SAANVI'S POV

Breathing heavily, I enter the bedroom and immediately walk toward the bathroom door, slamming my fist against the wood.

"Rudra! Open the door right now!" I yell, harshly pulling the doorknob. "Rudra, please. Just open the door."

Rudra is suicidal.

Rudra is suicidal.

So does that mean that day...

"That was a scalpel wound. You need the damn injection. And it goes in your upper arm, so remove your shirt."

"Umm... that's okay. I'll get it done somewhere else."

So this is why he didn't remove his shirt that day? I thought it was just needle phobia, a silly little fear. It means he was already self harming even before he came here as a Managing Director. And that day I stabbed him—fuck! I actually cut him, too.

I look at the door and slam my palm hard against it again. "Rudra, open the damn do-"

The door clicks and swings inward. He steps out, his hair damp, wearing a light blue shirt and white casual pants.

"What's with the shouting?" he asks, a slight frown creasing his brow.

My eyes fall immediately into his shirt. Just below his left ribcage, there's a small, damp area, and a faint, dark line of red is blooming into the light blue fabric. My certainty solidifies into a sickening dread.

Swallowing down the bile, I step closer. My hands dart out, moving for the buttons before I can even fully process the action.

"Hey! What are you doing?" He grabs my wrists immediately stopping me mid button.

"Open your shirt," I state.

"Pearl, you're getting quite bold these days," he murmurs, attempting to inject lightness and a familiar flirtatiousness into the tension. He gives my wrist a small, reassuring squeeze, the action completely contradicting the fear in his eyes. "I understand what you want to do, but not today, okay? I'm just a little tired. Let's just go to sleep."

Tears instantly sting my eyes, blurring his face. "Let me see, Rudra. Please."

His attempt at a smile falters, his throat working hard as he swallows. "No-"

Before he can fully register my intent, I move. He tries to bring his hands up, a panicked, defensive reflex, but my fingers snag the edges of his collar, and with a terrible surge of adrenaline fueled strength, I rip the entire front of the shirt open.

A sharp gasp rips from my lips, and my hands fly to my mouth, not in surprise, but in sheer horror. From his chest down to his waist, his body is a canvas of self inflicted violence. Scars, thin and silver, crisscross older, wider ones, all overlaying the taut muscle of his abdomen. Then, my focus snaps to the newest injury, a fresh, deep cut, still oozing blood.

"Get out."

My eyes snap up to his face. He stands rigid, his teeth gritted, eyes squeezed shut against the sight of my reaction and the wreckage of his body.

"Rudra-"

"I said leave." His voice is a harsh, broken whisper. I stand rooted, staring at the raw, undeniable evidence of his silent suffering. I take one hesitant step toward him, my hand lifting toward the bleeding wound. He lunges, not aggressively, but with the desperate speed of a man drowning, catching my wrist and turning his back to me. He starts dragging me toward the door.

"Rudra, wait! Let me help, you're bleeding, Rudra!" I protest, trying to plant my feet, but he's stronger, fueled by sheer panic and shame. He drags me across the threshold and shoves me gently but firmly out of the room.

"Rudra-"

"I don't need your help," he cuts me off, his voice cracking with intensity. "And for God's sake, just leave me alone for some time. Go sleep in your own room." His eyes are red rimmed, glistening with suppressed tears, and my heart shatters, seeing him reduced to this desperate, cornered state.

"Rudra, please, we need to-" Before I can complete the sentence or step back toward him, he slams the heavy door shut between us.

"Rudra! Please open the door!" I shout, slamming my palm against the wood. "I know you're hurt, Rudra!" My throat tightens, the tears I had been fighting finally spilling hot and freely down my face. "Don't push me away. Let me in, please."

I knock softly with my palm, then more urgently, but he doesn't respond. Slowly, I sink down onto my knees, still pressing my forehead against the door. "It's alright Rudra. Take your time," I whisper, wiping the tears on the back of my hand. "I'm right here, just behind you, waiting for you. So don't worry." I press my palm flat against the door. "Take as much time as you need, and don't worry about me leaving. I am staying. I am not abandoning you. No matter what that looks like, I will always choose to stay with you."

A slight, choked sound, a suppressed cry reaches me from the other side.

My heart aches, a sharp, physical pain. I control my own sob, sucking in a ragged breath. I know he is weeping just a few feet away. He's too close, yet so far. It's not the door that creates this distance. It's the sheer weight of his pain, his fears, and my own confusing failure to see it sooner. It hurts so badly to see him like this, all I want is to tear the door down, hold him tightly, and let him finally break in my arms.

"Don't push me away, Rudra," I say, staring at the spot where my palm rests. "Don't think I'll walk out. It's okay. This isn't you. It was your fears. Not your fault. Not you." I say gently. "I trust the man behind that door. Just let me in, Rudra. Don't keep me out."

I hear a subtle metallic click and the door swings back. I look up and see him standing there, his shoulders shaking, his face wet with tears, looking at me with a desperate, wounded vulnerability I've never seen before.

I scramble to my feet in a rush, closing the final space between us. He doesn't move, just stares. I don't speak, don't ask, don't try to touch the wounds. I simply wrap my hands around his body, over the torn shirt, over the raw scars, pulling him fiercely against me, hugging him to my chest with everything I have left.

I lean back slightly and use my hands to cup his wet, cold cheeks. I look into his eyes. "Who did this to you?"

His jaw trembles under my palms. "I did it," he whispers, fighting another wave of tears, his gaze still avoiding mine.

I shake my head firmly, keeping my thumbs brushing his tear tracks, forcing him to meet my eyes again. "I'm asking who made you like this? Who made you feel you had to do this to your body? Just tell me the name. I need the name."

His blurry, wounded eyes lock onto mine for a painful second, and he shakes his head, a slight, miserable motion.

"I promise you, whatever it is, I know it's not your fault. I'm not going to blame you, Rudra." I reassure him softly as I rub my thumb across his cheekbone. "I just need that name. I swear I'll burn that person alive."

"You won't," he whispers.

"I will," I insist. "For you, I fucking will." I lean in and press a long, tender kiss to his forehead. He closes his eyes, a flicker of surrender crossing his face.

If it's that manipulative bitch Anvika, if he's self harming because of her, I swear I'll actually lose my mind and really burn her to the ground. But looking at his terrified, fragile state, I know he won't tell me anything if I push this, and I've already forced him too much.

"Come with me." I take his hand gently, tugging him toward the bed. I guide him to sit down, then grab the first aid box and place it beside him. I reach for the ragged edges of his torn shirt to remove it completely, but he catches my wrist again.

"I can do it myself," he mutters.

I immediately release my wrist and pull the tattered shirt completely away from his body. I open the kit and take out a fresh piece of cotton. I settle closer to him on the bed, hip to hip, and start cleaning the area around the worst cut. "I know you can," I tell him softly, applying light pressure to stop the seepage. "But your doctor is right here for you. You don't have to manage a wound like this alone."

He doesn't react, just exhales a long, heavy sigh.

I discard the used cotton, apply the antibacterial gel gently to the new wound, and then move with the same care to trace the lines of the older, faded scars.

"Are you pitying me?" he asks abruptly. I pause, looking up to meet his eyes. "I'm not weak and you don't need to pity me. I'd honestly prefer if you just kept hating me rather than looking at me with those eyes, like I need saving."

"I'm not pitying you. And you know that better than anyone." I finish applying a bandage over the fresh cut, put the gel away, and push the first aid box aside. I take both his hands in mine, holding them securely. "And when did I say you were weak?" I ask, looking straight into his soul. "And Rudra, even if you were, does it matter?"

"It does matter," he immediately counters, pulling his hands tighter against mine. "It matters more than anything."

I frown slightly. What kind of cruel, impossible standard is he living by?

"For me, that doesn't matter at all." I tell him squeezing his hands, trying to ground him in the present. "I see you, Rudra. Only you. And what I see is a truly brave and very strong man. Believe me. And even if you weren't strong even if you crumbled, I would still choose to stay right here."

And I would still love you.

He stares at me, his tear filled eyes wide, as if he's internalizing the concept of unconditional acceptance for the first time. I realize now that my anger has to be completely shelved. He needs pure, uncomplicated emotional support.

"Rudra. Tell me honestly. Did you hurt yourself... because of me?"

He violently shakes his head. "No. No, Pearl, it's not your fault. Don't blame yourself."

"Tell me, Rudra, please. I need to know." I urge him gently. "Don't hide this, not after you already hid this..." I stop speaking, my eyes falling to the intricate network of scars on his abdomen. Softly, slowly, I place my palm flat against his skin, covering the healed lines. "Am I the reason for the pain?"

He places his hands over mine, his larger, warmer palm enveloping my own. He strokes my skin gently, a subtle, constant reassurance. "It's not you. Believe me. It's all my own doing," he says, looking down at our intertwined hands resting on his lap. A tear slides from his eye, hitting my knuckles. "You come into my dreams," he whispers. "That day... the last thing I heard was you begging me to stay, and I walked out. It just loops... in my mind. And then because of me, you ended up in the hospital, and I wasn't there. Instead, you heard that goddamn awful news..." He stops, physically unable to complete the sentence, his head dropping slightly in shame.

This man. Yes, I had wanted him to regret what he did to me, wanted him to feel the absence I felt, but I never wanted him to carry this kind of crushing guilt and self loathing.

But I cursed him. I see it now. I tied him to a dark, medieval fate with my bitterness, and he is actually carrying that curse.

My eyes involuntarily drift to the decorative shelf across the room, to the glass box I placed there long ago. The red roses inside the box, the one I had intended to give him that day but couldn't, is still saved. Every single petal has long since shed. Only the dried, stiff stems remains.

According to the fairytale I clung to, the Beast's curse should have been broken before the last petal fell. But the petals are all dried and gone. And yet, the curse is still running its course. And one thing I know with absolute, agonizing certainty is that Rudra can't go back to that prince he was, the easy, uncomplicated man of charm and relentless hope. He will stay the Beast I once thought I utterly despised.

But today is the day the narrative flipped. Today, I choose. Today, I, Saanvi, chose this Beast over the prince I once thought was my ideal.

And I am going to rip this damn curse right out of his soul. I have to. And I will. Even if he remains this damaged, all I know is that I will love him this way, always.

Fuck the prince.

I tighten my grip on his hands. "You say those memories of me begging you, come back to you." I say. "But I wonder why the memories of me looking at you like you are my entire life, like I can't survive without you, don't come to your dreams."

His lips part and he stares at me with a profound, startled recognition.

"It's not your fault, Rudra. You weren't in a place to trust me then, and that fact is on me. I accept it. I have moved on from that wound because your love and devotion since then truly healed me." I release his hands and reach up, cupping his jaw, holding his gaze captive. My eyes bore into his. "And I promise you, I will make sure I pull you out of this curse, too." I pull his face gently toward mine and press my lips against his, a deep, silent kiss that attempts to pour every ounce of my conviction and forgiveness into him.

His eyes close instantly and his hands leave his lap and wrap around my waist, pulling my body against his bare, scarred chest.

Don't worry Rudra, even in this ugly, complicated real life, Beauty will still choose the Beast, even if he never turns back into a prince.

• NEXT DAY •

"Won't you come to meet Bappa?"

I sigh, my gaze snagging on the cold, polished surface of the stethoscope coiled on my desk. "I can't, Maa."

"You shouldn't do this, Saanvi." Her tone shifts to one of gentle chiding. "I saw you, you were frantic, praying to Bappa, begging him to heal Rudra when he was in coma. Now that he's okay, you're pulling back? It's Ganesh Chaturthi, Saanvi, at least give Him a glance."

My fingers instinctively curl and tighten around the phone. I did beg. I knelt and pleaded when I thought I was losing him. But going back to Bappa now, the thought is paralyzing. I want to go back, to step into the simple safety of that temple, but a crushing fear stops me. Will he accept me now? After all the years I spent cursing him, after the visceral hatred I carried for him for allowing my world to shatter?

I remember being a child, how innocent and happy I was with Bappa, my smiling, comfortable secret. That all ended. I promised myself I would never worship Him again. Now, the conviction is gone, replaced by a desperate, adult need. But the knot in my stomach remains, I genuinely don't know if I deserve his acceptance.

"I'll call you back later, Maa," I say.

A sigh whispers down the line. "Okay. Take care. Eat your medicines." We hang up, and I place the phone down, pushing my hand flat against the cool desk surface noticing the white roses with a small smile.

I try to force my attention to the stack of medical journals, but the phone rings immediately. I snatch it up, irritation spiking.

"Yes?" I snap.

"Am I speaking with Dr. Saanvi?" A calm, measured male voice asks.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"I'm Isharv Prabhakar. I'm a psychotherapist. I received your request for a confidential consult, the receptionist mentioned you needed a secure appointment quickly."

My shoulders instantly stiffen, and I sit upright, gripping the phone. This is the first concrete step toward dealing with the wreckage I uncovered last night. "Yes, Mr. Prabhakar. I do."

"I was told. I assume this is about Rudra," he responds.

"Yes. It's about him. I need to know his history, Mr. Prabhakar. Everything. You have his entire psychological file, his past sessions, the triggers. Correct?" I press, ignoring the standard ethical boundaries this isn't a normal consult.

"Yes, I know his case history. But-"

"Mr. Prabhakar, please," I interrupt and stand up, pacing two steps to the window. "Rudra is genuinely not okay. He's hurting himself. Please, help me."

I hear a slow, heavy exhale on his end. "Alright. You can meet me at my clinic. I will explain everything that I can."

I check the clock. 5:38 PM. "Are you at the clinic right now?"

"Yes, I am." He confirms.

"I'll be there in thirty minutes." I hang up and strip off my lab coat, throwing it haphazardly over the chair.

But how will I go? I came in Rudra's car, the keys are under his watch. My eyes fall on the corner of the desk, and I spot an extra set of keys.

Oh, yes. It's my car key, the car I haven't driven in weeks, still languishing in the hospital parking garage. I snatch the keys, move silently toward the office door, and push it open slowly. I spot Khalid standing down the hallway talking on his phone, looking in the opposite direction. I use the small opening, slipping out and pulling the door shut with the gentlest click.

I immediately move out of sight, crouching slightly behind a structural wall just outside the main administrative area. Fuck. There are still few security guards. I scan the area quickly and spot a narrow set of stairs, a fire exit that descends directly to the basement parking levels. I move fast, flattening against the wall until I reach the stairwell, and slip inside.

Finally reaching the bottom level, I see my car, I slide inside, buckle the seatbelt in one fluid motion, and start the engine. I drive out of the garage.

AUTHOR'S POV

Taking a deep breath, Saanvi knocks on the door and pushes it open, stepping inside the clinic. The cool blast of air conditioning hits her, a sudden, jarring change from the humid evening outside. She spots Isharv across the room, meticulously placing some files on his desk. He looks up at her entrance.

"Ah, Saanvi. You made good time." He straightens, offering a slight, professional nod. "Have a seat."

She steps forward and settles into the chair across the large desk as he returns to his seat.

"Tea or coffee?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing, thank you." She leans forward, bypassing all small talk. "What exactly do you know about Rudra?"

Isharv studies her for a moment before sliding a manila file across the smooth surface of the desk. "Rudra was nineteen years old when he first came for therapy. It was right after his break up with his ex girlfriend, Anvika. Abhiraj asked me to see him because he'd become uncharacteristically quiet and seemed deeply frightened all the time."

Saanvi accepts the file opening it.

"I found Rudra extremely withdrawn at first," Isharv continues. "He wouldn't open up easily, but after a few sessions, I managed to build a rapport. I knew he was carrying a secret, something truly terrifying, but he wouldn't articulate it. Then one day, he just spoke. He released everything."

• 2016 •

"Just breathe, Rudra. I promise, I won't say a word to your parents. This is entirely between you and me," Isharv says offering a reassuring smile meant to encourage disclosure.

Rudra was a knot of raw nerves, staring fixedly at his trembling hands, clawing small crescent moons into his palms. His dark hair kept falling forward, obscuring his face. He finally forced his chin up.

"I..." he starts. "That night, I was with Anvika." His knees bounce furiously. "I was drunk... and she was..." His throat tightens, visibly constricting.

Isharv just waits, leaning forward slightly. "I'm hearing you, Rudra."

"She was coming closer, and I asked her to stop many times," he whispers. "But... she just said it was fine since we are in a relationship." He lifts his eyes. "I tried to stop her again, but then my mind just wasn't really working, so I gave up. I just said... yes." His toes curl painfully inside his shoes. "But when she started to touch me, I felt really uncomfortable. I asked her to stop, but she got upset, so I just told her to continue." He scrubs the tears that are stinging the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand. "I didn't feel right. I wanted to stop. I really wanted to go home." He looks directly at Isharv, his voice barely holding together. "But I was so scared. What if she gets angry or upset? What if she leaves me?" He swallows hard. "But now, when I remember it, I feel so... uneasy. Like I shouldn't have done that."

Isharv looks utterly stunned for a moment, the polite neutrality gone, replaced by shock. "Rudra. That wasn't just a regrettable encounter. That is, unequivocally, sexual assault."

Rudra recoils as if struck, shaking his head violently, a waterfall of denial. "No! I told her yes. I consented."

"Rudra, listen closely." Isharv leans forward, lowering his voice. "Your 'yes' was out of coercion. You were clearly impaired by alcohol, and she knew it. She manipulated your fear of her anger and fear of abandonment to get what she wanted. That is called exploitation and coercion under the law, and it is a serious violation. Why in God's name did you never tell your parents?"

Tears spill freely down Rudra's face. His hands fly up to his forearms, his fingers raking and digging his nails into his own skin. "No, please, Uncle. Don't use that word. It wasn't assault."

"Rudra, you need to believe me on this." Isharv stands, moving slowly around the desk. He places his hand softly on Rudra's shoulder, careful not to startle him. "This is not your fault. You are the victim here, beta. We need to tell Abhiraj. He will-"

"No!" Rudra snaps, instantly terrified. He grabs Isharv's wrist, gripping it tightly, his body shaking. "Please, Uncle, don't tell Dad and Mom. I beg you, please don't." He begins to sob, hard and openly.

Isharv looks down at the young man, his eyes and nose red, the picture of terrified innocence. He desperately wants to help, wants to take this burden to the authorities, but seeing Rudra's raw fear, he knows he can't push.

"Uncle, please, I don't want it publicized. You promised it would stay between us. You swore you wouldn't tell anyone." Isharv meets Rudra's teary, pleading eyes. He slowly nods and gives Rudra's head a soft, comforting pat.

"Rudra was sexually assaulted?" Saanvi's lips form the silent words where she sits frozen, all the energy draining from her face. Her hands fly to cover her mouth, tears instantly blur her vision. The shame he carried, the constant self flagellation, it finally made a terrible, coherent kind of sense.

"Shortly after those sessions, Rudra had a sudden suicide attempt and immediately terminated therapy," Isharv states. "I strongly recommended Abhiraj maintain his treatment, because this trauma was clearly unresolved and presented a high risk for future issues. But Abhiraj insisted Rudra needed to move to Italy immediately for his studies." He paused, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Before he left, I found him. We talked. He told me Anvika had called him the day he tried to take his life."

"What did she say?" Saanvi asks, swallowing hard to clear the lump in her throat as she quickly wipes the tears away.

"She told him his body was now tainted. That he's a fool and trash. That no one would ever truly love him because he was used, that he was touched without feeling love." He sighs, the sound weary. "She essentially filled his mind with highly destructive insecurities that only solidified his self loathing. That's when I understood why he tried to commit suicide." Isharv gestures vaguely. "And after that, Rudra was gone. Moved abroad."

She closes her eyes, her fists clenched so tightly in her lap her nails bite into her palms. She opens her eyes slowly, looking at Isharv. "But I don't understand one thing. He was so terrified of being violated, of being coerced yet he became this man who actively pursued meaningless intimacy. How do you go from that terror to seeking out one night stands?" she demands, the question fueled by desperate confusion.

"That is the primary question, and I don't have a definitive answer on that, Saanvi. Maybe he simply wanted to. He's an adult, and it's his choice." Isharv replies, adjusting the file. "But based on his file, we have a few logical psychological responses that are common in male survivors of sexual coercion and assault who cannot process their victimization."

Saanvi stares at him, waiting.

"He never accepted the term 'victim.' Never accepted he was assaulted." Isharv taps the file. "One common defense mechanism is re enactment. It's an attempt to regain control. By actively engaging in casual intimacy by initiating it, setting the terms, and ending it without emotional attachment, he might be trying to prove that he is the one in control, not the vulnerable party."

"He is trying to prove he consented," Saanvi whispers, the realization sinking in.

"Exactly. He's trying to overwrite the memory of coercion with repeated, self initiated consent. Another factor is the identity damage Anvika inflicted. She constantly compared him to her male friend and pushed this toxic definition of masculinity that a man should be emotionally separate from sex. There were many disturbing statements she made, it felt like she deliberately created an impossible standard of masculinity for Rudra to prove himself against."

Saanvi scans the file again.

Isharv sighs. "Trauma doesn't lead to predictable morality, Saanvi. Rudra was a highly sensitive boy whose self worth was viciously attacked in a teenage relationship. To cope with the shame of being coerced especially as a male in a culture that denies male victimhood he built a fortress of hyper masculinity and detachment. He likely concluded, before anyone can use me again, I will be the one who uses first, protecting myself through emotional distance and control. This is not a justification for his past behavior, but a valid, albeit destructive, psychological defense mechanism rooted in unhealed trauma."

She leans back in the chair, tilting her head back against the cool leather. She presses the heels of her palms into her temples, trying to physically contain the enormous weight of the information Isharv just gave her. After a few heavy seconds, she leans forward again. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Mr. Prabhakar. You helped me more than you can imagine. You gave me the crucial answers I needed."

Isharv offers a small, weary smile. "Rudra is like my son. All I ever wanted was for him to get some form of justice, or at least understanding, for what that girl did to him. That's why I broke protocol for you."

Saanvi nods slowly, absorbing his trust. "I'll take my leave now." She stands up, grabs her phone from the desk and walks toward the door.

She stops beside her car in the clinic's parking lot, leaning heavily against the cool metal of the hood.

"How much did he suffer? He was hiding all of this, carrying that toxic shame alone?" She mutters the words under her breath, wiping the sudden fresh tears that spring to her eyes. She lets out a ragged sigh and glances at her phone. Rudra's picture stares back at her from the lock screen, his smile a painful contrast to the broken man she knows now. She stares for a long moment, then shoves the phone back into her jeans pocket. An urgent, desperate need wells up, she has to get back to him, to hold him, to tell him he is safe and entirely loved.

She sniffs, wiping the dampness from her cheeks, and turns toward the driver's side door. But before her hand can reach the handle, a large, calloused hand clamps instantly and ruthlessly over her mouth. She flinches violently, a surge of pure panic seizing her. Simultaneously, she feels the cold pinprick of a syringe plunging into her neck. She immediately tries to fight, elbowing backward, thrashing her head, but the assailant's grip is brutally tight and completely unexpected. Within seconds, a wave of profound exhaustion washes over her. Her limbs turn heavy, her muscles refuse to obey, and her eyelids begin to droop, resisting the darkness in a final, futile effort. Then, everything dissolves. The world goes silent and dark.

---------------

"For fuck's sake, Khalid! You can't even do your one job?!" Rudra screams at Khalid standing rigidly in front of his desk. His voice echoes violently in the large cabin, bouncing off the expensive glass and wood.

He rubs his forehead hard, feeling the cold sweat break out, his hands trembling with a sudden, uncontrollable fear. "Prepare every resource. I want every single available asset looking for her. Now." He orders, the control returning to his voice, sharp and lethal. Khalid nods once and immediately leaves.

Rudra looks at the time displayed on his wall clock, 10:38 PM. The hospital is quiet now, almost deserted except for the crew of night shift doctors and the deeply ill patients. His mind is a frantic, blank slate as he struggles to figure out where else to search. He couldn't locate her at Isharv's clinic, the receptionist simply confirmed she left hours ago. But she never came back here.

He snatches his car keys, his rage and terror reaching critical mass, and moves toward the door, intending to drive himself into the city and tear it apart looking for her. But before he can open the door, a man in a black mask and an oversized jacket slips into the cabin and immediately locks the door behind him.

Rudra feels his control snap. Pure, unfiltered rage breaks the scale. "Move the fuck away from my way!" He yells.

"Calm down," the man replies. "I'm here to arrange a meeting with your wife."

Rudra freezes, the rage instantly crystallizing into an icy focus. He frowns, his eyes assessing the threat.

"Saanvi. Your wife, right?" the man clarifies.

"Where is she?" Rudra stiffens, his entire body poised for violence.

"You'll do precisely what I instruct." The man instructs.

Rudra doesn't waste energy arguing. The adrenaline keeps him vertical, but the reality that someone has found the one person he truly protects forces his submission.

---------------

The two men stand in the adjacent conference room. The masked figure silently connects his phone to the large projector. He turns back to Rudra, holding his gaze.

"I swear if you waste one more second of my time with games, I will end you right here." Rudra hisses, his hands shaking with barely contained fury.

The man merely chuckles, a dry, grating sound. "Take a look at your wife first. Then you can prioritize." He taps the screen, initiating a call.

The screen flickers to life, showing a video call connecting. A second later, the image stabilizes. Rudra's whole world stops seeing Saanvi lying motionless on a damp concrete floor that looks like the basement of an old, abandoned industrial building.

He takes a huge, stumbling step forward, his hand instinctively reaching out toward the projected image. "Pearl," he chokes out, the word agonizingly soft. His heart drops out of his chest.

"It seems your Pearl is with me again, Rudra."

____________________________________________________________________________

Daily journal

Can you please keep your Brownie a little away from you?

He literally sleeps over you sometimes, and I swear, he looks too comfortable. Meanwhile, I have to think thirty or forty times before I even come close.

But I don't really mind when you smile or laugh with him. Because in those moments, you look so beautiful that everything else fades away. All I see is you, my ethereal view.

It doesn't matter if your laughter isn't because of me, or if your smile belongs to some small joy I had no part in. Just seeing you happy is enough to make my heart feel full. I'll be honest, I'm a man, and yes, I do get jealous. But believe me, my jealousy always comes second. Your smile, your peace, your happiness, they'll always come first.

So just know this, I love you Pearl. More than I can ever put into words.