SAANVI'S POV

"What happened after Yashwant walked away?"

I swallow, my eyes locked on the unblinking green stare of Mr. Wilson. He's not the only one watching, Avyaan, Kabir, Abhimaan, and all of their fathers are here too.

"That's my wife. Watch your approach." Rudra says to Mr. Wilson.

Mr. Wilson exhales. "Go on."

"That day," I begin, "as far as I remember... it was Yashwant and two other men with him, Roman and Jayden. I was on the road. Yashwant and Roman followed me. Jayden was inside the abandoned building where my mother was." I pause, replaying it in my head. "Before Yashwant could do anything, he got a call from Jayden. I couldn't hear all of it, but something in that conversation made him leave me there after threatening me. He went back to the building with Roman. After that..." I glance at Mr. Wilson. "You found me on the road."

"Did you see any vehicle pass by before I came to you? Anything at all, Saanvi?" Lorenzo Uncle asks.

I bite the inside of my lip, searching my memory. But all I remember is crying so hard my vision blurred. I shake my head slightly.

Kabir leans forward, looking at the others. "We can show her the licence plate of the guy who replaced Alfred, the one with the tracker. What do you say?"

They all give him the same flat stare. Veer Uncle smacks the back of his head. "Fufaji!" Kabir hisses, rubbing the spot.

"You idiot. She was a kid back then, and in shock. You really think she'd have noticed a license plate?" Veer Uncle says with a scoff.

"I sometimes wonder how he's my son," Nishkarsh Uncle mutters.

Kabir shrugs it off, fixing his hair.

"I think that's enough," Rudra cuts in, he looks at me. "Let's go."

I take his hand and let him guide me toward the cartel's entrance.

"Wait."

Rudra and I both stop. I turn to find Avyaan watching me, the kind that makes me feel like he's looking for evidence of something I haven't even done.

Rudra ask frustrated, "What now, Avyaan?"

He steps forward, closing the distance until I have to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes. "You said Yashwant left the moment he got that call. What exactly did he say?"

"He said... he'd take another route. And there was a name. He mentioned it while talking to Jayden."

"Do you remember the name?"

I close my eyes, digging into the memory. I know it. I promised myself I would never forget it. It's right there, hovering on the tip of my tongue, but refusing to come out. Before I can force it, Rudra's grip on my hand tightens.

"That's enough, Avyaan," he says, already steering me toward the exit.

But the name keeps pressing against my mind. I bite down on my lip, searching for it.

I stop walking. Rudra halts with me, his frown deepening. I turn back toward the others. Their faces are drawn, some with exhaustion, some with quiet defeat, as if they've already given up on getting anything more from me.

"I remember the name," I say.

OG exhales. "It's all right, Saanvi. Go home and res-"

"Andre. Andre Bernard."

The name leaves my lips before I can second-guess it and the effect was immediate. Every head turns toward me in perfect unison. They all stare, slowly processing, like they can't quite believe what they've heard. The room feels colder, the air suddenly heavier. Faces that were unreadable moments ago shift, breaking their stoic masks.

Beside me, Rudra goes rigid. His hand tightens around mine, his eyes locked on me as if he's not sure he heard correctly.

Mr. Wilson whispers, "What did you just say?"

"Andre Bernard," I repeat. "Yashwant mentioned him to Jayden that day. He said he'd take another route and to send Andre Bernard in his place."

OG, Veer Uncle, Lorenzo Uncle, Nishkarsh Uncle, and Mr. Wilson exchange loaded glances. Some rub their faces, others start pacing, each of them reacting in their own restrained but telling way.

Kabir, Avyaan, Abhimaan, and Rudra look at one another, visibly shaken. Even Avyaan's guarded expression slips.

Kabir looks at me in disbelief, "So all this time... Yashwant was Alfred."

The words hit me like a slap. "What?"

Veer Uncle drops into a chair with a heavy thud, disbelief flashing in his eyes. "You're telling me... all this time-" He shakes his head. "What the hell."

Nishkarsh Uncle leans back, his voice laced with bitter realization. "We searched the country for him. Every lead, every shadow... and he was here. Right in front of us. Living under a different name."

"How does Andre Bernard make Yashwant... Alfred?" I ask, the confusion and shock clear in my voice.

Abhimaan looks at me. "On April 5th," he says. "Alfred's car was tracked by the NVC. That's when Abhiraj uncle, Silas, and Lorenzo uncle were at the scene. They found you there. Later, that same car showed up again but it wasn't Alfred driving. It was Andre Bernard."

My lips part, trying to process the truth.

"Alfred sent Andre in his place. He ran. Left Andre to take the fall," Abhimaan finishes.

I swallow hard. This isn't just a personal vendetta, it's tangled in something bigger. Criminal networks, power plays. The kind of people you don't survive crossing. And it makes sense now... why Yashwant looked shaken that day. He was inches from being caught.

"Saanvi."

I look up. Lorenzo uncle steps forward and stops right in front of me. His eyes meet mine, "You just gave us the key to solving our most wanted case."

Veer Uncle rises. "Thank you," he says simply. "And don't worry. Your mother will get justice. That's our promise. NVC's promise."

My throat tightens, and I look down to hide the sudden sting of tears.

Lorenzo uncle's voice softens. "You remember what I called you that day?"

I meet his blue eyes, a lump rising in my chest. "Strong baby."

His hand comes up, gentle, cupping my cheek. "You are. You really are strong, Saanvi." He pats my head lightly. "The whole NVC stands with you. For you and your mother."

"True," Mr. Wilson says, his eyes locking with mine. "Your safety is our responsibility. Yashwant won't come near you again."

His gaze flicks sideways toward Rudra. I catch the look between them.

"Really, Silas?" Rudra says, his voice edged with sarcasm.

Silas says nothing. He just looks away.

"But with all this Yashwant and Alfred drama, one thing doesn't sit right." Everyone turns to Abhimaan, who's looking straight at Rudra. "Why is Saarth Taneja targeting Saanvi?"

That name makes my blood boil. I glance at Rudra.

Rudra, who hasn't been looking at me, finally meets Abhimaan's gaze. "That's... strange."

"Is he Yashwant's son?" Kabir asks, and the room goes quiet, everyone shooting him deadpan looks.

"How dumb can you be, Kabir?" Rudra scoffs. "How could Saarth Taneja be Yashwant Bansal's son?"

"Exactly," Nishkarsh Uncle says flatly. "And for your information, Yashwant's only son is Tapish Bansal."

Kabir raises his brows, nodding slowly. "Oh."

OG sighs and shakes his head. "I've told you before read the newspapers. They're full of business news. But Kabir, you always do the opposite."

OG and his endless relationship with newspapers.

Kabir just flashes him a grin.

"Kabir," Mr. Wilson says, "Find out everything you can about Saarth and Yashwant. There's more to their connection than we know."

"Yes," Rudra agrees, "There's definitely something there. Saarth knows about Mrs. Malhotra, about that day. His threats finally make sense."

"Threats?" I frown, looking at Rudra for answers.

He meets my eyes briefly, then shakes his head, refusing to say more.

"Okay. On it," Kabir says, standing straighter.

Veer Uncle raises an eyebrow. "You can handle this, right?"

Kabir grins, a flicker of confidence in his eyes. "Fufa ji, don't underestimate me. I'm one of the most successful agents in the NVC." He winks.

Veer Uncle sighs, shaking his head.

Mr. Wilson turns to Rudra. "I think Saanvi needs a personal bodyguard."

Bodyguard? I glance at Rudra. This man is already glued to me like a shadow. The only privacy I get is when I'm in the bathroom.

Mr. Wilson makes a call, and a few minutes later there's a knock on the door. The man who steps inside is tall, in his early thirties, with a calm, stoic expression that barely cracks. His skin was tanned, his build solid and muscular without being bulky. He wears a simple black fitted shirt and dark tactical pants and black boots.

"He's Khalid," Mr. Wilson says nodding toward him. "Your bodyguard."

Kabir snorts. "Khalid? Ye to mera admi hai." (This is my man.)

Veer Uncle snaps. "Kabir, admi aurat ka drama baad mein. Abhi Saanvi ki jaan khatre mein hai." (Kabir, the man-woman drama can wait. Right now, Saanvi's life is in danger.)

Kabir rolls his eyes, then looks at me. "Listen, doctor. Khalid's mine. Once this mess is over, I'm taking him back."

"That sounds... wrong," Abhimaan mutters, rubbing his brow.

I think the same. Kabir gives off enough suspicious homoerotic energy lately first with Avyaan, now with this bodyguard. Not that I mind, BL is actually one of my favorite genres.

Kabir frowns, probably sensing my silent judgment.

"Ignore him," OG says, stepping closer and pulling me into a brief hug. I return it, grateful. "Khalid starts tomorrow. Take care. If you feel low, call me or Adrika. We'll be there."

I nod.

"Let's go," Rudra says, and I take one last look at the room before following him out.

✿✿✿✿✿

"What's wrong, stupid nurse?"

I place the glass on my desk after swallowing the medicine and look up at my phone screen. OG's face fills the screen, sitting in his office.

I sigh and shake my head.

"Stop lying. Your face clearly shows something's off," he says, leaning back, folding his hands.

He always notices.

"I... I don't even know how to say this. I'm confused," I admit, rubbing my palms on my lap.

"What is it?" he asks.

"It's been two months since I found out the truth, I understand they were protecting me. But OG..." I meet his gaze. "Those years, for me, they were real. And now... there's distance between me and my dad, Vikram bhai. I don't know how to fix it. I can't go back to how things were, not really. I might sound selfish, but it's hard to give them that place in my heart again. I don't want to hurt them. I know they sacrificed so much, but I keep remembering everything, the lonely nights, the nightmares, watching other kids with their families and craving that. I feel... selfish for even thinking it." I drop my eyes to my lap.

"Saanvi," he says softly, and I look up.

"It's not your family's fault," he says. "And it's not yours either. What you're feeling... it's human. It's real, there's nothing wrong with feeling hurt, confused, or even angry. That doesn't make you selfish. Feeling is not a crime. Wanting love, wanting connection, wanting the time you missed... that's not weakness. That's being human."

I swallow, letting his words sink in, feeling a small warmth spread across my chest.

"Sometimes," he continues, "we carry guilt for the things that aren't ours to carry. We punish ourselves for wanting what everyone else seems to have had naturally. But life isn't fair, Saanvi. And it's okay to mourn what you missed, even while you embrace what you have now. Your family didn't abandon you, they were doing what they thought was right. And that doesn't diminish your pain. It doesn't erase the loneliness you felt. Both are real, and both deserve to be acknowledged."

I nod slowly, my hands gripping my lap. It's strange... comforting... to hear someone say what I've felt for months, but never put into words.

"I don't blame Anubhav, and I don't blame your bhai. They were forced into choices they didn't want to make. But love... real love... it doesn't disappear. It persists, even behind walls, even behind fear and distance. They love you, Saanvi. And that love will find its way back, if you let it. You don't have to pretend everything is okay. You don't have to erase your feelings to make it easier for them. Healing is messy, and it takes effort, from both sides."

He leans forward slightly, his eyes holding mine like he can see every crack in my heart.

"That's why Anubhav asked for a chance. Not just your forgiveness. As a father myself, I have deep appreciation and respect for him, for the courage it takes to step forward when the bond between you has been strained. He knows things aren't like they used to be, but he's willing to put in the effort, not because it's easy or convenient, but because he loves you enough to bridge that distance. To earn back a place in your life that he may have once lost, or that you felt was lost, and to rebuild the bond that was always meant to be there. Let them close that gap. It won't happen overnight, but... trust the process."

I blink, overwhelmed, a tight knot loosening in my chest.

"Life doesn't give us everything we want," he continues, almost like he's speaking to the part of me that's still a little girl, "but it gives us what we need, if we are brave enough to accept it. Pain teaches us, loss teaches us, distance teaches us. And love... love teaches us the strength we never knew we had. You're allowed to feel it all, Saanvi. And you're allowed to let it in. You're allowed to forgive, to try again, to open yourself to those who deserve it. Healing doesn't come in a straight line. It comes in small moments, in choices you make each day, in the courage to be vulnerable."

I exhale. For the first time in months, it feels lighter, as if someone handed me a candle in a dark room and told me I could find my way.

"Time will help," he says, "but even if time fails, the ones who love you will keep trying. And you... you have to be brave enough to let them. That's all anyone can ask of you. That's all anyone can do for you. Give yourself permission to be loved, Saanvi. Not because you're perfect. But because you're human. Because you deserve it. Always."

I blink back tears, the lump in my throat finally loosening. OG is nothing less than a therapist. I thought I didn't have a father, and now I have two.

"I want to hug you so hard right now," I say, leaning across my desk.

He straightens his blazer, shrugging lightly. "I'm not interested in being hugged, unfortunately."

I roll my eyes. Classic OG, spoiling the moment.

"I'm telling this to Maa," I glare, he gives me a bored look. "By the way... how's she?" I ask.

He smiles. "Beautiful, as always."

I chuckle. "Well, she is. No wonder your 'arranged marriage' worked out so well." I tease.

He rubs his face, frustrated. "Adrika seriously needs to stop oversharing our marriage details with you, you're such a spoiled brat." he scoffs.

Before I can fire back, a notification pops up, Rudra calling. I groan and press my temples.

"What is it now?" OG asks.

"Your sweet son is calling me,"

He just chuckles. "Well, manage yourself. Bye-bye."

Before I can respond, the call ends.

AUTHOR'S POV

"Come in."

Saanvi steps into the cabin and finds Rudra lounging in his chair. He looks at her, exhales slowly, and leans back.

"Why did you call me?"

He tilts his head. "I wanted tea. You're making it. Go get it from the cafeteria."

Saanvi's blood runs hot. "Excuse me?"

"Did you not hear me? Go get the tea," he says, an infuriating smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"For your information, Mr. Singhania, I'm not here to serve you," she snaps, stepping closer, fists lightly clenched. "Call someone else."

"Well, it's my order," he shrugs, shifting slightly in his chair, smirking just enough to irritate her further.

Saanvi inhales slowly, letting her anger simmer. "You want it, Mr. Singhania?"

He nods,

A sly, almost imperceptible smile flickers across her face. "I'll get it in a few minutes," she says, pivoting sharply on her heel and leaving the room.

Rudra lets out a quiet chuckle as she disappears.

A few minutes later, she returns with a cup in hand. He notices, every sway of her hips, the subtle tension in her shoulders. He leans forward on his desk, resting chin on his knuckles, one hand spinning a pen absently, gaze devouring her.

She stops at his desk, setting the cup down with deliberate care. Her eyes flick to his, and subtly, she retrieves a small vial from the back pocket of her trousers, which she injects into the tea with seamless precision.

"You know what this is?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "Enlighten me,"

"This is fentanyl. One sip, and it could stop your breathing. Your death would be... exquisite," she says, sarcasm sharp and icy. "Thought I'd try something new for my hospital MD."

Rudra doesn't answer right away. His eyes trace the line of her jaw, the curve of her lips, and the way her amber eyes catch the light, the stoicism of her expression, the few strands of hair that fall across her face. A slow swallow betrays the tension in him. His gaze slides down her body, slowly exploring, taking in every contour with an intensity that leaves no inch unclaimed. His fingers tighten around the pen, but his eyes never leave hers. He raises an eyebrow, "You think a lot for me, Pearl. Thank you, I suppose."

Saanvi slides the cup slightly to the side, "Have your last tea, Mr. Singhania, because after this... you won't get to order me around again."

Rudra leans back, eyes locked on hers with a smile curving his lips. "Sure, Mrs. Singhania," he says, reaching for the cup.

Her own smile falters. A flicker of unease flashes in her eyes as he raises it toward his lips.

Then she springs forward across the desk slapping it away. The cup crashes to the floor, shattering, tea splattering across the polished surface. She stares at the mess on the floor, chest rising and falling hard.

She looks up to see Rudra lounging back in his chair as if he's watching a performance he paid for. One hand rests on the armrest, the other spins his pen in slow, lazy circles. His mouth curves, smug, satisfied, annoyingly gorgeous.

"You are a fucking psychopath," she snaps, her voice shaking with both anger and disbelief. "I told you, you could have died. And you were still about to drink that tea."

He shrugs, a slow lift of one shoulder that somehow manages to look both casual and arrogant. "After it was handed to me by my sweet wife?" His gaze drags over her like he's undressing every layer of her restraint. "How could I possibly throw it away just because you decided to add... a touch of something fatal? That would be bad manners."

Her mouth falls open. "So if I hand you poison-" she scoffs, shaking her head. "Actually, I did almost hand you poison. And you-being the sick, psycho bastard you were about to drink it anyway?"

"That's the problem with you. You think I'm scared of what you can do to me. I'm not. If it's you handing me the glass, I'll drink. Even if it's the last thing I taste."

Her mouth opens but no words come out for a second. She shakes her head. "You sick fuck. You're completely fucking deranged. Twisted in the head. I don't even know how the hell you live with yourself."

Finally, his smirk turns into something warmer, softer around the edges. "There she is," he murmurs, "My woman. The one who swears at me, fights me, threatens to kill me. I was getting tired of that silent little ghost walking around. This-" his gaze flicks over her, "-is better." Relief softened his face as he took in the return of her fierce, unfiltered self. Seeing her withdrawn and hollow these past months had unsettled him more than he would ever admit.

She exhales hard, rubbing her face with both hands. "You need professional help. Your brain is fucked."

He leans back again, still watching her because for him she's the only thing in the room worth looking at. "Maybe. But I'm not the one who just tried to poison her husband."

Before she can even form a word, his fingers close around her wrist. One sharp pull and she's dragged forward, colliding with his lap.

Her breath catches, the suddenness rattling her. She plants her palms on his chest to push away, but his arm hooks around her waist, drawing her back into him until her spine is pressed flush against the solid wall of his body. His other hand slides lower, finding her thigh. His palm spreads there, warm and possessive, fingertips brushing the inner edge just enough to make her muscles tighten.

She stares down at his forearm braced across her stomach, where it traps her in place, the raised veins, the strength beneath skin, and those faint crescent marks from her nails. She remembers that night, her desperation, the taste of pills almost in reach, and the way he'd wrenched them from her hand. She'd clawed at him until she left her mark.

"You say I need help..." His voice comes low and rough near her ear, the rumble of it sliding right through her. Her fingers involuntarily grip his forearm tighter.

He tilts his head until his lips almost brush the shell of her ear. "You say my brain is fucked up..." His mouth trails closer, his breath grazing the curve of her neck.

She draws in a sharp breath, lips pressing together as a shiver works down her spine.

"Then help me, Doctor." His thumb presses slowly into the muscle of her thigh, just enough to make her knees want to close.

Her thighs clench, eyes shut, her body betrays her before she can find the right words.

And Rudra feels it, because of course he does. His lips curl into a slow smile against her skin.

"Leave me." Her voice trembles.

In an instant, his grip loosens from her waist, his hand sliding away from her thigh without resistance. The abrupt release catches her off guard, a flicker of frustration sparking in her chest, she had not expected him to actually let go so easily.

Heat floods her cheeks as she pushes herself off his lap, and walks away in hurried steps. Not once does she look back.

Rudra turns his chair slightly toward the door, the curl tugging at his lips as he watches her disappear.

✿✿✿✿✿

"Naina, we'll be back tomorrow morning. Lock the door, it's already dark. And don't open it for anyone, even if they say they know us." Naina's mother stands in the doorway with her bag slung over her shoulder, the streetlight outside catching the edge of her concerned face.

Naina leans against the doorframe, eyes flicking from her mother then to her father who's hovering just behind. He's already fighting back a chuckle. "Mummy, you've been saying this to me since I was eight. Now go. Bye." She pushes the door closed before her mother can get another word in.

From the other side, she hears her mother's indignant voice "Isko sharam hi nahi hai, maa se aise baat karti hai..." (She has no shame, talking to her mother like that...)

She ignores it, stretching her arms with a yawn. The hem of her loose top rides up. She makes her way to her room, doesn't bother with the lights, and drops face-first onto the bed. Her bare legs, only in shorts, sprawl across the sheets in her usual lazy habit.

Rolling over, she grabs her phone from the side table. The moment her screen lights up, her gaze freezes.

There's someone in the corner. The figure leans against the wall, face hidden in the dimness. Only a strip of moonlight cuts across the room, outlining their silhouette.

Her breath stumbles. "Mummy!" she screams, heart jackhammering. She snatches the glass of water from her nightstand and flings it toward the intruder, then bolts for the door. She doesn't make it two steps before a hand catches her wrist, yanking her back.

"Mummy! Papa! Help!" she shouts, thrashing in the grip.

"Shut up, Naina."

The voice freezes her mid struggle. She knows it instantly. "Vedant?"

He doesn't answer right away, just eases her onto the bed before stepping back. When she leans forward to get a better look at his face, the shadows give him away. It is him.

You-" she scoffs, storming to the light switch and flicking it on. His shirt clings damp to his chest, the wet fabric tracing the lines of muscle underneath. She marches back toward him, grabs his collar, and yanks him forward. "You absolute asshole." His hands instinctively find her waist. "You break into my house, scare the hell out of me do you know I almost had a heart attack?"

"You weren't talking to me," he says simply. "Wouldn't even look at me."

She shoves him, hard enough that he stumbles back and sits on the edge of her bed. "Phone. Now." She holds out her hand. He doesn't argue, just reaches into his pocket and places it in her palm, his gaze locked on her face the entire time.

"How am I supposed to know your password?" she says. "What is it?"

He presses his lips together, staring at his lap.

"Is it my name?" she asks, raising a brow.

He shakes his head.

"Then what?"

"...1234."

She stares at him like she can't believe it. "Pathetic."

He looks away, embarrassment crossing his features. She unlocks the phone and scrolls through his gallery. Nothing unusual, no hidden folders. No stalker level shrine. She switches it off and tosses it back. "Get out."

"You thought I had your pictures?" he asks. "That I was stalking you?"

Her silence answers for her.

He unlocks the phone again, his fingers moving quickly, and then hands it back. This time, her throat tightens. Every photo is of her, all candid. Sitting in the hospital lobby, at the cafeteria, sipping cold coffee.

He stands up, closing the distance between them until she's forced to tilt her chin.

"This is wrong," she murmurs.

"I know."

Her fingers tighten around the phone before she shoves it back into his hands. "Leave, Vedant."

"Don't ignore me, Naina." His hand reaches up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. Her eyelids flutter shut at the contact, a sharp tug in her chest she doesn't want to acknowledge. "Please."

When she looks at him again, he's close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. She swallows hard, pushes him back, and wipes her forehead.

For a beat, he just watches her, "You made me wet."

Her head jerks up, eyes wide.

He points to his chest, where his shirt clings damp to his skin. She exhales, "Go home and change."

"How am I supposed to go like this?"

She groans and turns toward the door. "Wait here. I'll get one of my dad's T-shirts."

But his footsteps follow hers down the hall. "Will you stop following me?" she snaps, spinning to face him.

He shakes his head. She opens her mouth to retort, but the doorbell rings.

"Who's at this hour?" he mutters, frowning.

She stares at him. "Genius, I'm standing right here. How would I know?" She heads for the door, him trailing close behind. Peering through the peephole, she spots her neighbor, the nosy one.

Turning sharply, she shoves Vedant against the wall with more force than necessary. His eyes widen.

"Not. A. Word," she glares.

Then she straightens, deliberately musses her hair, and opens the door with a fake yawn.

"Naina, beta! I heard you scream. Are you okay?" the woman says, craning her neck to peek inside.

Naina gives her an awkward chuckle. "Yeah, Aunty, everything's fine. I just... saw a tiger." The words slip out before she can stop them, and she immediately regrets it.

The woman blinks. "A tiger? In your house?"

Realizing her mistake, Naina backtracks fast. "Use your brain, Aunty. Obviously not in my house. I saw it in my dream. That's why I screamed." She flashes an innocent smile.

The woman relaxes a little. "Oh. By the way, did you hear? Mihika's daughter ran away with her boyfriend yesterday-"

"Aunty!" Naina cuts in, plastering on a polite smile. "I'm extremely sleepy and not in the mood for a full episode of 'Aunty News Network' right now. Tomorrow, okay? Good night, bye!" She shuts the door before the woman can protest, she exhales sharply, leaning on the door for a second, then turns to find Vedant still leaning against the wall, watching her.

"What?" she snaps. "Don't look at me like that."

Without waiting for a reply, she stomps off to her father's room, returns with a T-shirt, and tosses it at him. He catches it easily.

"Go to my room. Change. Don't touch anything or I'll throw you out the window," she says, already marching toward the kitchen.

In the kitchen, she downs a glass of water in one go, then fans herself with her hand. She squeezes her eyes shut, telling herself not to replay the earlier moment where Vedant was too close for comfort, or maybe just close enough.

She shakes her head, muttering, "Get a grip, woman."

By the time she heads back to her room, she's convinced she's in control again. But when she pushes the door open, her eyes go wide.

✿✿✿✿✿

Rudra was deep in a contract file when his phone vibrates across the desk. He tucks it between his ear and shoulder without looking up, fingers still flipping pages.

"Mr. Singhania,"

"Yes, Khalid? Is Saanvi alright?" Rudra asks, eyes still on the page.

"For now, yes. I'm not sure about later," Khalid says.

That makes Rudra pause. He lowers the file onto the desk and stands, pulling his blazer from the back of the chair. "What do you mean?"

"She's drunk. At a club. And... I think you should come."

"Send me the location," Rudra says, ending the call before Khalid can respond. He snatches up his car keys and walks out.

-----------

Rudra slams the car door shut, the sound echoing in the night air, and strides toward the club entrance. As he walks, he rolls his shirt sleeves up to his forearms.

Inside, the space was pulsing with low bass and strobing red and blue lights. Bodies move in a chaotic rhythm, the air thick with perfume, sweat, and alcohol.

"Mr. Singhania."

He turns his head to find Khalid. Khalid doesn't waste time, he tilts his chin toward the stage.

Rudra follows the gesture and freezes for a beat. Saanvi is in the middle of the floor, her body swaying in a skintight dress that clings to her curves, hem barely brushing her thighs, neckline dipping far lower than he can ignore. Her hair spills down in loose curls, catching the light as she moves.

He exhales sharply through his nose and looks back at Khalid. "Go. I've got her."

Khalid nods once and leaves.

When Rudra looks at her again, someone else has already noticed her too. A man, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie hanging loose like he just left the office, steps in close. Too close.

Rudra's gaze sharpens, his eyes locking onto the man with a quiet, lethal focus as he moves through the crowd toward them.

Saanvi feels fingers brush her waist. She blinks, trying to focus, and finds the stranger smiling at her. She pushes at his chest, but the alcohol in her system dulls her strength.

Then, abruptly, his hand is gone.

She glances to the side just in time to see another hand gripping the man's wrist, strong fingers digging in with pressure. The man barely has time to gasp before there's a sharp, unmistakable crack. His scream cuts through the music, drawing glances from nearby dancers.

Saanvi flinches at the sound, swaying on her feet. She turns and her forehead bumps into a solid chest. A familiar scent surrounds her, her gaze lifts slowly, finding deep sepia eyes staring down at her.

Her fingers clutch at his shoulders for balance. "Rudra," she breathes.

The man was still groaning, cradling his wrist, but Rudra doesn't look at him. His arm slides around Saanvi's waist, steadying her against him as if the rest of the room has ceased to matter.

The crowd's attention shifts like a tide. Conversations fade, music screeches to a halt, and the lights slam on, bleaching the scene in stark clarity. All eyes landed on the man, clutching his wrist and swearing under his breath.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he barks, his voice cracking with pain.

"She was shoving you off, and you still had your filthy hands crawling over her like some gutter rat."

The man straightens enough to glare back. "And who the hell are you to decide that?"

"Her husband."

That shuts the man up for a second, but his pride rallies. His eyes flick to Saanvi, taking in the dress. "Then why is she wearing something like that? I'd assume she's looking for attention."

Rudra stares dead into his eyes, "You wear a tie. Should I assume you're asking to be strangled with it?"

The man's mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

The club manager appears, scanning the scene. "Rudra? You? Is everything alright?"

"You should be asking me," the injured man snaps. "He broke my damn wrist."

Rudra doesn't even look at him. "Throw him out. And make sure he doesn't set foot in here again." His hand tightens protectively at Saanvi's waist, pulling her closer without a thought.

The manager hesitates only long enough to remember exactly who he's dealing with. He knows better than to argue. A gesture to security is all it takes two guards move in, each grabbing an arm. The man resists, shouting protests, but his voice is quickly swallowed by the crowd as they drag him toward the exit.

Rudra lowers his head to her ear, "Let's go home."

Saanvi doesn't move. She's still pressed against him, swaying slightly from the alcohol. Her lips brush against his jaw as she mutters, "No. I want to dance more."

He exhales slowly, the sound more irritated than surrender, his gaze dragging down her outfit and then sweeping over the crowd. Every man's eyes linger too long. He turns his head toward the manager.

"I want this place empty. Now."

The manager blinks, startled. "Sir, that's really not-"

"I'll pay you twice what you make in a month," Rudra says, already bored with the conversation.

The man stammers, "But-"

"Thrice." Rudra doesn't even let him finish. "And the offer stays for about ten more seconds, don't test me, because I'm not the kind of idiot who keeps raising the price until you stop me."

The manager swallows, nods once, and gestures to security.

"Clear it out. Ten minutes."

Fifteen minutes later, the club is a graveyard. No music, no bodies, no eyes on her except his.

Rudra releases her waist, stepping back just enough to put space between them.

"Now...dance." His tone drips with mockery as he walks to the bar, picks up a bottle of wine without asking, and pours himself a glass. He drops into a nearby couch, stretches one arm along the backrest, phone on the other hand, sipping lazily.

Saanvi sways slightly, watching him, irritation bubbling in her chest at how he's ignoring her now. She stumbles toward the DJ controls, hooks up her phone, and picks a song.

When she steps back onto the stage, he's still sitting there, sprawled, his eyes flicking up only long enough to give her a slow once over before going back to his phone.

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