The moment the guard said "he's awake," Rishabh's entire body changed.
He didn't move suddenly.
He didn't shout.
He didn't even break eye contact with me.
But something inside him shifted—
like a silent door slamming shut.
The calm in him turned sharp.
Cold.
Calculating.
Predatory.
It was like watching a storm take shape.
He straightened, the dangerous kind of stillness settling over him—a stillness that said someone, somewhere, was about to regret existing.
"Stay here," he said.
His voice was even.
Controlled.
Which made it so much worse.
"W-wait—" I reached out, instinctively.
He stopped.
Turned.
Looked at my hand shaking in the air between us.
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes.
Then he stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until my fingers brushed the front of his shirt.
I snatched my hand back like I'd burned myself.
His gaze flicked from my trembling fingers to my face.
"Aarya," he said quietly. "Don't run."
It wasn't a warning.
It was a promise.
He brushed a wet strand of hair from my cheek. A touch so gentle it made my throat close.
"I'll handle this."
Then he turned and walked away.
The guard followed, closing the penthouse doors behind them.
The silence left behind was suffocating.
I stood frozen in the middle of the massive room, my breath coming in uneven, panicked bursts. Every instinct screamed:
Run now.
While he's gone.
While you can.
He had my parents' blood on his hands—if not literally, then by proximity. He married me under false pretenses. He manipulated my life without me knowing.
And now he was keeping me here.
In a glass tower.
Like something he owned.
Like something he paid for.
No.
I needed to get out.
Now.
My pulse roared in my ears as I scanned the penthouse.
The door? Impossible.
Guards outside.
Windows? Maybe.
But the height made my stomach churn.
The fire exit stairwell?
Maybe—if I could find it before someone stopped me.
I forced my legs to move.
Every step felt like walking through mud.
Fear made my muscles watery and weak.
But I kept moving.
The penthouse was bigger than my entire house. Cold marble, steel lines, floor-to-ceiling windows drenched in rainlight. It felt like a place designed for someone who didn't believe in comfort.
It felt like him.
I made it halfway down the hall before a sharp sound cut through my thoughts—
a muffled scream.
Male.
Pain-filled.
Raw.
It came from the hallway Rishabh disappeared into.
I froze.
Another sound followed—a hard thud. A body hitting something.
Then a voice.
Rishabh's.
Low.
Unhurried.
Deadly calm.
"You should have stayed unconscious."
My blood turned to ice.
This was my chance.
My only chance.
I forced my legs to move again.
My fingers closed around the first door handle I found.
Locked.
Next door—storage.
Empty.
Next—bathroom.
I stumbled inside and shut the door quietly.
My breath hit the mirror—shaky and uneven. I barely recognized myself. Wet hair clinging to my cheeks. Eyes wide and red. Pale skin. A girl who had lost everything in one storm.
A girl claimed by a ghost who refused to stay dead.
No more crying.
No more freezing.
I had to move.
I opened the cabinet under the sink.
Nothing helpful.
Then I saw the small glass window above the shower.
It was narrow.
But I could fit.
Maybe.
I dragged a stool over.
Heart pounding.
Hands shaking so badly the metal rattled.
A scream tore through the penthouse again.
I jumped so hard the stool nearly toppled.
That wasn't a normal scream.
It was agony.
I shouldn't have looked.
But I did.
The hallway light reflected in the bathroom mirror—and through the crack under the door, a shadow moved.
Not approaching.
Just pacing.
A guard.
Waiting.
He'd been posted outside the bathroom while I planned to climb out the window like an idiot.
God.
My heart stopped.
He knew I was in here.
He was listening.
I forced myself to breathe silently, slowly.
Then—
A deep, guttural groan echoed down the hall.
Followed by—
A wet crack.
Bone.
I slapped a hand over my mouth to stop the sound that almost escaped.
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Unhurried.
Coming closer.
No, no, no—
I backed up against the counter, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood.
The footsteps stopped outside the bathroom door.
Then—
Silence.
A silence so thick it pressed into my ears, into my lungs, into my bones.
My fingers dug into the counter edge.
Then—
The doorknob turned.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
The door opened a fraction.
He stood there.
Rishabh.
Blood on his sleeve.
A cut above his eyebrow.
His breath steady.
Composed.
Monster-calm.
His eyes swept the small bathroom.
Found me instantly.
I couldn't speak.
Couldn't breathe.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
"Aarya."
My name in his voice felt like a hand sliding around my throat.
"I told you not to run."
My lip trembled.
"I wasn't—I wasn't running—"
He looked at the stool.
At the window.
At my shaking legs.
Then his jaw flexed.
"Aarya," he repeated, stepping closer. "Don't lie to me."
I shook my head violently. "I wasn't—"
He moved so fast I barely registered it.
One moment he was across the room.
The next, he was in front of me, his body crowding mine, his hands gripping the counter on either side of me.
Not touching.
But caging me completely.
His breath hit my cheek.
"Look at me."
I didn't.
Couldn't.
His fingers—blood-warm, steady—caught my chin and lifted it.
Our eyes met.
My heart nearly stopped.
He wasn't angry.
He wasn't cold.
He was something worse:
Hurt.
"You think I would let him touch you?" he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
"I—I don't even know who he is—"
"It doesn't matter who he is."
His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek.
"It matters who you are."
"I'm nothing," I whispered. "I'm not your wife. I'm not—"
His hand closed around my jaw.
Not gentle.
Not harsh.
Just inescapable.
"Don't say that again."
My breath hitched. "Why?"
"Because it isn't true."
I shook my head.
Another tear slipped out.
He leaned closer until his forehead almost touched mine.
"Your parents sold you," he said quietly. "But you were mine long before that."
A tremor ran through me. "Please…don't say things like that."
"Why?" he whispered.
His lips brushed my cheek as he spoke.
"Because it scares you?"
"Yes," I breathed.
He closed his eyes once—slow, pained—before opening them again.
"Good."
My breath broke. "Rishabh—"
He suddenly stepped back.
The shift was so abrupt it made my stomach twist.
"Come."
"No—"
"Aarya."
His voice hardened.
"I'm not asking."
He extended a hand.
Blood stained his knuckles.
My legs refused to move at first.
But his eyes held me—
and something inside me cracked open.
I stepped forward.
He took my wrist.
Not tightly.
But firmly enough that escape was impossible.
He walked me down the hall.
My heartbeat thundered louder with every step.
We reached a wide, dim side room.
And then I saw him.
The intruder.
The man from my home.
Broken.
Bleeding.
Barely conscious.
Tied to a steel chair.
His face was a mess of bruises.
Blood dripped from his chin.
He lifted his head weakly.
His gaze found me.
"Aarya…" he croaked.
Rishabh's grip tightened around my wrist so suddenly I gasped.
His voice was a razor dragged through velvet.
"Do not say her name."
The man coughed, spitting blood. "I—I didn't kill them. I swear."
Rishabh stepped in front of me like a shield.
"You shouldn't have touched her door."
"Please—" the man sobbed. "I was just collecting—debts—"
"Debts?"
Rishabh smiled.
It was the coldest thing I'd ever seen.
"You entered my wife's home," he said softly. "You put your hands on her walls. You stepped a foot inside her room."
He leaned close.
"And you think debt is the issue?"
The man whimpered.
Rishabh straightened.
His voice was almost gentle.
"Aarya."
I flinched.
"I want you to ask him," Rishabh said, "what he did to your parents."
My breath broke. "No—no, I can't—"
"You can."
A thumb brushed my wrist.
"You need to know."
I shook my head.
My vision blurred.
"I can't," I whispered. "Please. I can't."
For a moment, I thought he'd force me.
Instead—
He stepped closer.
So close his presence wrapped around me like heat in winter.
His hand slid behind my head.
I froze.
He lowered his forehead to mine.
A quiet, grounding touch.
A forbidden one.
"Aarya," he murmured.
Soft.
Breaking me.
"Let me protect you."
My eyes burned.
Something hot and painful lodged in my chest.
"I don't know how," I whispered.
He closed his eyes.
"You don't have to."
He turned back to the man—
—and his voice became a blade.
"Tell me what you did."
The man began to sob.
Rishabh's jaw clenched.
"Or I make you."
Something inside me splintered.
"Stop!" I cried.
Rishabh froze.
Turned.
Looked at me.
Not angry.
Not irritated.
But…
calm.
Calm in a way that terrified me.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I can't watch this," I whispered.
He studied me for a long, breathless moment.
Then—
to my shock—
he stepped back from the man.
"Take him downstairs," he told the guard. "I'll finish this later."
My heart dropped.
"Finish—what?"
Rishabh didn't look at me as he wiped blood from his knuckles with a cloth.
"Whatever I need to."
The guard dragged the sobbing man out.
The room fell silent.
Rishabh turned to me slowly.
"Aarya."
I took a step back.
He took a step forward.
"Aarya," he repeated, voice softer now. "Come here."
I shook my head violently.
He stopped.
His chest rose and fell once—too slow, too deep.
"Are you afraid of me," he asked quietly, "or of what you feel?"
My breath shattered.
"Both," I whispered.
He walked toward me anyway.
Not fast.
Not aggressive.
Just inevitable.
He reached me.
Lifted my chin.
His eyes held something I couldn't name.
"You're not going anywhere," he murmured.
And then—
He kissed my forehead.
Slow.
Warm.
Claiming.
"Not now," he whispered.
"And not ever."