The hospital corridor smelled faintly of antiseptic and wilted flowers. Kiara walked through its quiet stretch with blank eyes, her soaked hair tied loosely behind her. The storm outside had subsided, but it still rumbled faintly as if echoing the turmoil inside her.
Inside Room 214, Vikram sat up on the bed, a pale smile plastered on his face while the doctor removed the IV drip and announced he was fit for discharge.
A few hours later, the car rolled into the Shetty Villa driveway. Servants hurried out to greet them as Kiara helped her father into his room. The walls were dimly lit, the curtains drawn, the air heavy with silence.
She gently helped him onto the bed, tucking the blanket under his arms. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Vikram looked up, his eyes soft and searching. "You haven't said a word since we left the hospital," he said quietly. "Are you… mad at me, princess?"
Kiara's lips tightened. She stood at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped together. "If I say what I truly want to, you might try to do something reckless again," she replied, her tone clipped but trembling. "So it's better if I say nothing at all."
She turned toward the door. "Good night, Dad."
And before Vikram could respond, she was gone—her steps echoing down the hallway, the sound fading like a closing chapter.
A moment later, Varun entered the room. His face was drawn tight, his usual calm replaced by a quiet, heavy anger. He stood by the door for a second, then said, "This has really hurt her, Dad."
Vikram looked away, guilt shadowing his face. "I know, Varun. But my hands are tied."
Varun took a step closer, his jaw tightening. "Tied? You pushed her to the edge. You made her agree to marry someone she barely knows. How is that saving her?"
Vikram's voice dropped, quiet but steady. "Because sometimes, hurting your child is the only way to save them from something worse."
Varun frowned, his tone sharpening. "What are you talking about?"
Vikram met his son's eyes. "Yuvaan has plans to marry Kiara."
Varun stiffened. "What? How do you even know that?"
For a heartbeat, Vikram hesitated — Mishka's warning flashing in his mind — then he replied,
"I found out from the Watchers of the Four Cardinal Points."
Varun's brows drew together. "The Watchers?"
"They've been keeping watch over signs that most people can't see," Vikram said, his tone dark and grave. "And what they told me confirms what I feared — Kiara's name is already being whispered among forces that shouldn't even know she exists."
The room fell silent. The ticking of the clock filled the space between father and son.
Finally, Varun said in a low voice, "Then we'll protect her. No matter who or what comes for her."
Vikram looked at him, pride flickering faintly in his weary eyes. "I know you will, my son. But what's coming… won't stop with her."
The sound of running water filled the bathroom, a relentless rhythm masking the sobs that shook Kiara's body. She stood beneath the shower, fully clothed, her hair plastered to her face as tears mingled with the cold stream cascading down her skin.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't wash away the ache in her chest — or the memories that refused to fade.
Her mind drifted back to that day at Rana Palace, during the university excursion.
The laughter of her classmates echoed faintly in her memory — before everything had gone wrong. The floor beneath her had given way, and she had fallen into an underground chamber — dark, damp, and suffocating.
She had screamed, trembling, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. The air had felt too heavy to breathe. The darkness pressed against her chest like a living thing, feeding her deepest phobia — being trapped.
"Kiara! It's okay! I'm here!"
It was Yuvaan. He'd jumped down after her without a second thought. His voice — steady, low, reassuring — cut through her panic like a beacon.
He had taken off his shirt, using it to wipe the sweat and tears from her trembling face.
"Breathe, okay? Look at me," he'd said, his tone gentle but firm. "You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you."
She had clutched at his arm, sobbing, her body pressed close to his as he held her steady. In that suffocating darkness, his warmth had been the only thing keeping her from shattering completely.
He had whispered encouragements, one after another, until her breathing slowed. Then, scanning the chamber, he noticed a fading portrait leaning crookedly against the wall. Behind it, a faint draft.
"The exit," he'd murmured.
Kiara had been too weak to walk, her legs trembling. Without hesitation, Yuvaan had scooped her into his arms, holding her as if she were made of glass. His heartbeat thudded steady against her cheek — a rhythm that had made her feel safe in a world that suddenly wasn't.
When they finally emerged into the light, she'd looked at him — really looked at him — and something inside her had shifted forever and she fell asleep in his arms.
Now, standing under the cold shower, that warmth was gone. All that remained was the hollow ache of a love she had just buried alive.
Her knees gave out, and she sank to the floor, her sobs swallowed by the sound of falling water.
"Why did it have to be you, Yuvaan?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Why did you have to make it so hard to let go?"