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Author
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After 2 days,

Aaravika adjusted the pleats of her red saree one last time, her fingers trembling slightly as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. The deep red fabric hugged her figure perfectly, its intricate golden embroidery shimmering under the light. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the crowd below.

The grand hall buzzed with energy, glittering chandeliers casting a warm glow over the opulent surroundings. Aaravika descended the staircase, her red saree flowing like molten fire, its golden embroidery catching the light with every step. Her heart pounded in her chest as her eyes scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces, searching for something—or rather, someone.

And then, she saw him.

Vayran Singh Chandravansh stood near the bar, a towering figure of authority in his sleek black suit. His expression was impassive, but his eyes—those cold, merciless eyes—were locked onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. He looked as if he owned not just the room but the world itself.

Her steps faltered for the briefest moment, but she quickly recovered, straightening her posture. She wouldn’t let him see how his presence unsettled her. But as if sensing her discomfort, his lips curved into a mocking smirk. Aaravika immediately tore her gaze away, focusing on anything but him.

The camera flashes intensified as she reached the bottom of the staircase. The media was relentless, shouting questions and snapping pictures. Aaravika lowered her gaze, overwhelmed by the sudden attention. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her saree, a nervous habit she couldn't shake.

Before she could compose herself, a firm hand gripped her waist, pulling her close. The scent of whiskey and expensive cologne enveloped her, and her stomach churned as she realized who it was.

"Relax," Vayran murmured, his voice low and edged with irritation. "You’re making us look weak."

Aaravika stiffened, her head snapping up to glare at him. "Get your hand off me," she hissed under her breath, trying to twist out of his grasp.

"Not a chance," he replied coolly, his smirk deepening. "The media’s watching, Mrs. Chandravansh. Smile for the cameras."

Her nails dug into the fabric of her saree as she forced a tight-lipped smile. The reporters were relentless, snapping pictures of the "perfect couple." Perfect? Aaravika wanted to laugh. Their marriage was anything but perfect. It was a farce, a contract neither of them wanted.

"This is just a party," she whispered harshly, her voice trembling with anger. "Not a battlefield."

His fingers tightened slightly on her waist, his smirk never faltering. "Everything with you feels like a battlefield, Aaravika. But don’t worry, I’m always ready to win."

She bit the inside of her cheek, suppressing the retort that bubbled up in her throat. "Let go of me," she demanded again, her voice sharper this time.

"Careful," he warned, his tone dropping dangerously low. "Unless you want everyone here to see just how much you hate your husband."

Her breath hitched, her fists clenching at her sides. He always knew exactly how to push her buttons, how to manipulate the situation to his advantage. Aaravika plastered a strained smile on her face, her heart racing with frustration and helplessness.

"You’re insufferable," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

"And you’re predictable," he shot back, his lips brushing dangerously close to her ear as he whispered, "Always trying to fight when you know you can’t win."

Aaravika felt her blood boil, but before she could respond, a guest approached them, congratulating Vayran on the success of the event. He switched into his charming, cold, and arrogant public persona effortlessly, his grip on her waist never loosened.

As the guest walked away, Aaravika turned to him, her eyes blazing. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "Every second."

She wanted to scream, to push him away, but the cameras were still trained on them, capturing every moment. She was trapped, not just in his arms but in this charade of a marriage—a bond forged out of obligation and hatred.

The moment the guest walked away, Aaravika shifted uncomfortably, trying to put some distance between herself and Vayran. But before she could make her escape, Dharam, his loyal bodyguard, approached with urgency etched on his face.

“Sir, there’s been a breach in security,” Dharam said in a low voice, his eyes scanning the room. “We’ve got an unverified presence. I’d recommend heightened caution.”

Vayran stiffened, his sharp eyes narrowing as he quickly assessed the situation. “Details,” he demanded, his tone cold and clipped.

Before Dharam could respond, Vayran’s gaze caught something—a flash of light reflecting off metal. A gun. His blood ran cold as he tracked the red dot that hovered in the distance before settling dangerously on Aaravika.

She had moved away from him, walking toward Shrivanya, her saree swaying gracefully as she smiled and waved. She looked carefree, completely unaware of the threat locked on her.

Vayran’s jaw tightened. Why couldn’t she just stay where she was told?

“Dharam, take the left flank and secure the crowd,” Vayran ordered sharply, already moving toward her.

The first shot cracked through the air, silencing the party as panic rippled through the guests. Vayran lunged toward Aaravika, his powerful strides closing the distance just as she turned, startled by the noise.

“Aaravika, get down!” he barked, his voice like thunder.

Before she could react, he reached her, yanking her down to the floor. The second shot rang out, this time hitting him. A sharp, burning pain flared in his shoulder, but he didn’t falter. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her protectively, shielding her from any further harm.

Her wide eyes met his, panic etched across her face. “Vayran! You’re bleeding—”

“Stay quiet,” he growled, his voice laced with both frustration and authority. “Do you ever listen?”

“What?” she whispered, stunned.

“I told you to stay close, didn’t I?” he snapped, his grip on her tightening as chaos erupted around them. “But no, Aaravika always has to do what she wants.”

“Is now really the time for this?” she shot back, anger flaring despite the situation.

He glared at her, his jaw clenched. “Yes, because you nearly got yourself killed! You can’t even obey the simplest instructions.”

Before she could argue, more gunshots echoed through the hall. Dharam and the security team had engaged the attackers, but Vayran’s focus remained on her. He pulled her to her feet, his grip firm but not rough, and started leading her toward a safer corner.

“Where are we going?” she demanded, struggling to keep up.

“To safety,” he bit out. “Unless you’d prefer to stay here and test your luck with a bullet.”

The venom in his tone silenced her, though her heart hammered in both fear and frustration.

As they rounded a corner, Vayran shoved open a door that led to a secluded hallway. He pushed her inside, scanning the area before turning back to her.

“Stay here,” he ordered, his voice low but firm. “Don’t move until I come back.”

“You’re bleeding!” she said, her voice shaking. “You need help—”

“I don’t need anything from you,” he interrupted, his eyes locking onto hers with a fierce intensity. “What I need is for you to do as I say for once in your life.”

Her lips parted, the retort dying in her throat as she took in the sight of him. Blood seeped through his black suit, staining the fabric, but he stood tall, his presence unwavering.

“Why... why would you risk yourself for me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Because, like it or not, you’re my responsibility,” he said coldly, turning to leave. “And I don’t let anyone take what’s mine.”

He turned to Dharam, who had just caught up with them. “Secure this area. No one gets through.”

“Understood, sir,” Dharam replied, his voice firm.

Vayran glanced back at Aaravika, his tone softening just slightly. “Stay here. Don’t move until I come back.”

Before she could respond, he disappeared back into the chaos, leaving her shaken and confused. For all the hatred and resentment between them, one thing was clear: Vayran Singh Chandravansh was a man who would fight tooth and nail to protect what belonged to him. Even if it was someone he claimed to hate.

Gunshots rang out in quick succession, and with each one, her breathing became more erratic. The world around her seemed to blur and fade, replaced by memories she had buried deep inside her mind. She sat down on the floor covering her ears.

The flashback hit her like a storm.

She was five years old again, tied to a chair in a dimly lit room that smelled of dampness and iron. The sharp sound of gunfire echoed in her ears as she watched in horror. A man fell to the ground, lifeless, his blood pooling and spreading toward her tiny, trembling feet. The metallic tang of blood filled her nose, and crimson droplets splattered onto her innocent face, warm and sticky.

Another shot. Another body.

The cold laughter of the kidnapper filled the air, his voice cruel and mocking. Her screams were muffled by the rag tied around her mouth, her tiny body convulsing in terror. No one came to save her.

Her heart raced, her chest tightening as the memory overlapped with the present. The sound of gunshots from the party blurred with those from her past. The air felt heavy, suffocating, as her mind whispered the same chilling thought: It’s happening again. Someone innocent is dying, and I can’t do anything to stop it.

Aaravika clutched her head, her knees drawn to her chest as she rocked back and forth. Her hands trembled uncontrollably as she closed her ears, trying to block out the haunting sounds. But it was futile. The memories were too vivid, too real.

Her breathing turned shallow and rapid, her body shaking violently as panic consumed her. Tears streamed down her face, and her lips quivered as she muttered incoherently. “No… please… not again… not again…”

She was on the verge of slipping into her little space syndrome—a mental retreat her mind created to escape unbearable fear and trauma. The world around her faded further as she felt the overwhelming need to shrink into herself, to disappear.

Her nails dug into her arms, leaving crescent-shaped marks as she tried to ground herself. But the harder she fought, the deeper she spiralled. Her vision blurred, her surroundings spinning. She could feel herself losing control, slipping further and further into the abyss.

The door to the hallway suddenly burst open, and heavy footsteps approached. Through the haze of her panic, she vaguely registered someone kneeling in front of her. A firm hand grasped her shoulder, shaking her gently but urgently.

“Aaravika!”

The voice was sharp, commanding. Familiar. It cut through the fog in her mind like a blade, anchoring her momentarily. She blinked, her tear-filled eyes meeting Vayran’s. His face was pale, his shirt stained with blood, but his eyes burned with determination.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Breathe, Aaravika. Just breathe.”

Her lips quivered, but she couldn’t respond. Her chest felt too tight, her breaths too shallow.

Vayran cursed under his breath, his hands moving to cup her face. “Focus on me,” he said, his voice softer now but no less intense. “You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. Do you hear me?”

Her wide, terrified eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, she felt a flicker of stability. His presence was like a lifeline, pulling her back from the brink.

“Count with me,” he said firmly. “One… two… three… come on, Aaravika. Say it.”

Her lips trembled as she whispered, “One… two… three…”

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his grip steady on her face even guards who were surrounded them shock by looking at the scene unfolding in front of them. “Keep going. Four… five…”

She nodded weakly, her breathing gradually slowing as she continued to count with him. The trembling in her hands subsided slightly, though tears still streamed down her cheeks.

After a few moments, Vayran let out a quiet sigh of relief. He released her face but stayed close, his piercing gaze fixed on her.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his tone softer now. “No one’s going to hurt you. I won’t let them.”

Aaravika stared at him, her body still trembling but her mind slowly clearing. For a man she despised, his presence felt oddly comforting. She hated that she found solace in him, but at that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to push him away.

Vayran straightened, wincing as the pain in his shoulder flared. He stood protectively in front of her, his eyes scanning the hallway for any threats.

“You’re stronger than this,” he said without looking at her. “Don’t let the past control you.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time, Aaravika felt a flicker of something other than fear. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the monster she thought he was. He carried her to their bedroom, then he laid her down on the bed and sat beside her.

She was blankly staring at him as he caressed her head to make her sleep. Slowly, she drifted to her deep slumber.

The next day in the morning,

The sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. Aaravika stirred awake, her body still heavy with the remnants of exhaustion. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she noticed Vayran. He was on the sofa, sprawled in a rare moment of vulnerability.

Usually, by the time she woke up, he was either working at his desk, sipping his coffee, or staring at her with that unreadable expression she both hated and couldn’t ignore. But today was different. Today, he looked… human.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet making no sound as she approached him. Kneeling beside the sofa, she studied his face. His features were sharp and commanding even in sleep, but there was a softness now—a stark contrast to the cold mask he always wore.

Her gaze drifted to his shoulder, where the bandage was visible beneath his loose shirt. The memory of the previous night flooded her mind: the way he had shielded her, the way he had held her through her panic. She still didn’t understand why he had done it. He wasn’t the type to care about anyone, least of all her.

Her fingers hesitated above the bandage, the urge to touch it overwhelming. Why does he do this? she wondered. He hates me. He’s made it clear he wants nothing to do with me. Then why does my pain seem to bother him? Why does he care?

Her heart clenched as she recalled the way he had comforted her. He hadn’t even known what she was going through—he had assumed it was a panic attack because she wasn’t used to violence. But still, he stayed. He hadn’t let her spiral.

As her fingers brushed against the edge of the bandage, a low voice broke through the silence.

“Don’t.”

She froze, her head snapping up to meet his eyes. They were half-lidded, heavy with sleep, but sharp enough to pin her in place.

“I wasn’t—” she stammered, pulling her hand back quickly.

“You were,” he murmured, sitting up slowly. He winced slightly, his hand instinctively going to his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“I… I just…” She faltered, her cheeks flushing under his intense gaze. “I was checking if your wound was okay.”

His lips curved into a wry smirk, though his eyes remained unreadable. “Didn’t know you cared.”

Her cheeks burned brighter. “I don’t,” she said quickly, standing up and crossing her arms. “I was just… curious.”

“Curious,” he repeated, his tone laced with mockery. “Right.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Aaravika shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

“You’re staring,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now.

“I’m not,” she lied, avoiding his gaze.

“You are,” he countered, leaning back against the sofa. Despite the smirk on his lips, his expression was serious. “Why?”

She swallowed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “Because I don’t understand you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Understand what?” he asked, his tone softer now, almost curious.

“Why do you care,” she said, meeting his eyes. “You hate me. You’ve made that very clear. But you still helped me when I was sick. You saved me from a bullet. You…” She trailed off, her voice catching. “Why?”

His smirk faded, replaced by a guarded look. He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze flickering to the window as if the answer lay somewhere outside.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice low. “And it’s starting to piss me off.”

Her breath hitched at the honesty in his tone. For once, there was no sarcasm, no mockery. Just raw, unfiltered truth.

“Whatever it is,” he continued, his eyes locking onto hers again, “don’t get used to it.”

His words stung, but there was something in his expression—something almost vulnerable—that made her question if he meant them.

She nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I won’t,” she said quietly, turning to leave.

Aaravika walked away, her thoughts swirling as she tried to process Vayran’s words. Her gaze shifted to the table near the bed, where her phone buzzed with a notification. Picking it up, she tapped the screen to see the message.

Her breath hitched.

"Today is the result of the 4th semester final exam."

Her fingers trembled, and before she could stop herself, the phone slipped from her hand, landing on the floor with a dull thud.

Panic surged through her veins. Her chest tightened, and her mind raced with thoughts she couldn’t control. What if I get 4th rank again? What if all those nights of trying weren’t enough? What if I let everyone down?

Biting her lip to suppress the wave of anxiety threatening to overwhelm her, she bent down, quickly picking up the phone and placing it on the table. Her movements were rushed, almost frantic.

She glanced over her shoulder at Vayran, who was now leaning back on the sofa, his eyes closed, seemingly lost in thought. She didn’t want him to notice her panic. Not again.

Clutching the edge of the table for support, she straightened herself and hurried toward the bathroom. The moment she closed the door behind her, she leaned against it, her legs feeling weak.

Her breathing grew uneven as she clenched her fists, trying to calm the storm within her. She couldn’t afford to break down again, not in front of him. The memory of how he’d seen her so vulnerable the previous night haunted her, and the last thing she wanted was to give him another reason to mock her—or worse, pity her.

Aaravika stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over her. The soothing sensation temporarily dulled her panic, washing away the tension knotting her muscles. She closed her eyes, trying to push the thought of the exam results to the back of her mind.

Focus. One thing at a time.

After what felt like an eternity, she turned off the water, stepping out of the shower. She reached for the towel and wrapped it tightly around herself, patting away the droplets that clung to her skin.

It was only when she glanced at the empty countertop that realization struck her.

Her clothes weren’t there.

Her breath hitched, and she froze in place, staring at the counter as if her missing clothes would magically appear. I was in such