"It’s not here," she said softly, eyes flicking away from his.
His gaze didn’t move from her face even for a second. Something inside him paused—just a second of silence, but her words echoed louder than a scream..
His voice came low, clipped—urgent this time.
“Is it in Ahmedabad?”
She hesitated—then nodded once, slow.
And there it was.
Something shifted in him.
The calm shattered—not into panic, but into intention.
He stepped back without another word, pulling out his phone. She watched him leave the room, door swinging half-shut behind him.
And then she sighed again, sinking onto the edge of the bed, lips twisting into sarcasm.
“God... he’s really that desperate for it?”
She mimicked his tone mockingly under her breath, “Not just anyone wears it...”
And rolled her eyes shaking her head.
But before the thoughts could fully form.
The door flew open again..
He walked in fast. Purpose in every step.
Without hesitation, his palm found hers.
Smooth. Firm.
He dragged her to her feet.
No explanations. No permission.
The man who once flinched at casual touches had his fingers wrapped around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And all she could do was follow.
Half-stumbling, half-stunned.
Twice in one day, she thought.
The man who could barely look at her without scowling— Had dragged her across this house like she meant something.
Outside, his car waited. Engine already purring.His men stood beside it—rigid, silent, alert.
He opened the passenger door for her,
“Get in.”
“But—”
"I said Get. In."
The quiet danger in his tone sliced through her protest.She slid into the seat, heartbeat in her throat.
The car skidded to a halt at the private runway. It was secluded—hidden within a private airbase he’d quietly purchased years ago..
No public radar. No press..Just pure steel silence, contol & a matte black jet resting on the private strip like a beast waiting to be unleashed.
His men stood in formation.
All in black.
Earpieces in. Arms at their sides—not raised, not casual—alert and synchronized.
And the moment he stepped out of the car—
Every single one of them straightened.
Not a word spoken.
Just shoulders rising, boots clicked, and heads tilted in a subtle nod.
Not out of fear.
Out of respect.
Kaizan subtly shifted to his right. A half-step behind him, body slightly angled— Always in position —between Prakhar & the rest of the world.Tall, composed with a slight scar on his cheek...
His eyes scanned the perimeter first—sharp, calculated. Not just looking. Reading.
As if he could tell who was armed, who was bluffing, and who needed to be buried—just by heartbeat.
And the moment she stepped behind him. The shift in the air was unmistakable.
They looked at her. Differently.
Not like a woman dragged along for the ride.
But like someone whose presence carried weight.
Someone who had crossed a threshold no one else had even been allowed to approach.
Because he had never brought anyone to this runway —Ever..
No girlfriend. No guest. Not even business partners flew from here.
Yet today—she was beside him.
And for his guards…
That meant everything.
She looked around, eyes catching the engraved crest on the jet’s side—same one she’d just seen on the leather of his car..This was his personal plane..
Her footsteps followed him..
Quiet. Careful.
She wasn’t scared of Prakhar’s anger anymore…
But Kaizan's silence..
Her eyes dropped—just for a second & spotted it —The holster embedded with knife strapped beneath his sleeve.
Not flashy. Not for show.
Just there. Practical. Accessible. Effortlessly lethal.
Her throat bobbed.
She felt something dangerous in the air..
In the way their eyes didn’t linger too long.
In the way their bodies tilted slightly in her direction—not protectively, but preparedly.
As if her safety was part of his unspoken command.
As if even brushing against her could get a man buried six feet deep in silence.
She didn't even realize she'd slowed down… until she was three steps behind..
Her eyes flicked to the nearest guard’s arms—still at his sides, but solid. One having holster visible.Another had something tucked under his blazer. She didn’t know what it was.. Didn't want to..
And then—
He slowed.
Deliberately.
He adjusted his cuff slowly, casually—like giving her time.
She nearly halted, confused—
Until he tilted his head ever so slightly.
No words. No gesture. Just that small, unreadable movement.
An unspoken command: Walk beside me.
Her breath caught. She hesitated—
Slowly… she stepped forward. Her shoulder barely aligned with his.
And only then did he move again—
Matching her pace. Not faster. Not slower.
No hand reached out. No comfort given.
But in that one act—he’d pulled her out of the shadows. And no one dared say a word.
The noise of her heels felt too loud this time. Like every step echoed a question she hadn’t asked yet.
No one neared her more than they should be..
They kept pace without crowding.
Trained. Professional.
As if her being close to him automatically made her a sacred territory.
As they reached the base of the jet stairway, two guards stepped forward to flank her.
But Prakhar paused..
She turned to him, confused.
He didn’t speak.
But the way his eyes scanned every corner, the way his men stood like stone lions behind them… it wasn’t just a takeoff.
It was a statement.
She’s with me. Touch her, and you won’t breathe to regret it.
As the jet’s engines rumbled to life, one of the guards stepped back and murmured into his earpiece,
“Eagle departing.”
She sat down quietly, unsure if she should even relax into the seat.
A minute later, a tray was placed beside her full of dishes and crystal glass of sparkling water on the table beside her, along with a warm rolled towel on a folded linen napkin.
She hadn’t asked for anything.
And yet… here it was.
“If there’s anything else, Ma’am…” the steward began softly, “...please press this.”
He gestured toward a button inset in the wood, carved with that same damn crest again.
She nodded once—tight, awkward.
The man bowed slightly and exited..
Then her gaze drifted the frosted door at the far end of the jet —
His compartment..Closed..
Avoidance. Again.
He didn’t even come out to explain.
And still, they treated her like she was rare.
She didn’t feel hungry. Didn’t feel royal.
Just... awkward..
The moment they landed, he drove like a man possessed, racing to her home as if every second will cost him air.
............
“Maa! Didi aur Jiju aaye hain! Jaldi aao!”
Rakshit shouted, half breathless with excitement, dragging them both into the living area like he was announcing the arrival of something precious. Like joy itself had just stepped through the door.
Rida stepped inside, her dupatta brushing the threshold. A second behind her, Prakhar.
Their first time entering this house together after marriage.
Not hand-in-hand. Not even side-by-side.
Just… together, in the most distant sense of the word.
She didn’t look at him.
But she felt his presence behind her like a shadow—silent, heavy, unreachable.
They hadn’t spoken since the flight.
And even before that, barely.
This wasn’t love. This wasn’t closeness.
This was two people joined by a circumstance..And bound by a vow only one of them seemed to carry with any weight.
For a second, silence blanketed the room—as if the walls were holding their breath. Rida’s gaze flitted across the familiar space, suddenly unfamiliar in its weight.
Her father came rushing out, a rare brightness lighting up his usually reserved face.
Her mother followed right behind, her steps quick but her expression gentle—softened by the sight of them together. Of her daughter finally home… and not alone.
For a second, the house felt like it was celebrating something that didn’t really exist.
Her mother pulled Rida into a tight embrace, like trying to make up for every moment lost. Her father’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, voice thick with emotion.
He turned to Prakhar, placing a reverent hand on his arm.
“Jamai sa… Kaise hai aap?”
But Prakhar?
He didn’t even look at him.
Didn’t offer a smile.
Didn’t blink.
His gaze was distant, as if the room didn’t exist. As if he didn’t.
Her mother rushed in, flustered. “Maaf kijiyega! Pehli baar aaye hain... aapki aarti bhi nahi hui…”
Again—nothing. No nod. No word. Just stillness.
He stood like a statue carved from ice—present in body, but far, far away.
Rida watched all of it unfold— Her heart oddly still.
Because she knew.
He wasn’t here for them.He was here just for that bracelet..
Her mother, beaming with joy too long held back, gently held his wrist—guiding him to the couch like she was honoring a king returning home.
“Aayiye. Baithiye. Main chai-paani lekar aati hoon.”
He followed.
Not out of warmth, not with belonging.
Just in the direction she pulled him.
Like a king indulging formality... not receiving love.
“Aap log thak gaye honge, haina...” her mother continued, voice tender, eyes shining.
While a strange pressure built up in her chest, like a scream that didn’t know where to go..
Prakhar stood. Suddenly.
Breaking the gentle flow of attention..
He brushed past her parents without a glance.
His arm grazed her father’s reaching hand.
Her mother’s fingers slipped from his wrist… like petals falling from a wilting stem.
Rakshit was teasing her but she barely heard him.
But all she could hear was the sound of her father’s joy being ignored.
Her mother’s hands falling away without a thank you.
A presence offered with love… and never received.
And then he turned to her—eyes unreadable, tone flat, clipped.
“Let’s find what we came for.”
She looked at him in disbelief, her chest tightening—
not because of what he said...
but because of everything he hadn’t.
The silence was louder than any rejection.
It clung to him like a second skin.
The way he stood—
distant, untouched—
as if her father’s warmth was just background noise.
As if her mother’s reverent touch hadn’t even grazed his senses.
Not cold.
Just... absent.
And then, her mother stepped closer again—
soft and fluttering, still glowing with that gentle kind of love only mothers carry.
“Rida… tu pehle bata deti, mujhe toh main sab tyaar karke rakhti na...”
So simple.
So pure.
So eager.
Rida turned to look at them—her parents, Still Smiling.
Still Giving.
Still Blind to see how little they were receiving back.
Holding onto this moment like it was sacred.
Believing this visit meant something holy.
When in truth...
He had walked in only to reclaim a bracelet.
And they... they were offering him a temple..
She was drowning in a silence none of them noticed...
She didn’t expect him to touch their feet.
Didn’t crave grand words or dramatic gestures.
Just… a greeting.
A flicker of recognition.
A moment of respect.
Some small acknowledgment of the love her parents had so openly offered.
And somehow, despite standing tall beside him—
She felt small.
Not just because of his coldness,
but because of the way he had always… never tried.
Never tried to understand what it matters to other people..
In that moment, something inside her sank. A hollow realization that —
This man is so self-contained in his own world, so untouched by the space around him, that even the kindness being offered felt like dust brushed from his sleeve.
He didn’t care about feelings.
Not hers.
Not theirs.
He only protected what he cared about.
The people, the memories, the possessions he deemed worthy.
And if she was part of that protection…
It wasn’t because she mattered.
It was because somewhere along the way, she had become another responsibility.
Not a partner.
Not someone cherished.
Just another promise to keep.
She blinked hard, forcing the storm back down. Forcing her spine to straighten.
So she smiled gently and said—
“Maa, aap chai banao... main abhi aayi.”
She didn’t wait for a reply.
Just turned toward her room silently —
To find the only thing he actually came for..
Now it had been 15 mins, she had been turning drawers gently..Not rushing..Just trying to remember where she’d last placed the bracelet.. Behind her, he stood by the window. Silent. Still.
But not patient.
His voice cut through the air—tight, clipped.
“Haven't you found it yet?”
She turned slightly, still crouched beside a box, and let out a soft breath.
“Actually… I don’t think it’s here. That box—it’s probably at the mansion.”
For a beat, silence.
His jaw ticked. The muscle along his cheek moved once then turned his head slowly, eyes locking onto hers—
Cold. Piercing. Exhausted. Restrained
“Come down in five minutes.”
Just that order.Then he walked out.
In the hallway, her parents looked up from the couch—surprised by the suddenness of footsteps caught off guard by his abrupt exit.
She followed seconds later. Smile stitched on with invisible thread, holding the truth back with the calm of a girl who’s practiced it too many times.
Her mother opened her mouth to ask—
But Rida beat her to it, reaching for the cup her mother had lovingly placed on the table.
"There's an urgent meeting..He got a call.Just Now.We had to leave."
Her mother nodded, a little disappointed but understanding.
She sat beside her father, lifting the cup of tea with both hand..She sipped tea pretending like this wasn’t breaking her in tiny places.
Her father smiled gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Jab waqt mile, phir se aana. Dono.”
She nodded.Another lie. Soft. Protective.
She stood barely placing the cup back on the tray—
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
The car horn blasted from outside. Loud. Rude. Rushed.
Her mother flinched, covering her ear.
Rida didn’t flinch.
Because that sound wasn’t just urgency.
It was impatience.
It was disrespect..
............
As the wheels of the plane kissed the runway, his fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. The moment they stepped out, he drove like a storm—cutting through the roads, his jaw set, eyes blazing ahead.
The tires screeched as he halted in front of Rathod Mansion. Without sparing her a glance he growled,
"Get off "
Before she could fully step out, his voice cut the air again, cold and razor-sharp, "Find it before night falls. Or get ready for the consequences."
And just like that, the car roared away, leaving behind a cloud of dust...
..........
The night air was cool. The glass closet panes caught his reflection—tall, broad, but slightly hunched, like something inside him weighed too heavy tonight. He pulled the black T-shirt over his damp torso, the fabric clinging to skin still kissed by steam. Drops of water trailed down his neck, disappearing into the collar. His hair was a wet mess, strands clinging to his forehead in defiance of his usual composure.
But it wasn’t the mirror he looked into.
His eyes flicked to the poolside.
Past the glass.
She sat there—cross-legged on the white outdoor couch, framed in the soft golden light like a dream. A pale pink kurti wrapped around her frame, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was tied in a lazy braid, little strands curling loose against her cheekbones. She looked peaceful… disturbingly so.
A leather diary rested near her thigh, a few scattered books stacked beside it.
And right next to her…
A Guitar — like it belonged to that peaceful little scene..
She bent, lips slightly parted in focus, threading a new string through the bridge..
She looked—serene. Untouched. Unbothered..
He pressed his fingerprint to the sliding panel and stepped outside—barefoot, dripping, but menacingly quiet.The faint sound of the pool lapping nearby..His shadow spilled across her quiet world.
She looked up.
Her eyes met his. Wide. Soft. Still. Innocent.
“You need something?”
She asked lightly, brushing her braid back as she returned to fix a snapped guitar string.
He didn’t answer at first. Just stared.
Then his voice came out low, clipped.
"My Bracelet!"
She tilted her head up, lips parting..
“Oh… that,” she said, like she remembered misplacing a pen.
“Actually..I looked for it earlier…I couldn't find it..I guess I lost it somewhere.”
She said it so lightly. So effortlessly.
Silence.
His heart twisted. The pain didn’t erupt—it seeped. His anger crawled up his chest slowly, like a cold poison.
The vein near his temple throbbed.His tone quieter this time—but deadlier.
“You lost it?”
She nodded, still calm.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It must’ve fallen somewhere. Don’t worry, I’ll check it again tomorrow”
She said it with a shrug.
His eyes, sharp and cold, scanned her face as if trying to find even a flicker of remorse. Instead, she looked unbothered.
No guilt. No fear. No understanding.
“You lost something that didn’t belong to you,” he hissed, the rage carefully leashed beneath his voice.
“And you’re sitting here… playing with this f**king guitar?Fixing it chords?”
She flinched at his tone, then frowned.
“Why are you acting like this?”, her tone edged with confusion.
“It’s not like I threw it away on purpose—”
“It’s just a bracelet—” she said, defensively now, “what’s so special about it? I said I’ll look again. Don’t make it such a big deal—”
Just a bracelet.
That was it.
Something snapped inside him.
Not loud. Not even fast..
It was like a string inside his chest gave up and recoiled all at once.
Before she could even process the change in his eyes, his hand reached forward. Fast. Unforgiving. His fingers wrapped around the neck of guitar roughly. She flinched..
“Wait!”
She lunged to stop him.
“Don’t—!”
Splash.
The guitar sliced through the silence like a scream and crashed into the water. The strings shrieked as they hit the surface. Bubbles rose. The ripples spread outward.
Time stopped.
She gasped, stumbling toward the edge of the pool instinctively—but stopped, frozen. Her body stiffened. Her breath hitched.
She couldn’t swim.
Her hands trembled at her sides, watching it sink. A choked whimper left her lips—one she didn’t plan, one ripped from the gut.
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Just a shallow breath.
Then another.
And then—
The tears blurred everything.
It wasn’t just any instrument.
It was the guitar—the one his father used to play for her mother, night after night, weaving melodies that spoke of a love deeper than words could ever reach.
A love that didn’t need grand declarations.
A love that lived in quiet rooms and soft chords.
It was him loving her—every day, in every note, with a devotion so constant, so steady, it became part of the walls, the air, the silence in between.
He had searched for the man—a master luthier, someone whose hands didn’t just shape wood but carved emotion into every fret.
A man whose guitars were said to carry souls.
He didn’t want anything flashy.
Just… something right.
Something that would sound exactly like the way he felt about her.
Something that could speak to her, even when he couldn’t.
And it did.
She remembered being small, curled up in her mother’s arms, the low hum of the strings filling their home like a blanket. Her father’s voice, soft and warm, drifted through the quiet—lullabies meant only for them.
Those songs didn’t just fill the room.
They held it together.
That guitar had witnessed it all.
The laughter.
The tired smiles.
The love that never needed to be proven, because it was always there.
And after they were gone—when the silence pressed too hard and the walls felt too hollow—
She played.
She played to keep them close.
To hear them again.
To remember what love sounded like.
But now…
The guitar floated in the pool, the water swallowing it inch by inch.
Strings slack.
Wood ruined.
Music—gone.
For the first time in a long time,
she felt completely... alone.
Her fists clenched at her sides, fingers digging into her palms like her own body was trying to keep her from falling apart.
She rose abruptly, her voice cracking—sputtering rage and disbelief.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! What did you do?"
His eyes didn’t waver. He stared at her with the cold, cruel clarity of a man who had hit his breaking point.
“Laga Bura?”
His voice was cruel, venom sugar-coated in amusement.
"Mujhe bhi laga tha..." , the pain in his voice was razor-sharp.
She stared at him stunned, chest rising and falling fast. Her hands trembled as they moved forward. She gently touched his hand, softly, pleading.
A whisper left her lips—
“Please… get it back…”
Hope. Raw and vulnerable.
For a moment, something in his chest moved. Twitched.
And then he jerked his wrist away like she’d poured acid on it. His eyes, burning now, locked with hers—
“Don’t. Ever. Touch. Me. You get that?”
His voice was harsh. Like venom.
She took a shaky breath, blinking away the tears forming. Her voice dropped to a trembling whisper.
"Why are you doing this? Please... just… please get it back..."
"No," he spat. "I won’t."
She gasped, heartbreak flickering in her eyes. Her voice cracked again—
"Please…"
This time longer. Softer.
A stretch soaked in pain.
"That was my father’s! You had no right!"
She reached for him again—grabbing his wrist now, desperate.
He didn’t pull away this time.
He stared right through her.
"Now you know..."
He hissed, gripping her elbow harshly.
"What it feels like to lose something that mattered."
It wasn’t about the bracelet anymore.
And she knew it.
Her lips quivered. Her eyes, glassy and broken, but not weak.. met his—and for the first time, there was no resistance.
Just… ache.
"Please…"
A whisper. A prayer. A lifeline.
He stepped closer. His breath ragged now, chest rising and falling fast—like he was drowning in everything he wasn’t saying.
Her pain... mirrored his. Reflected like a cruel joke.
And yet… he looked at her like she disgusted him. No, her bloodline disgusted him. His voice dropped colder than ever.
"Just like your parents…"
Her brows furrowed, unsure.
"Careless. Unworthy."
Silence
She looked at him with hurt, disbelief, eyes blazing now, her voice breaking—
"You’re so evil…"
He didn’t argue. Didn't deny it.
His voice, for the last time, dropped ice cold,
“You haven’t seen evil yet.”
And with that, he turned his back to her.
Walked away..
Left her. The guitar.
And behind him—a silence more deafening than any scream...
.......
The aroma of parathas and cardamom tea lingered in the air, weaving through the quiet hum of morning rituals in the Rathod mansion.
But at the dining table, the silence felt louder than ever.
He sat there, clad in his usual black suit, the cuffs of his shirt sharp against his wrist, a silver watch glinting under the chandelier's light. One hand rested flat against the polished wood. The other scrolled his phone lazily—not out of interest, but habit.
His siblings chatted in hushed tones, careful not to disrupt the air that surrounded him—a stillness more intimidating than noise.On the adjacent couch in the living area, Badi Dadi and Dadi sat with Dev at their side, sipping tea and murmuring about something no one was really listening to.
And yet…
His gaze flicked.
Once to the hallway.
Once to the stairs.
Then—almost reluctantly—to the kitchen.
She wasn’t there.
Not bustling around.
Just… absent.
He hadn’t seen her since last night. Not after the quiet storm that brewed between them.
He just disappeared into his study for the night, burying himself under files and spreadsheets, trying to drown the storm in work. But even the silence of the night didn’t quieten the chaos inside him.
Now… morning had arrived and the home was full.The breakfast was served but she was nowhere to be seen..
The chair across him—her usual spot—remained vacant.
And still, he told himself he didn’t care. Her whereabouts didn't matter to him..
And still, he didn’t ask.
Because if he asked, it would mean she mattered.
So he stayed quiet.
But deep down, it prickled him. Not out of possessiveness.
Out of duty.
He was her husband.
Not by choice. But by name. By title.
So he is responsible for her security..
His brows furrowed for the briefest second. His placed the phone down beside his plate with calm, precise fingers.
Silence hovered over the table like mist.
Only the faint clink of cutlery filled the space.
And then his spoon hit the plate a little too loudly.Not enough to startle..
Kanak looked up for a moment but said nothing..
The silence resumed.
And then—Akansha mumbled, eyes on her plate—
“Mujhe to laga tha aaj bhi bhabhi ke haath ke paranthe milenge...”
Her voice was soft. Not meant to provoke. Just a quiet thought slipping out.
Then she glanced up at their mother, brows slightly furrowed.
“Waise... unhi friend ko emergency hai jinki baat Bhabhi kar rahi thi?”
A hush followed her question.
The only sound was the clink of his spoon against the plate.
Kanak finally spoke, her tone low, “I don't know,” she said, her eyes steady on the rim of her teacup.
“She just informed me before leaving. She’ll be back before the barsi.”
And then—just for a moment—she glanced toward the elders seated nearby. Not out of fear.
But out of quiet defense. As if gently saying, she didn’t leave without a word and hadn’t broken any line.
No one commented.
He heard it but didn’t react..
But the shift in his expression was subtle, surgical. His eyes briefly stilled—when she said that..
But it passed.
As if nothing had touched him at all.
When the breakfast was done, he stood from the table, collected his phone and walked out without another glance at the empty chair across him.
His car stood waiting at the front—sleek, black, growling low like a beast on a leash.The driver, already in place, stepped out and moved to open the rear door.
But he didn’t stop walking.
One glance. One tilt of his head. One flick of two fingers.
The driver paused mid-step and backed off understanding immediately..
No words had been spoken.
But they all knew what the movement meant.
He opened the door himself, slid into the driver’s seat, and shut the door with quiet finality.
Just then behind, the second car's door shut too—Kaizan had entered his car parked barely a few feet back.
He knew it. He didn’t need to check mirrors to sense his presence.
Then he dialled Kaizan..
The call connected before it rang fully.
“At command, Sir.”
Kaizan’s voice came through his earpiece..
Eyes ahead, tone neutral, he spoke—
“Track her"
“Discreetly.”
He simply said, “Understood.”
Still staring through the windshield, Prakhar added—
“Don’t wait to act if something feels off. You know the threshold.”
Not a word more.
The call ended.
And for a moment… he simply held the phone in his hand.
Then, slowly, he leaned back into the leather seat.His head gently rested against the headrest—eyes closed, lashes thick against the sharp bones of his cheek.
The smooth stretch of his neck, the fall of his hair against the seat, the tension still present in the line of his jaw—it wasn’t relaxed. It was held back. Tightly.
And for one brief, traitorous second…
her eyes flashed behind his.
Uninvited.
From last night.
Wide. Hurting. Pleading.
He inhaled slowly through his nose.
Exhaled even slower.
Slow. Heavy. Controlled.
This wasn’t about feelings.
It was about knowing.
Because if anything happened to her while she was out there—alone, without telling him—he’d be the one to answer for it.To bear the consequences.
And no matter how distant things stood between them…
He never left what was under his protection unguarded.
He dropped the phone into the center console, adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.
Didn’t look back.
Didn’t wait for confirmation.
Because giving the command meant it was already happening.
That was enough.
Behind him, Kaizan’s SUV didn’t move yet.
They hadn’t even pulled out of the gate.
But the order had already left his lips.
And the world was already shifting around her—whether she knew it or not..
............
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