoed through the hall.

Neil winced playfully. “Ouch. That’s gonna leave a mark.” He took a slow sip of whiskey. “You sure you don’t want to try asking him politely, Veer? Maybe a smile could help. You know, customer service and all.”

“Neil,” Veer warned without even looking at him.

Neil sighed again. “There it is. The deadly one-word threat. Okay, fine. Silent mode activated.”

Veer walked closer to the prisoner, stopping just inches away. The faint reflection of the chandelier glinted against the ring on his right hand—black platinum, carved with intricate flames, the mark of Raavan.

The man’s eyes widened in terror. “Th-that ring…”

Veer didn’t move. “Say it.”

“T-the mark of Raavan,” the man whispered, trembling.

Neil smirked. “Congratulations. You’ve just identified the last thing most men see before they die.”

The man began to shake violently. “I didn’t know it was you! We thought it was a regular shipment!”

Kabir scoffed. “Regular shipment? That ship had the Black Vow seal. You’d have to be blind—or suicidal—not to know who it belonged to.”

Vivaan crossed his arms. “You really picked the wrong night, buddy.”

Veer leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but laced with venom. “You tried to hijack Raavan’s ship. That alone is reason enough for me to end you. But I’ll give you one chance—who sent you?”

“I–I don’t know his name,” the man stammered, eyes darting around. “We got a message. The payment came in double the usual amount. The man only said one thing—that it was time to remind Raavan that his empire wasn’t untouchable.”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “Bold words. Who said it?”

“He only called himself V.”

The room fell silent.

Aaryan frowned. “V? Never heard of him.”

Kabir muttered, “Could be one of the East Coast families trying to make a name again.”

Neil shook his head. “No one smart enough to hire this idiot could pull that off.” He turned back to the man. “You sure you never saw him?”

The man nodded frantically. “N-no. Only the message. Just the letter V in the sender ID.”

Veer’s gaze hardened. The glow of the chandelier caught the red glint on his ring again as he said, “And you thought you could steal from the Black Vow and walk away alive?”

The man froze. “B-Black Vow?”

Neil leaned closer, whispering mockingly, “You know… the organization that makes the devil’s empire look like a charity. Veer’s empire. The underworld bows to Raavan. That’s him.”

The prisoner’s face turned pale. His trembling intensified. He finally understood who stood before him—the man whose name alone could silence cities.

Veer’s voice was quiet, final. “Your mistake was not knowing. Your sin was touching what’s mine.”

He turned away, giving a simple nod. “Kabir.”

One clean, swift movement. Silence.

The metallic sound of the chain creaked once, then went still.

Neil placed his glass down with a sigh. “Well… there goes our witness. You really need to work on your questioning skills, Veer. People usually faint before they can spill anything useful.”

Veer ignored the remark, walking toward the sofa in the corner. His men immediately began cleaning up the mess. The air was heavy with the scent of smoke and rain.

He sat down, elbows on his knees, the firelight flickering across his face. Neil, unbothered by the grim atmosphere, poured himself another drink and flopped onto the opposite couch.

“So… a mysterious V who’s bold enough to mess with Raavan himself.” He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a suicide mission waiting to happen.”

Abhishek stood straight, calm as always. “Sir, I’ll start tracing every contact who received payment in the past forty-eight hours. We’ll find him.”

Veer nodded once, his expression unreadable. “Do that. And Neil, contact our port sources. I want every name that handled East route cargo this month.”

Neil gave a mock salute. “Yes, sir. Operation ‘Who the Hell is V’ starts tonight.”

Aaryan, Kabir, and Vivaan exchanged glances—none dared speak. They’d seen Veer like this before. Calm. Controlled. Deadly. The kind of calm that came before a storm that would leave cities burning.

The silence lingered for a moment before Neil, unable to resist, smirked again. “By the way, Veer… how’s the married life? You know—flowers, romance, soft music, maybe a candlelight dinner?”

Aaryan looked up instantly, biting back a laugh. Kabir hid a grin.
Veer didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink. He turned his head slowly toward Neil, eyes like ice.

Neil raised both hands. “Okay… wrong topic.”

But Veer spoke, voice low, emotionless. “You wanted to know? Fine. I’ll tell you everything.”

That one word—everything—was enough to make even Neil’s grin fade.

The rain outside grew heavier. The sound filled the room like a drumbeat of fate.

Veer leaned back, eyes fixed on the floor, and began to speak.
And for the first time that night, the demons went quiet.

Veer’s POV

The storm outside raged like it was reflecting the chaos in my head.

I told them everything.
Every detail that burned in my chest like acid.

By the time I finished, the room was silent — deathly silent.
No one dared to speak.

The clock on the far wall ticked too loud, like it was mocking the men who were supposed to be monsters but now sat frozen, processing what they had just heard.

Neil was the first to break it. His usually cocky grin was gone. His whiskey glass hung mid-air.

He stared at me like I’d said something impossible.
“You… made her climb thirty-two floors?” he said slowly, almost in disbelief.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. My silence was enough.

Neil’s voice rose, sharp. “Are you serious right now? Veer, you actually made her climb thirty-two floors just to see you?”

He looked at Abhishek next, anger flaring in his eyes. “Abhi, you were there, right? Why the hell didn’t you stop him? You supported this?”

Abhishek, usually stoic as a rock, flinched. His eyes dropped to the floor. “Orders are orders,” he said quietly.

Neil’s jaw tightened. “Orders?” He laughed bitterly. “She’s not one of your men, Abhi! She’s your bhabhi! You could’ve said no!”

Abhishek looked up, his expression unreadable. “You think I didn’t want to? You think I liked seeing her drenched and shaking on that terrace? But you know him, Neil. Once Veer decides something…”

He trailed off, glancing at me, then looked away again. “No one can change it.”

The words hung heavy.

And for the first time, I hated hearing the truth.

Aaryan, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His tone was calm, but his eyes were blazing. “So, Bhai… you’re telling us Bhabhi was blackmailed into this marriage? That too by her own father?”

His disbelief cut through the air like a knife.

I looked up at him, expressionless. “Yes.”

Kabir cursed under his breath. Vivaan’s hands clenched into fists.
Neil’s face darkened. “Her own father abandoned her, ignored her, and still blackmailed her?” He shook his head. “Unbelievable. But then again, for someone who’s been treated like she doesn’t matter her entire life… maybe blackmail isn’t anything new.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

The image of her face — pale, trembling, red-eyed — flashed again before me.

The way she said ‘the one who put sindoor in my hair doesn’t consider me his wife’ still echoed like a curse.

Neil stood abruptly and started pacing. “And with what did he blackmail her? What the hell could possibly make her agree to marry you?”

I looked at him — for the first time that night, truly looked at him.
“I don’t know,” I said finally.

Neil froze mid-step. “You… don’t know?”

I shook my head once. “All I know is that she said yes. And I signed those papers thinking I was marrying Shanaya.”

The silence that followed was different now.

Not cold. Not deadly.

Just heavy — suffocating.

Vivaan ran a hand through his hair. “So all this time… we thought Bhabhi was just some rich spoiled girl thrown into your world. But she—”

“She’s nothing like what we thought,” Aaryan finished quietly.
Neil let out a humorless laugh. “No kidding. We thought she was some delicate princess… turns out she’s been surviving hell since childhood.”

He turned to me again, eyes sharper now. “You know, Veer, you’ve faced bullets, betrayals, and enemies who’ve wanted your head for years. But bhabhi—” he pointed upstairs, toward the room Aranya was in, “—she’s faced something worse. Her own blood.”
I said nothing.

There was nothing left to defend.

Abhishek finally spoke, voice low. “Sir… bhabhi is different. Bhabhi is not like anyone we’ve ever met. The way she stood up today—after all that—you should’ve seen her eyes.”

I already had.

Those eyes had haunted me the whole drive back.
Neil leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So what now? You gonna keep pretending you don’t care? That you’re the Raavan who doesn’t feel guilt?”

I met his gaze — steady, cold. “Raavan didn’t regret his war. But he did regret the fire he couldn’t control.”

Neil frowned slightly and was quiet for a long time, staring at the floor as the rain lashed against the windows. Then he looked up — the usual mischief gone from his eyes.

“Veer,” he said slowly, voice low but cutting through the silence.

“If what bhabhi said is true… if everything she went through, every word she spoke—wasn’t a lie…”

He paused, leaning back in his chair.
“…then someday, you’ll regret this more than any bullet you’ve ever taken.”

The room went still.

Neil continued, his tone rough, almost like he didn’t want to say it but had to. “You’ve always been able to control everything—people, business, enemies. But emotions?”

He let out a bitter laugh. “That’s one war you’ll never win, Veer. And if she’s telling the truth… she’ll be the one battle you lose completely.”

No one spoke. Even Abhishek looked up, eyes flicking between us.
For a second, I thought of answering — to remind him that Veer Chauhan doesn’t lose.

But I didn’t.

Because for the first time in years, I wasn’t sure if I believed that anymore.

I just turned away.
“Abhishek,” I said, my tone clipped again. “Find out everything about her. What happened before the marriage. What happened the night she was blackmailed. Hospital records, background, all of it.”

He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Neil just sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Just remember what I said, Veer. Sometimes the scars we can’t see—burn the worst.”

I didn’t reply.

I started walking toward the glass door, the storm raging outside like a reflection of what was left inside me.

Behind me, Neil muttered to the others, “He’s pretending to be calm, but this man’s about to set fire to the world.”

Aaryan exhaled. “He always does.”

Vivaan asked quietly, “And what if he finds something he can’t handle?”

Neil’s lips curved into a smirk, but his eyes stayed serious. “Then God help whoever caused it. Because the last time Raavan felt something—cities burned.”

I stopped at the door, the glass fogging slightly under my breath. The lightning outside flashed, catching the golden reflection of the ring — the engraved flame of Raavan.

And I whispered, barely loud enough for even myself to hear,
“This time, I’ll find the truth. No matter what burns along the way.”

Then I walked out into the storm.

The storm outside had calmed, but inside, my head still wasn’t quiet.

The conversation with Neil, the silence that followed—it was all still burning under my skin.

I pushed open the secret passage behind the study wall and stepped into the dim room. The faint scent of rain and antiseptic hung in the air. The lamp was on, a soft orange glow spreading across the bed.

And there she was.

Aranya. Awake.

Sitting near the window, knees pulled close, her gaze lost somewhere beyond the glass. She looked neither angry nor sad—just… empty. Like someone who’d forgotten what emotion even felt like.

“You’re awake,” I said quietly.

She didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

I walked closer, keeping my tone gentle. “How do you feel now?”
No reply.

She sat still, her profile outlined by the light, the faint reflection of raindrops tracing down the window behind her.

I could tell—she wasn’t ignoring me out of attitude. She was simply… gone somewhere I couldn’t reach.

I swallowed the irritation rising in my throat. I wasn’t used to being ignored. Not by anyone. But this—this silence—felt different. It wasn’t rebellion. It was pain.

After a pause, I tried again. “You’re hungry?”

Nothing.

My jaw tightened. I hated silence more than shouting. I hated the way it made me feel helpless.

Still, I forced a steady breath and said softly, “I’ll bring something to eat.”

Without waiting for a reply, I left.

The house was quiet. Everyone had gone to sleep after the Navratri puja. The halls were dark except for the faint glow of the diya near the deity outside.

In the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator and scanned it. Every dish was heavy, spicy, oily—the exact opposite of what the doctor had advised. I exhaled sharply, shut it, and gathered whatever ingredients I could find—milk, fruits, oats, and a few light supplies.

It wasn’t the kind of food I ever made. But tonight, I didn’t care.
Minutes later, I was back in my room’s mini-kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring quietly. The sound of the spoon against the pan echoed in the silence. Simple. Plain. Nourishment. Something she might actually eat.

When I came back into the room, a strange sight met my eyes.
Aranya was standing, tiredly folding the bedsheet. She had dragged the pillow to the floor and was laying it down neatly beside the bed.

My brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer. Just continued arranging the sheet.
I placed the tray on the table and walked closer. “I asked you something.”

She turned to look at me, her eyes meeting mine for the first time since I entered. There was no anger there—no expression at all. Just… emptiness.

Something twisted inside my chest.

I took a step forward. “Ember, I asked you something.”

When she didn’t reply again, I caught her wrist and pulled her gently toward me. She stumbled slightly, landing against my chest. One hand caught her waist, the other stayed buried in my pocket, my gaze fixed on her face.

She froze. So did I.

Her breath brushed against my collar, her eyes flickered up for a second before she quickly looked away. The faint scent of rain still lingered in her hair.

I didn’t move. For a moment, the world narrowed down to the distance between us.

Then she whispered, “Sir, didn’t you order me to sleep on the floor?”

The words hit me harder than I expected.

No bed. No comfort. No place near me.

Now those same words burned through the silence like fire.
Without saying anything, I bent down, slipped an arm under her knees, another behind her back, and lifted her up. She gasped and struggled, but my grip didn’t loosen.

“Put me down!” she said weakly.

I didn’t reply. I carried her to the couch, ignoring her protests, and set her down carefully.

Then, without a word, I took the bowl and the spoon, walked to her, and held it out. “Eat.”

She turned her face away.

I sighed, my patience thinning. “Don’t make this harder. You haven’t eaten in days."
No response.

I brought the spoon closer again. She turned away again.
“Aranya,” I said sharply now, irritation edging my tone, “Why can’t you just—eat?”

Her head snapped up, her voice finally breaking. “Oh, with what relation are you scolding me, sir?”

I froze.

“I don’t have a relation with you or your family. So why is it necessary to tell you everything?”

Before I could react, she stood up and started to move away.
I caught her hand before she could. She stumbled and fell right onto my lap, eyes wide, breath caught.

For a few seconds, neither of us moved.

Her lashes fluttered. My hands were still holding her waist. Her heartbeat—fast, uneven—echoed in the small space between us.
“Ember…” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up. And our eyes met.

For one brief, dangerous heartbeat, time stopped.

Her lips parted slightly. My thumb brushed against her wrist unconsciously. The air felt heavier, her breath mixing with mine, heat pooling somewhere it shouldn’t.

Then reality hit her. She blinked, realized where she was, and quickly stood, moving back to the couch, her cheeks flushed.

“Ember,” I said again, trying to steady my voice. “Whatever is there, we can talk later. Right now, you need rest. And food. Sit quietly and eat.”

Her voice came out low but stubborn. “I’m not hungry.”

I stared at her, anger and concern fighting inside me. “Not hungry? For days? How can anyone survive like that?”

That was it. The final thread of patience inside her snapped.
“You want to know why I don’t eat?” she said, her tone breaking as her eyes filled with tears. “Fine. Then listen.”

My chest tightened instantly.

She took a breath, trying to stay strong, but her voice trembled.
“On my 12th birthday, I was admitted to the hospital. You know why?”

I stayed silent.

“Because the food I ate was poisoned.” Her lips trembled, her hands curling into fists. “The doctor said it was a dangerous dose. Everyone in the house ate the same meal—but I was the only one who got poisoned. Because I got the leftovers.”

Her voice cracked. “That’s when I realized… someone wanted me dead.”

I stood frozen.

“From that day,” she continued, tears spilling now, “I’ve been scared of food. I can’t eat anything cooked by others. I tried packed food—some made me sick, some I could barely keep down.”

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, trying to act strong even as her voice broke again.

“When my grandfather found out, he was the only one who made food for me. Only him. And now he’s gone.”

Her voice fell to a whisper. “So maybe I just… can’t eat anymore. Not without fear.”

Silence.

Painful. Heavy. Suffocating silence.

She turned away, took the bedsheet again, and lay down on the floor quietly, facing the wall. Her shoulders trembled once—then went still.

And I just sat there.
It felt like someone had pressed a knife right into my chest and twisted it slowly.

My hands clenched at my sides. My throat burned, my mind went blank.

This girl… the one I’d accused, punished, ordered to sleep on the floor—had been carrying a pain I couldn’t even imagine.

I sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor. The bowl of food sat untouched on the table.

For the first time in years… I didn’t know what to do.
And worse—I didn’t know how to fix something that wasn’t physical.

🦋𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕🦋

The silence stretched for a long time, broken only by the faint rustle of rain against the glass.

Veer picked up the bowl again and walked toward her.

She was lying on the floor, her face half-buried in the pillow, quiet sobs shaking her shoulders. For a second, he just stood there—this man the world bowed to, the name that sent shivers down every rival’s spine—helpless in front of his crying wife.

Then he slowly sat down beside her.

“Ember…” he said softly.
No response.

He tried again, his tone gentler this time. “Ember, look here.”
Still nothing.

His patience finally wavered, and his voice dropped, firmer now. “Aranya.”

That one word made her still. She wiped her tears quickly and turned her face slightly toward him.

“See…” he said quietly, holding out the bowl. “I made this for you. You can trust me.”

A faint, bitter chuckle escaped her lips. “The man who made his wife stand in the rain on their wedding night… and climb thirty-two floors for his ego… can also add poison to food.”

Her words hit sharper than any bullet ever could.

Veer’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he looked at the bowl in his hand—then, without hesitation, took a spoonful and ate it himself.

Aranya’s eyes widened instantly.

Her heart stumbled for a moment—watching him, Veer Chauhan, the man who never had to prove himself to anyone, eat from the same bowl just to show her she could trust him.

Butterflies fluttered painfully in her stomach, but she pushed them away.

He swallowed, looked straight at her, and said quietly, “See? I ate it. Nothing happened.”

Then he took another spoonful and held it out to her. “Now, eat.”

She blinked, frozen. The intensity in his eyes, the way his tone shifted—firm, but not cruel—it made her chest tighten.

When she didn’t move, he leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping low. “If you don’t eat now, I know a hundred ways to make you.”

Her breath hitched.

“And if you want,” he continued, the corner of his lips curving faintly, “I can try one right now.”

Her pulse jumped. His tone wasn’t a threat. It was something else—something that made warmth creep up her neck.

Before she could say anything, she took the spoon hesitantly and ate the bite.

A small smile ghosted across his face, subtle and unintentional, as he said quietly, “Good.”

She didn’t realize how or when, but slowly… she finished the bowl. Each bite felt strange—not because of the taste, but because he sat beside her the entire time, silent, watching, as if making sure she wouldn’t disappear again.

When she finally finished, he stood, took the bowl to the sink, rinsed it, then came back with her medicine.

“Here,” he said simply.

She didn’t argue this time—just took the tablets and swallowed them with water.

He stood there for a second, unsure what to say next. The air felt heavy but soft, fragile but not broken.

And then, before she could react, he bent down, slipped an arm beneath her knees and another behind her back, and lifted her up effortlessly.

Her eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. His expression remained unreadable as he carried her to the bed.

She struggled a little, her hands pressing lightly against his chest. “Put me down—”

He didn’t listen. He placed her gently on the bed, adjusted the blanket over her, and said in a calm but commanding voice, “You can sleep here. No arguments. You need rest.”

She stared up at him, stunned—not by his tone, but by how… gentle it sounded.

Veer turned away, loosening the top button of his shirt as he walked to the wardrobe. He changed into a dark t-shirt, ran a hand through his damp hair, and came back out.

She had already drifted into sleep, her breath soft, lashes trembling slightly even in dreams.

He stood there for a long moment, watching her—this woman who’d turned his world upside down without even trying.

Then he leaned down, brushed a soft kiss against her forehead, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary, and whispered something only the night could hear.

He straightened, took a pillow, and walked to the couch.
As he lay down, the faint moonlight spilled through the curtains, falling over both of them.

He closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come.

Because for the first time… Veer Pratap Singh Chauhan wasn’t thinking about his enemies, his empire, or his power.

He was thinking about her.

And wondering how much more pain she’d buried behind that silence.