"Dismiss the guards around the old mansion." Rudraj said flatly, cutting the call abruptly before a response could form.

His mind wouldn't rest, it spun--restless, chaotic--as pieces refused to fall into place. A breach in his security--his impenetrable fortress--something that should be airtight, safeguarded by A-ranking officers. And yet, someone had infiltrated his world.

A rival? maybe. A direct attack on the future queen of the Mauryavanshi Syndicate? Likely. But deep down, Rudraj feared the truth was murkier--maybe there was something far more sinister lurking, waiting to strike at her from the shadows, not to kill--but to break her.

Lashika's voice haunted him, echoing off the crevices of his heart like a question he couldn't answer. Why, Rud? Why did you do that?

She had never said his name like that before. Not "Rudraj"--the name meant for meetings, for formal confrontations, for the world to address him by. 

But "Rud"? That name belonged to her. Only her.

And when she said it now, it came coated in something bitter--something cold. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve that chill, but it pierced deeper than any gunshot ever could. He needed answers, but more than that, he needed to understand her.

His eyes betrayed him again. They strayed toward her. 

She sat slumped in the passenger seat, her head awkwardly leaning against the chill windowpane, breath fogging the glass faintly. The seatbelt cut harshly across her neck, and he winced at the red marks it would leave by morning. She looked disoriented, discarded. Sleep clung to her like a fragile cloak--an uneasy truce between exhaustion and trauma.

And still, there was strange peace on her face--a peace that's been absent since their last encounter. The kind that used to belong to her once.

Maybe--for the first time in years--her nightmares had been quiet. Or maybe she was just too tired to dream. 

He should have been focusing on the road. He had enemies. He had targets. He had plans. But his hands, traitorous and gently, reached for her instead. With careful fingers, he shifted her head against the cushioned headrest, adjusting her so the seatbelt wouldn't dig so cruelly into her skin.

She stirred, barely. A whisper of breath escaped her lips. But she didn't wake.

He shouldn't care.

But he did.

Too much.

He'd seen her earlier, her skin drained of color, eyes vacant, and trembling from something she wouldn't name. It haunted him--the idea that he might've arrived a moment too late.

His mind wouldn't stop spinning: What if I had been a second too late? What if she had been in worse state when I found her? What if turning back to warehouse had been the only thing that saved her? His subconscious thoughts invade his waking mind. He clenched the wheel: What if I failed to protect her, the one person I love, tangled in my web of revenge?

He might never forgive her betrayal, but he'll be damned if he allowed her to suffer on his watch. So he would never abandon her. Not now. Not ever.

The old mansion was compromised. His instincts screamed it was no longer safe. There was only one place left--his apartment. A fortress of solitude, reinforced against every conceivable threat, known only to his brother, his two best friends and a handful of his most trusted men. It was the last place he ever wanted to take her.

And yet... it was the only place she could vanish. 

Fate had a way of narrowing choices down to one, and his only choice was his apartment.

He told himself it was tactical. Just strategy. But that was a lie he couldn't hold onto for long.

He didn't just want to protect the mission. He wanted to protect her, even now--even when it was the last thing he should've felt.

The rest of the journey consumed his thoughts. The atmosphere lightened with every turn toward his place. Though apprehensions clawed at the pit of his heart, but a sense of serenity washed over him regarding bringing her here. This apartment--this quiet sanctuary tucked into the heart of nowhere--was where she could've belonged.

Had things been different. Had she not walked away seven years ago without looking back. Just the notion was enough to disperse the clouds of confusion that have haunted him.

No matter what, she remained a betrayer until she had a story to tell--one he doubted she possessed.

He took a left, and the city gave away to quieter streets, until only the sound of his engine remained. The further he drove, the lighter the air left. He navigated into a secluded lane, and soon a garage came into view.

He pressed his thumb against the scanner in his mobile. The steel shutters groaned open, inviting them into a private parking area. With a deft motion, he parked his car in the designated slot and killed the engine. A hollow silence followed. He didn't move. Just sat, gripping the steering wheel, letting the stillness mock him.

A heavy sigh escaped him, it had been a long drive--a long day. He tilted his head and found her sleeping, blissfully unaware of his spiraling thoughts, of where she was, and the chaos she had introduced into his life. Above trusting him, despite everything.

Was that trust? Or defeat?

The line between them blurred and cut him.

Rudraj wrestled with the decision whether to wake her or take her in his arms. The latter option appealed more, he was too exhausted to chase after her if she attempted to run--not that he had the heart to disturb her peaceful slumber.

He reached over and unfastened her seatbelt with a soft click, then slipped out to open her door. In one sweeping yet gentle motion, he lifted her into his arms. She didn't resist--only nestled deeper into his chest like she belonged there. That single act threatened to unravel every defense he'd built. 

The reaction. He unknowingly closed the door with his foot, adhering to his own unyielding rules.

He carried her toward the private lift that would whisk them directly to his floor. It scanned his face and opened instantly. As the doors sealed behind him, enclosing them in silence, Rudraj felt the weight of her more than ever--not her body, but her presence.

He waited to reach his apartment, longing to unwind and clear his tangled thoughts. He needed to cool down to think straight.

Against his better judgement, his gaze drifted to her face, resting lightly on his shoulder. She had blossomed into a stunning woman--her delicate features ignited flicker in his heart. Her forehead, hidden beneath her hair, beckoned him to brush it aside, yet he felt helpless to disturb her. Long, natural eyelashes resting just above her eyes, dark circles and bags hinted at her sleepless nights.

He wondered why--the girl he once knew could sleep for hours, untouched by the world around her. What changed when she chose to betray them? Or where those just his unfounded assumptions?

As his gaze lingered, the bruises on her cheek tugged at his heartstrings. Red rashes stretched across her skin, and dried blood clung to her split lips, a painful reminder of the violence she had endured. What once resembled soft rose petals now appeared like withered white roses. Yet to him, she remained breathtakingly beautiful.

Her breath brushed against his neck. It was steady--grounding for him.

She stirred slightly, and he instinctively looked toward the lift door but she showed no sign of waking. A breath he didn't realize he had been holding escaped him. That's when he noticed how light she felt for her age.

What's wrong with her?

The remainder of his wait was consumed by quiet admiration. He savored the fleeting moment of tenderness, if only it could ever be contented.

The lift chimed as it stopped, pulling him back to reality. The doors parted to a space only a few people had ever seen.

Before he could take a step, a low growl rumbled through the hall.

Lucky.

The little furball emerged from the shadows like a storm in miniature, possessive eyes flashing with disapproval. His growl deepened as he took in the sight of Rudraj holding someone in his arms.

The pup's growl was a warning Rudraj knew all too well.

He glanced at Lashika, Still, she slept like a feather caught in a gentle breeze. Sighing, he stepped forward, but the furball sprinted to his leg, tugging at his pants impatiently. Seeing his lack of concern, he lets out a low, warning bark.

Rudraj quickly tugged her close and chuckled under his breath. "Shhh, Lucky. Go," he commanded, his tone firm but soft.

How dare he ignore me for a woman? The pup bristled, but obeyed--reluctantly. He cast one last suspicious glance at Lashika, then retreated to his cushion, still grumbling.

"Jealous little furry," Rudraj muttered.

He headed to his room, chuckling at his pet's antics. The mischievous furball was bound to make him count his days in backward with all the trouble he could cause.

Inside, the room hadn't changed. But the atmosphere had.

He lowered her onto his bed, carefully, as if any sudden movement might shatter the calm she finally wore. But a strange emptiness filled him the moment her warmth slipped from his arms. Her presence was addictive--calming yet unsettling all at once. Her hair spilled all over her face, and the urge to brush it aside was irresistible.

He stood over her, silent.

Then, his fingers moved of their own accord, brushing the strands of hair from her face.

And that's when he saw it.

A scar.

Faint but unmistakable, hidden beneath her hair, a deep wound left to heal alone.

It hadn't been there before. Not seven years ago. Not when they were friends, despite his hidden feelings. Not when he still believed she'd never betray him. He was sure of it.

He traced it with a featherlight touch, and something inside him cracked.

"What are you hiding, Lash?" he whispered.

She had been an open book once, but now she was a mystery he couldn't solve.

Seven years. Seven long, exhausting years of searching, digging, chasing after shadows. Even with all his power, all his resources--he still hadn't found out what happened to her after she betrayed them. She had became an enigma, and it bothered him.

The scar held a story.

And he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it cost her.

His throat tightened. Emotions collided, uninvited. Everything felt different now, but he refused to let himself fall for facades.

Because it wasn't the time to feel. Not yet. He reminded himself, forcing his mind back to practical matters.

He turned on his heel, checked every windows, locked every latch, ensure the room was secure--not that she would jump from such a height. He paused one last time at the door, heart screaming to stay, mind commanding him to walk away.

He chose the second.

Because falling for illusions had no place in the war he was about to wage.

His stomach grumbled, sharp and insistent, a crude reminder of everything he'd ignored tonight--including basic necessities like food. And if he hadn't eaten, that meant she hadn't either. She'd wake up with dull ache in her belly, confused, lost and hungry. He couldn't allow that.

Dragging his palm across his face, Rudraj  turned toward the kitchen, tossing a glance over his shoulder. "Lucky," he called, his voice low but coaxing, "come on, buddy. I need your help in the kitchen."

Silence

He paused. A beat passed. Then another.

"Lucky?"

Still no response.

Rudraj exhaled, a dry sound of defeat in his throat. Of course. He already knew where the little traitor was hiding. When Lucky was offended, no apology in the world could bring him back until he'd made his displeasure sufficiently known.

He wandered into the dining area, half-expecting it. And there was.

Sprawled across the floor beside the table, Lucky lay with his head resting dramatically on his paws, his entire body radiating wounded pride. He didn't even glance Rudraj's way, ears twitching with faint annoyance. His nose nudged away with exaggerated sulk.

The sight pulled a reluctant chuckle from Rudraj's chest.

"Fine," he muttered, stepping closer." Fine, I get it. You're mad." He crouched down and sat, tapping his lap gently. "You have all my attention now. Happy?"

Lucky wasn't.

The pup remained still, almost statuesque, clearing milking every ounce of the silent treatment. Rudraj let out a mock sigh, then gently tugged at Lucky's paw. The furball resisted, stiff as a board--until Rudraj fell back onto the floor with a dramatic groan while gathering him into his arms.

Lucky tried to wriggle away for a second longer, then melted into the warmth of his human, as if forgiveness had been inevitable all along.

Rudraj buried his face in the pup's fur, the scent familiar and calming, and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head. "She's Lash," he whispered into the silence, voice cracking around the name. "It's her, buddy."

Lucky perked up immediately, as if the name had triggered something instinctual. Of course he remembered. Rudraj had spoken it a thousand times in moments just like this--when the world closed in, when loneliness won, when memory refused to let go. Lash. She wasn't new. She was his story.

"She's going to stay with us. Just a few days," Rudraj paused. His voice dropped, barely audible. "She's not... okay."

The dog titled his head, ear flicking. Rudraj could almost hear his silent judgement.

"I know, I know," he added with a soft laugh, "you're not impressed."

Lucky dropped his head in resigned disapproval, letting out a huff that sounded suspiciously like a sulky sigh.

"Hey, that's rude." Rudraj smiled, ruffling his ears. "But I get it. I deserve that. I've ignored you all evening." He pulled back, tapping his fingers against Lucky''s chest "How about a deal? You stop giving me silent treatment, be a good boy, and I'll give you a special treat tonight."

Lucky side-eyed him, tail twitching, clearly weighing his options.

"Deal?" Rudraj offered his fist with exaggerated solemnity.

The pup stared for a moment, then lifted a paw and gently tapped it--grudgingly, but it counted.

"Good boy," Rudraj whispered.

The dining hall filled with light barks and Rudraj's laughter.

For a while, they stayed on the floor--man and his little furry wrapped in the kind of unspoken understanding that only came from shared years. In that quiet moment, Rudraj allowed the weight on his chest to lighten. Lucky, stubborn and spoiled as he was, had been his anchor through it all. The sleepless nights, the rage that wouldn't ease, the guilt he couldn't place. Lucky had listened through every drunken ramble, every breakdown, every whispered confession about the girl he couldn't forget. 

When he lost all he treasured, he found him.

And all Lucky ever wanted in return was a few belly rubs and his fair share of the blanket. It was a simple exchange--uncomplicated in a world where everything else was a storm.

Another rumble from Rudraj's stomach pulled back to reality. He groaned theatrically, lifting himself off the floor. "Come on then," he said, nudging the pup with his foot. "Let's go see if I still remember how to cook."

Lucky followed, his tail wagging now in cautious approval, as if still reserving judgement. Nevertheless, he knew a tasty meal was on the way.

The two headed toward kitchen, side by side--one determined to cook, the other determined to sabotage with all mischief he could summon.

Rudraj knew better than to expect real help. Lucky would leap onto the counter, knock things over, and sit in the middle of the chaos like he owned the place. But that was fine. That was them. And tonight, it was the only sense of home he had, though the little furry was on attitude.

Tying the apron around his waist with a sharp tug, Rudraj's mind--traitorous as ever--drifted back to her. The way sweat clung to her skin hadn't escaped him--she was clearly uncomfortable, even in her sleep. He sighed, irritation threading with concern.

"Alexa," he called out, tone brisk, "connect to Chief Royal Guard Richard Arc."

The call barely rang twice before connecting.

"Be here in two minutes," he ordered--no pleasantries, no context--and hung up.

He turned back to the counter, rolling up his sleeves and reaching for the vegetables. Cold water hit his fingers, grounding him momentarily as he began washing them, lost in thought--only to be pulled from his spiral by the unmistakable sound of loafers skidding across polished tiles.

Enter chaos.

Richard arrived as he always did: loud, unbothered, and completely irreverent to the idea of rank or protocol. Rudraj didn't even turn around before the man's voice chimed in. 

"Richard reporting, sir!" came the faux-salute from behind. "Or should I say, Your Majesty?"

Rudraj glanced over his shoulder just in time to catch the lunatic jump--jump--onto the kitchen slab like it was his childhood bunk bed.

Lucky, who had been cold-shouldering Rudraj for hours, suddenly sprang to life and bolted straight to Richard. The betrayal was instant. The tail wagged like it was on steroids. The furry traitor practically danced. The pup only broke his drama for two people: Rudraj... and Richard, who spoiled him with shameless bribery.

Rudraj shot a glare that could melt the steel.

Richard, as always, was immune to death stares. "Look at this good boy! Missed me, huh?" he cooed, rubbing Lucky's ears while lounging on the counter like he'd just finished choreographing a Broadway number.

If he hadn't been the most skilled expert in the Royal Guards, Rudraj would've sent him packing to a glacier, long ago.

Only a selected few knew Rudraj's real identity. Richard had stumbled upon the truth in his early days as a personal guard, and instead of trembling with reverence like a normal person, he'd made it his life's mission to be an unfiltered nuisance. 

Richard ignored his bored stares, as always, peeling an apple he'd probably stolen off the counter with the air of someone lounging in his own vacation home.

"So?" Richard bit into the apple. "Why the royal summons, Your Majesty? Don't tell me this is some humble attempt to flaunt your boyfriend-level domesticity. Apron? Vegetables? Soft eyes? I'm flattered."

Rudraj smirked. "Interrupt your date, did I?" He had forgotten about Richard's leave in his rush.

"You did," Richard groaned, collapsing dramatically onto the counter like heartbreak had just slapped him across the face. "I had just reached dessert! Double my pay, peasant. Or I leak your recipe."

"Done." Rudraj said without hesitation.

Richard froze mid-bite. "That was too fast. Suspiciously fast." His eyes narrowed. "What's the catch?"

Rudraj cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. "Ask your girlfriend to pick out a few dresses." 

Richard stared. "What?"

"Women's stuff. Everything. Clothes, essentials." Rudraj scratched his neck, suddenly needing to evaporate.

The silence was biblical.

Then--"You'd rather poison me."

"What?" 

"You want me to ask my girlfriend to shop for another woman? You--you absolute cinnamon roll dipped in arsenic. Do I look like I have a death wish?"

Rudraj blinked. "Is it really that bad?"

"That bad?"

"You--" Richard pointed the half-eaten apple at him like it was an antique piece. "You want me to die in my sleep. That's what this is. Some slow, elaborate assassination via relationship sabotage. You want my girlfriend to ask why, and who, and why her, and why not me, and is she prettier, and before I know it, I'm living in a tent."

"How is it that serious--?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Richard cut in, deadpan, "you clearly have no survival instincts. Forget boyfriend material--you're freshly baked disaster. I'd rather fight a bear. Do I look like I want my organs rearranged by stilettos?"

Rudraj rubbed his forehead, a light pink crawling up his ears. "It's not like that."

"Tell that to the volcano I left erupting downstairs to get here!" Richard flailed dramatically. "Thank you and my stars I had VIP access to the restaurant's lift or I'd have been lava toast for just leaving mid-date. Forget it, do you know anyone else who can apparate across town in two minutes?" Richard waved two fingers in front of Rudraj's face, exasperated. "No. You don't. Because I'm your only friend and loyal guard with a death wish."

Lucky barked once, almost like a sarcastic "Amen."

"Oh, look!" Richard bent down to rub Lucky's ears. "Thank you, Your Fur-ness, for siding with sanity." 

He continued his theatrics in same flare, now pointing the dog, "Even he knows I'm right, you royal dim-wit."

"Traitor," Rudraj muttered to the wagging tail.

Richard offered an exaggerated bow. "Sorry, Your Majesty. Didn't mean to speak logic in the royal presence." 

Honestly, Rudraj didn't know whether to laugh or call security. Every encounter with Richard left Rudraj mentally bruised and mildly uplifted--like emotional whiplash with a side of therapy. The man didn't know when to shut up--but maybe that was the point.

Unlike the rest of the guards, who hovered at a respectful distance, saluted and marched and bowed like wind-up toys, Richard had never treated him like anything other than Rudraj: the occasionally confused, emotionally repressed, and painfully human version--like.. a person.

"Just get it what I asked within an hour. Leave it in the lift. Lucky will collect it," Rudraj muttered with a halfhearted wave, already regretting every life choice that led him to this moment. "And go cool your volcano before she throws your fancy wine glasses at you."

Richard paused, eyes narrowing.

"Who are you calling a volcano?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping into mocking seriousness. "And who's getting the wardrobe overhaul?"

"I wonder who has the mood swings," Rudraj muttered under his breath before he turned away, fumbling with the carrot peeler. "Twenty-four. Lean."

"Dating, are we?" Richard's grin was now wide enough to rival a shark's.

"No." 

That came out way too fast.

Richard didn't even blink. "Right. So your not-girlfriend is in your penthouse, and you're cooking her dinner in an apron like a sad rom-com lead, and now I'm shopping for her. Just bros being bros."

"She's not here," Rudraj conveniently lied, then added, "I'll say consider like it's for your sister."

"One is more than enough. And you will not drag my family into your soap opera."

A pause.

"...My sister?" Rudraj offered reluctantly-weakly, later exclaimed, sharply. "No!"

"Nice try, Your Majesty." Richard slid off the counter, taking another bite of apple. "I'll let you keep your secrets--for now. And I better not be dead by morning!"

"I could give you a raise?"

"Done," Richard said. "But I want hazard pay. And memorial fund in case my girlfriend buries me in designer shoes."

He stole a carrot off the tray, gave a crisp salute, and swaggered toward the guard's lift like he hadn't just torched Rudraj's dignity.

"Hike my pay for these extra duties!" he called, disappearing behind the lift doors.

Rudraj let out a laugh, shaking his head as the doors slid shut behind the hurricane that was Richard Arc.

Peace. At last.

He returned to the stove where Lucky sat perched like a judgmental sous-chef, who looked far too smug for a dog who had changed sides mid-battle.

"Don't look at me like that," Rudraj muttered, elbowing him playfully. "You're no saint either. Sliding with him like that?"

Lucky barked again, licking his nose in self-satisfaction and wagging his tail with zero remorse.

The scent of sauteed spices and butter began to swirl through the kitchen, warm and grounding. It reminded Rudraj of simpler times, when things didn't feel quite so chaotic. He clinked the ladle against the pan and offered Lucky a high-five. The pup obliged with gusto.

"Stay here. I'll freshen up and check on her."

Ding. 

"Alexa," Rudraj called.

"Delivery confirmed," the AI responded.

Lucky was off like a shot, tail wagging as if retrieving top-secret intelligence. Rudraj leaned against the counter, grinning.

"Yeah, yeah. Hero of the hour."

In the house of secrets, stubborn feelings, and sarcastic guard, at least the dog still delivered.

In his room, Lashika stirred violently in the tangled sheets, sweat slick against her skin, breath catching in her throat like a scream choked by invisible hands. Her fingers clawed at the pillow beneath her, desperate for something solid in the pitch-black maze of her dream. But she couldn't feel it. Her body wouldn't respond--paralyzed, muted, pinned beneath the crushing weight of memory.

A voice coiled in the air around her like smoke.

"Stop pretending, you're shaking like a leaf."

"Try harder, babygirl. You're glowing under this light. All that fear... it's delicious."

"No. You're far too perfect to miss."

A cold sensation crawled up her spine, and she clenched the pillow tighter, yet her fingers couldn't feel it.

"Enough with the talking, babygirl"

His hand tugged at her clothes.

"Expendable."

She jolted awake with strangled gasp, the echo of that last word burning behind her ribs. Her lungs stung as though she'd been underwater too long, her body curling into itself, instinctively shielding what could no longer be protected.

She rocked back and forth, whispering through clenched teeth. "I'll kill him," she hissed, over and over like a prayer drenched in venom. "I'll kill him. His number's up. I swear I'll kill him." Her hands rubbed frantically at her waist, as if she could scrub away the imprint of him--the ghost of his grip--etched deep beneath her skin.

She buried her face in her knees, shivering under the dim light. The world outside her faded--only the monsters in her mind remained. Slowly, her breathing evened out. Slowly, the storm inside her began to quell.

Until the door clicked.

She froze.

The soft creak of it opening made her stomach lurch. She scrambled backward, the bedpost catching her spine with a dull thud. Her eyes locked on the door, wide, unblinking, throat dry. Not again. Not again. Her heart thundered in her chest, screaming warnings in a language her mouth had forgotten how to speak.

Then stepped in.

 Rudraj.

A rush of air left her lungs. "It's just him, Lasha," she whispered to herself, the words barely audible. Her trembling eased, only slightly, and she quickly wiped her face on her knees, willing the panic to vanish before he could see the cracks.

But Rudraj's voice cut through the silence like a blade--cold, sharp, and utterly devoid of sympathy.

"Are you trying to escape?"

She didn't lift her head or offer him the dignity of a glance. She knew, maybe, she was safe from the threat outside, but not from him. Not from the unrelenting pressure of his expectations, his disappointment. His anger.

"You're on the thirty-fifth floor. Do you really thing you could leave this place without me knowing?" His voice was low, composed, but the fury simmered beneath every syllable. Her silence grated on him. This wasn't the girl he remembered. That girl fought. She laughed with fire in her lungs. This... this shell was unrecognizable and unsettling, and it terrified him.  

"Eat. Freshen up." His eyes didn't blink, nor soften. "I won't have time to take care of a sick betrayer." There was a hitch, almost imperceptible, in his breath. Then a reminder--like an debt unpaid. "You owe me. Don't forget the price for your freedom--your stepfather."

He shoved a trolley closer to his bed. It carried food, clothes, and something deeper--his control over her. 

Lashika lifted her eyes to him, her expression unreadable. Yet something in her gaze softened--maybe it was recognition, or a twisted form of gratitude, or at his unspoken care. Whatever it was, it faded fast.

She climbed off the bed, her movements subdued, mechanical. That bothered him more than anything.

 She quietly began to eat with a lack of resistance that only unnerved him more.

Rudraj stood nearby, using the trolley as an excuse to remain close. He told himself it was precaution. In truth, he just needed to see her eat. Needed to be near her, to witness even the smallest sign that she was still... her.

But she gave him nothing.

Lashika might as well have been a stranger.

Her oversized sweatshirt hindered her as she clumsily handled the spoon. Without thinking, he reached over and gently tugging the sleeve back to help.

She flinched away--her reflex quick.

Her wrists-- bruised, torn, stained with dried blood--caught the light.

He inhaled sharply, guilt searing through him like acid. He hadn't meant for this. The bruises were from the chains. His chains. And he'd left her too broken to fight back when that man--the one she never spoke of--had tried to touch her.

Her silence was worse than screams.

Am I a bad person?

Because right now, he felt like one. Her robotic obedience made him feel like a villain, like he was caging an innocent, not enacting justice on a betrayer.

She finished the food without a word. He waited, desperate for acknowledgement, some sign of forgiveness.

"Thank you."

Two hollow words--formal, distant--like he was a stranger offering charity.

His jaw clenched. "What are you trying to imply? Innocence?" His voice cracked with tension. "You're not one of them."

She nodded toward the neatly folded fashionable, sleeveless colorful dresses on the trolley. "I can't wear this."

A flicker of confusion passed through him. "What?"

"Can I get a sweatshirt?" Her tone was flat, controlled. Her calmness, her avoidance of him--it clawed at his guilt.

"Don't dodge my question," he snapped. " Don't act like you're innocent when you know damn well you aren't." His thumb rubbed his ring, a weak attempt to ground himself.

"Please." That was all she said.

But that one word--so quiet, so stripped of warmth--gutted him.

He turned sharply, yanked open his wardrobe with unnecessary force, rummaged through the clothes, and pulled out a worn sweatshirt. Threw it at her without ceremony.

"Now answer me!" he demanded, his voice fraying. "What's your game, Lashika Mauryavanshi? What are you trying to prove? That I'm the villain, and you're the saint?"

Lashika's eyes darkened. "Why Rud? Why did you do that?"

His breath hitched.

Not again.

That question--that question--had followed him like a shadow ever since she'd asked it in the car. He thought it had faded. But here it was again--haunting, heavy--hungry for answers he didn't know how to give.

"What did I do, exactly?" he said, masking confusion with coldness. "You keep asking, but never explain."

He stepped closer to the gap between them, towering over her--a faint attempt to intimidate her into opening up. But her expression didn't change.

"Why did you disappear for seven years?" Her voice was almost robotic. "Why did you let me believe you were dead?" Her eyes bore into his. "Why didn't you come back sooner if you were alive?"

He had no answer.

And one question still hovered--the one she hadn't asked yet. That was the one he feared the most.

He turned away, shutting it all down.

"Freshen up," he said flatly, walking to the door. He paused. "Neither will you be able to escape from here... nor will you be here for long."

Lashika stared at it for a long moment. The silence felt like a verdict. The last sliver of hope--that her brother had somehow survived, that he might still come for her--evaporated.

If he were alive, he's have come.

Wouldn't you, Aru?

She dragged herself into the bathroom, turned the water to cold, and stepped in fully clothed. The icy cascade numbed her skin but couldn't reach the scar beneath.

She pressed her forehead against the tiles. "Are you even proud of me, Aru?" Her voice trembled. "Or would you pity me?" A pause. A breath. "Have I become stronger... or just more lost?" 

She slid down the wall, pulling her knees to her chest, her sobs finally spilling over like a dam broken.

 "I miss you, Aru," she whispered into the water.

Outside, Rudraj lingered. His hand hovered near the doorknob. He couldn't walk away. Not yet.

"What will I say to you, Lash?" he murmured to himself.

At his feet, Lucky sat silently, refusing to enter the room. The pup looked at his master, eyes filled with a sadness only animals knew how to carry.

 Rudraj rubbed Lucky's head, the act grounding him.

"I'm fine. She's the one who's not," he said, though the crack in his voice betrayed the truth. "Her silence is killing me, Lucky. That sadness in her eyes--why does it feel like it's mine?"

Lucky let out a soft whine, placing a paw on Rudraj's hand.

"Just a few more days, boy," he said, more to himself than the dog. "Just a few more days."

He turned back toward his room. "Got work to do. Wanna join me?"

Lucky immediately shook his head and padded away toward the dining table, choosing solitude over her presence.

Rudraj gave a bitter chuckle. "Traitor," he muttered under his breath. "You'll trouble her later for stealing your spot anyway."

But the laughter didn't reach his eyes.

Rudraj sat at his desk, the soft glow of the laptops, casting ghostly shadows over his face. The air smelled of dust, ink, and something heavier--regret, perhaps. Papers lay strewn across the surface, photographs that once held meaning were half-buried beneath files. Now they were just clutter--just like the rest of his life. His gaze was unfocused, his fingers unmoving against the keyboard.

 It wasn't the screams of that night haunted him tonight. It was the warehouse incident. It was her. The girl, currently taking shower in his bathroom. The girl who had turned his entire world into ashes and still managed to look heartbreakingly fragile in the aftermath. 

She didn't brought it up. She hadn't spoken about what happened. Not a word. And that silence... it clawed at him, dragged its nails across every wound he carried. Was she ignoring the incident because she truly felt nothing, or was there something darker tangled within her silence? He didn't knew which truth scared him more.

The soft creak of the bathroom door pulled him back to the moment.

He looked up--and everything inside him stilled.

She stepped out, drowning in his worn sweatshirt and sweatpants. It slightly slid off her shoulder like it didn't belong to her, yet to him, it was a sight he used to crave in his dreams--her, in his clothes, barefoot, soft and undone--safe in his space. But the dream had turned bitter now, a cruel parody of intimacy. Because she wasn't his. Not like that. Not anymore. Maybe never.

She was a phantom of his past. The girl who had stood on the wrong side of the flames. A living echo of his mother's screams. 

But her face told him more than he was ready to hear.

Her eyes were red, swollen with tears she must've shed behind locked doors. Her nose pink, her cheeks flushed with raw emotion. Her silence had never screamed louder. A thousand memories rose to the surface--her laughter, her wild fire, the spark that once lit up the darkest corners of his mind. But now? She was a shadow. And he was helpless.

He didn't know how to hold the thread. He knew her reason of breakdown, but the words he needed to say remain lodged in his throat.

Aru was her everything, if it was still the same, then why?

She didn't look at him.

She sat quietly on the bed of the bed, eyes cast downward, her posture unnervingly calm. The distance she put between them wasn't physical--it was emotional, and it terrified him. Not because it hurt, but because it was too quiet, too obedient. As if she was beyond resisting. As if she'd given up.

This isn't her, damnit.

The Lashika he knew--the girl who once rolled her eyes even at his slight arrogance, who fought back with a fire that both infuriated and fascinated him--was buried under layers he couldn't peel back.

He stood slowly, grabbing the first aid kit, the motion giving his breath time to steady. He approached her, hesitant, not out of fear of her--but of what they'd become.

She didn't flinch, didn't acknowledge him. He sat beside her the space between them filled with words unsaid. She turned, at last, her gaze unreadable.

Her obedience in such trivial matters, her calm acceptance of everything, even the smallest tasks, was terrifying. He would almost prefer her fighting back, trying to escape. At least that would be something he could handle. But the silence? It was eating him alive.

"Show me your hands," he said quietly, his eyes flicking to the sleeves that hid her wrists.

She didn't move.

Instead, her voice slid through the air--soft, almost playful, but laced with a deeper wound. "Do you care for your betrayer, Rudraj?"

The question struck somewhere beneath his ribs.

His throat burned with answers he didn't know how to give. So he swallowed, and offered the only truth he could voice. "I don't want to take care of a sick betrayer." 

He held out his hand, palm up. "Give me your wrists."

"I won't get sick from minors bruises," she murmured, voice levelled. But her calmness unsettling.

Minor?

That could mean anything. Was she downplaying something deeper? What else had she hidden beneath those sleeves? Were there deeper injuries? Or was this her way of toying with his mind, a means of escape?

"Let me treat it." His voice was firmer now, a command more than a request.

When she still didn't respond, he reached for her sleeve and gently pulled it up. Her sharp breath hit the air like a warning bell, but she didn't stop him. 

That silence again.

It shredded him.

The wound was shallow, angry from where she must've scrubbed it raw. A thin thread of blood curled down her wrist like a whisper of pain. His fingers trembled slightly as he cleaned it, blowing softly on the cut before dabbing it with antiseptic.

She didn't wince.

The girl he once knew would've raised hell over a paper cut, demanded attention, cursed anyone for the sting. Now, she just sat still, it scared him in ways he didn't have the words for. Who had she become?

What made her like this?

Across from him, Lashika watched with a guarded heart. His tenderness--so subtle, so careful--shook something loose inside her. It was wrong to feel this way, she knew. She didn't deserve his kindness. But here he was, now kneeling in front of her to treat her feet like she mattered. Her heart ached with every touch. Her chin trembled, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

Because this--this fleeting tenderness--was everything she'd ever wanted. And nothing she could ever claim.

She had loved him then.

She loved him still.

But she had no right to.

He would never know. She wouldn't let him.

How could she ever tell him that, when every breath she took was a reminder of what she'd cost him?

Her body ached to lean into his warmth, to collapse in his arms and stay there, just for a moment. But her mind reminded her--he wasn't hers. He never had been. Not really.

His hands lingered just a second too long before bandaging her ankle--a bruise she didn't even noticed until now. A whisper of a pause, a breath suspended. And then, like a switch flipping, his tenderness snapped back into something colder and sharper. With that, a strange emptiness settled over her.

She didn't see him move until he stood abruptly, and grabbed the furry cuffs from the table. He walked back with measured steps and clipped one with her ankle, chaining her to the bedpost in a single motion. He needed a reaction and humiliation was his last hope, though he dreaded the idea.

She didn't resist.

And somehow, that shook him more than if she had.

He stared at her, willing her to push him away, to scream, to lash out. Something. Anything. But she just sat there, quiet, almost serene.

Was she really Lashika?

Or had she been hollowed out so completely that nothing remained?

The air thickened.

Moments passed, he had returned to his desk and tried to pretend it was fine--tried to focus on the files in front of him, but his eyes kept flicking back to her. Her stillness wasn't peace. It was something else.

In frustration, he let a heavy book drop.

Lashika's flinch was immediate, her body jerking forward--only for the cuff to pull her back, dragging her down with a crash.

She yelped, "What the hell?!"

He glanced over, a smirk twitching at the edge of his lips, masking the flash of worry in his eyes.

"You told me we're on thirty-fifth floor," she snapped, tugging at the cuff. "Do you really think I'd jump?"

"I don't trust you," he replied evenly. "What if your twisted brain decides to try anyway?"

She narrowed her eyes and her sarcasm dripped with annoyance. "Do you live in the '90s, Your Majesty?"

He didn't answer. His eyes flicked back to the papers, ignoring her sharp tongue--but it stirred something in him. A shadow of the girl he remembered.

"Do you plan to keep me chained forever, Your Majesty?"

No response

"Oh. come on. Drop the ancient hostages tactics, Your Majesty." She spat, but the cracks in her voice betrayed her calm.

Still no response.

Her patience wore thin, and the humiliation burned hotter than her anger. The last thing she wanted from the man she loved was to feel humiliated.

She swallowed hard and then, softer--pain lacing ever word-- "I feel like your mistress."

His head snapped up.

His eyes darkened.

He knew she didn't mean it. Knew it was the irritation talking. Still, it ignited something dangerous in him.

"You're not in a position to burn calories, sweetheart," he said with a slow smirk, rising.

Her eyes widened and soft redness spread on her cheeks.

Rudraj stepped closer pulling his sleeves up. She backed up instinctively, only to find the bed behind her, leaving no room to retreat.

He slowly reached down and unlocked the cuff, the click sounding too loud in the silence. The urge to pull her into his arms overwhelmed him, especially seeing her in his sweatshirt. She looked like she belonged to him, to his arms. 

She barely breathed as he leaned in, close enough that his breath kissed her ear, his warmth wrapping around her like a memory she couldn't shake.

"If you're ever going to be someone to me," he whispered, voice like velvet edged in steel, "then it will be as my wife."

Her breath caught in her throat. Her pulse fluttered like wings against her ribs. And for a single, foolish heartbeat--she believed him.

But then, reality snapped back as his phone buzzed, dragging him to the present. The truth stung, but he wouldn't let her see that. 

"As per my mother's wish," he added, withdrawing. It was not a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. His mother's memory flooded him, the familiar ache of loss. His hand brushed the ring on his finger--out of habit and peace. He turned away, retreating into distance once again.

"But I can never unhear her screams of pain, Lashika," he said, his voice cracking like the spine of a well-worn book. He didn't turn around as he spoke, shoulders stiff, gaze glued to the door as if it were the only way to breathe. "They haunt me. And every time I look at you, I hear them again."

He had to leave. For her sake. For his own sanity.

The red rashes blooming around her neck weren't just physical--they were an echo. A mark of everything that should have never happened, and everything he was afraid might happen again. It terrified him.

The time they'd spent together had carved a dangerous softness in him, and he wasn't ready for it. He couldn't protect her from what was inside him. And worse--he couldn't drown out his mother's screams every time Lashika blinked.

The darkness in him... it was hungry. And it knew her name.

He wouldn't let it take her. Not again.

His thumb found the ring on his finger--an anchor to forgotten vow--and flicked against it as he reached for the lock.

"You had to choose your stepfather that day, didn't you?" His voice was barely a breath now, brittle and tired.

Behind him, her answer came soft, like wind blowing through a dying fire.

"I didn't," she breathed.

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