The engines purred to life beneath the night sky.

Black Crown moved—not loudly, not recklessly—but with the quiet precision of predators who knew exactly where their prey was sleeping.

Three cars slipped out of the compound, headlights dimmed, routes already cleared. The city lights blurred past the windows as Aanya sat in the back seat of the lead car, her posture straight, her face calm in a way that was far more terrifying than rage.

This was not impulse.

This was decision.

Vitale sat beside her, adjusting the weapon concealed beneath his jacket. Grace was in the front seat, eyes fixed on the road, jaw clenched. Mattio drove, hands steady on the wheel, his mind running through contingencies, exits, failures.

No one spoke.

The silence was heavy—not empty, but charged.

Aanya's gaze drifted to the city outside, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

In a hospital room.
White lights. The steady rhythm of a heartbeat monitor.
A man who had shielded her with his own body.

You proved you could die for me, she thought.
Now watch me prove I can destroy for you.

The iron gates of Arav's mansion opened with a low, mechanical groan, the sound echoing like a warning rather than a welcome.

Mattio brought the car to a smooth halt a short distance away.

Aanya stepped out of the black car first.

Not rushed.
Not hesitant.

The place reeked of power stolen, not earned.

"Security pattern?" Aanya asked quietly.

"Two guards at the front gate," Grace replied. "Four inside the perimeter. Cameras on the east and west walls. Blind spot near the rear garden—unchanged."

Aanya nodded once.

"Non-lethal for anyone who isn't Arav," she said. "I don't need bodies. I need silence."

Vitale looked at her then, really looked—and something unreadable crossed his face.

"Yes, boss."

They moved fast. Vitale, Grace, Mattio, and the Black Crown men followed her in perfect formation. The night air was thick, heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth and danger. Floodlights cut through the darkness, casting long, distorted shadows across the marble driveway.

Silent commands were exchanged with sharp hand signals. One by one, the guards stationed outside were neutralized—swift, efficient, merciless. Bodies dropped without screams, weapons disarmed before they could even be raised. The Black Crown did not announce itself.

But chaos never stays contained.

The moment the outer perimeter fell, alarms blared inside the mansion. Lights flickered on. Doors slammed. Footsteps thundered as Divalo's men poured out from every corridor like a disturbed hive.

Inside the control room, Arav watched everything unfold.

Multiple screens reflected fire, gunshots, blood.

And her.

Aanya Mehra.

A slow, amused smile spread across his face as he leaned back in his chair, completely at ease—like a man watching a game he believed he had already won.

"So you came alone," he murmured, almost impressed. "Mrs. Mehra."

He rose, fastening his jacket calmly, picking up his gun with deliberate ease.

"You really think you can finish me?" he laughed, shaking his head. "Good. Very good."

His smile sharpened into something cruel.

"You've made it easy for me. You are Ishaan Mehra's weakness now. And to destroy a man like him... you strike his weakness."

He checked the chamber of his gun and walked toward the exit.

"You may have entered my house," Arav said softly, venomously, "but you won't leave it."

Inside the mansion, the air exploded into violence.

Gunfire echoed against marble walls. Glass shattered. Blood smeared across white floors as Black Crown and Divalo men clashed in brutal close combat. Aanya moved through it all like a force unleashed—calculated, relentless, precise.

She dodged a strike, disarmed a man mid-lunge, and brought him down without hesitation. Another came from behind—she turned, fired, didn't look back.

Vitale and Grace fought at her sides when they could, but Divalo's men swarmed from every direction, forcing separation.

Mattio shouted orders over the chaos, but even his voice began to drown under the noise of war.

Then—

Aanya halted.

The fighting seemed to fade behind her.

At the far end of the main hall, Arav sat casually on a leather sofa, legs crossed, elbows resting on the armrests. Around him, the world burned—but he looked untouched. Untouched and amused.

"Welcome back," he said mockingly. "Mrs. Ishaan Aanya Mehra."

Her eyes locked onto him, cold and unwavering.

"I'm not here for pleasantries, Arav," Aanya replied flatly. "I'm here to end you."

Arav laughed—a loud, mocking sound that echoed cruelly through the hall.

"Oh, excellent," he said, standing slowly. "But first... let's talk."

He gestured lazily toward the chaos around them.

"Fight your way through. If you reach me alive," his smile widened, "then finish me."

Before she could respond, more Divalo men surged in from hidden passages—too many, too fast.

Aanya moved instantly, launching into combat again. She fought with fury sharpened by purpose—every strike fueled by memory, by pain, by the image of Ishaan lying broken in a hospital bed.

Grace and Vitale forced their way back to her side, covering her blind spots, dragging her forward inch by inch.

But outside the hall, Divalo's men had surrounded Mattio and the rest of Black Crown, tightening the noose.

Steel clashed. Bullets flew. Blood stained the floors.

And through it all, Arav watched.

Waiting.

Because for the first time, the war had walked straight into his home.

The clash did not slow—it multiplied.

Steel met steel. Gunfire cracked through the air like thunder tearing the night apart. Bodies fell, glass shattered, blood smeared marble floors that once reflected luxury and power. Aanya stood at the center of the storm, fighting with a fury that seemed endless, her movements sharp, ruthless, driven by something far deeper than anger.

Then Arav lifted his hand.

Just a small signal.

And his men understood.

From hidden corridors and reinforced doors, more Divalo soldiers poured in—heavily armed, well-trained, overwhelming in number. Within minutes, the balance shifted.

Vitale went down first, dragged back at gunpoint. Mattio followed, forced to his knees, blood trickling from his temple. Grace fought until three guns were pressed against her chest.

They were caged.

Surrounded.

Helpless.

Aanya stood alone between them and Arav, breathing hard, her clothes torn, knuckles bloodied—but her spine unbroken.

Every gun in the room turned toward her people.

"Drop your weapon," one of Arav's men snarled.

She didn't.

She didn't even hesitate.

She attacked.

Aanya launched herself forward, striking with everything she had—elbows, knees, fists—moving like she no longer felt pain. She took down one man, then another, disarming a third even as knife grazed past her. Blood ran down her arm, but she didn't slow.

She would not stop.

Not for fear.
Not for death.

Finally, she stood face to face with Arav.

"Enough," she said, chest heaving, eyes blazing. "Let's end this fairly. You and me."

The challenge cut through the chaos.

Arav's jaw tightened, rage flashing in his eyes.

Before he could reply, Aanya struck first—her fist slamming into his jaw with brutal force.

Arav staggered, then roared in fury, launching himself at her. They collided violently, crashing into furniture, fists flying, knees striking ribs, breath knocked from lungs. It was raw, savage combat—no guards, no weapons, just hatred and survival.

But Arav was bigger. Stronger.

When Arav finally realized he could not win—not with fists, not with brute force—his expression changed. The confidence cracked, replaced by something darker, more desperate. In one sharp, vicious motion, he pulled out his gun and grabbed Aanya, yanking her back against his chest. His arm locked around her throat, the cold barrel pressing dangerously close.

"Got you," he snarled near her ear. "Now where will you go, Mrs. Mehra?"

Vitale, Mattio, and Grace froze.

Their eyes widened in horror as they looked at one another, fear tightening their chests. One wrong move, and she would be dead.

Aanya struggled, trying to break free, but Arav's grip was ruthless.

"Try anything smart," he growled, tightening his hold, "and I'll shoot you right here."

His voice was venomous.

Aanya let out a low, furious breath—but she didn't flinch.

Instead, her eyes slowly swept across the room.

Bodies were scattered everywhere. Half of the Divalo men and Black Crown soldiers lay injured on the floor, groaning, bleeding, unmoving. Chaos had left its mark on every corner of the mansion. Then her gaze shifted—to Vitale, Mattio, and Grace, trapped, surrounded, guns aimed at them.

And then—

She saw it.

A gun.

Lying on the floor, just a short distance away.

A slow, dangerous smile curved Aanya's lips.

"You really think you can do anything to me, Arav?" she said calmly, deliberately baiting him. "Do you honestly believe I'm afraid of a gun?"

Arav looked at her, surprised—then amused. A cruel chuckle escaped him.

"I have to admit," he said mockingly, "Ishaan's luck is unbelievable. A woman like you—fearless, reckless." His eyes darkened. "But sadly, you won't last long."

He was still speaking when Aanya struck.

In one sudden, brutal movement, she slammed her heel into his knee. The impact was sharp and merciless. Arav hissed in pain, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second.

That was all she needed.

Aanya twisted free, lunged forward, and snatched the gun from the floor. Before Arav could recover, she spun around and aimed it straight at his chest.

Now they stood face to face.

Both with guns raised.

Both breathing hard.

In that brief distraction, Vitale, Grace, and Mattio reacted. They moved fast—twisting arms, knocking weapons away. Guns clattered to the floor. In seconds, Arav's men found themselves surrounded, helpless, their advantage gone.

Arav threw his head back and laughed—a loud, manic sound that echoed through the ruined room.

"Perfect," he said darkly. "Let's end this together."

Aanya didn't respond immediately. She stared straight into his eyes, her grip firm, her finger steady on the trigger.

"If you pull the trigger," she warned coldly, "I will too."

Arav's smile widened, twisted with madness. "Good. That's exactly what I want."

His voice dropped, poisonous and sharp.

"You die, Mrs. Mehra, and Ishaan Mehra will destroy himself. In the two years I've watched him, I've learned one thing—he's really obsessed with you. i Kill you, and he'll collapse on his own."

Aanya's jaw tightened, but she didn't lower the gun.

"If I end today," Arav continued, placing his thumb firmly on the trigger, "I'll make sure Ishaan's pride ends with me. You'll fall with me."

Aanya slowly mirrored him, her thumb resting on her own trigger. Fear flickered in her chest—but she buried it deep, refusing to let it surface.

Vitale's breath hitched.
Grace's eyes filled with panic.
Mattio clenched his fists, helpless.

The room went silent.

Two guns.
Two lives.
One breath away from death.

And neither of them blinked.

Arav's smile sharpened, cruel and deliberate, as he tilted his head slightly, never lowering the gun.

"Let's count, Mrs. Mehra," he said softly, almost playfully. "On one, shoot me. And if you don't—" his eyes darkened, voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "—I will kill you. Without hesitation."

Aanya's heart slammed violently against her ribs.

Fear surged through her veins—raw, undeniable—but she forced it down. She straightened her spine, tightened her grip on the gun, and lifted her chin. Her hands trembled for a fraction of a second before she stilled them.

"Okay," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "Let's do it."

Her eyes locked onto his.

"Let's end this together."

Vitale shook his head frantically, panic breaking through his composure. "No, boss—please don't do this."

Grace's breath caught. Mattio's fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.

Aanya didn't look at them.

She didn't react.

Arav's thumb pressed more firmly against the trigger. His lips curved into a smirk as he began to count, his voice echoing through the shattered hall.

"Three."

Aanya didn't flinch.

Their gazes collided—unblinking, unyielding. Two enemies bound by hatred, standing on the edge of death.

"Two."

The air grew heavy, suffocating. The room seemed to shrink, the silence screaming louder than gunfire ever could. Sweat slid down Aanya's temple, but her expression remained calm, resolute.

"One."

BOOM.

A scream tore through the room.

Vitale, Grace, and Mattio cried out in horror, their voices overlapping as they squeezed their eyes shut, bracing for the worst.

Aanya closed her eyes too. She waited for the pain. For the fire. For death. But it didn't come. Seconds passed. Nothing. Her brows furrowed as she slowly opened her eyes.

Arav was on the floor. Lying still. Blood spreading beneath him.

Shock slammed into her chest.

She hadn't pulled the trigger. Then how."

Her breath hitched as she turned her head instinctively toward the source of the shot.

And there—

Standing in the doorway, framed by shattered glass and harsh light-

Was Ishaan Mehra.

_

Two Hour Earlier — Mehra Mansion

Ishaan woke up with a sudden, uneasy awareness—an instinctive pull in his chest that something was wrong. The space beside him was cold.

Too cold.

He turned his head sharply, eyes scanning the bed. Aanya wasn't there.

"Aanya?" he called, his voice still heavy with sleep.

No answer.

A flicker of unease crossed his face as he pushed himself up, ignoring the familiar protest from his injured back. His gaze immediately fell to the bedside table, where Aanya's phone lay untouched, lifeless, exactly where she had left it. That single detail sent a sharp chill down his spine.  

He checked the bathroom next—empty. The sink was dry, the mirror untouched. No sign of her. He picked up his phone and called her name again, louder this time, stepping out of the room.

"Rose!"

Still nothing.

He moved into the living room, where the family sat together, the atmosphere calm—too calm for the storm beginning to rise inside him.

"Rose?" Ishaan called again, his voice sharper now.

She didn't appear.

Every head turned toward him.

"Ishaan, beta, what are you doing out of bed?" Mrs. Mehra asked, instantly concerned as she rose to her feet. "You should be resting."

"Where is my wife?" Ishaan asked quietly.

The room stilled.

A silence stretched—heavy, uncomfortable.

"Where is Aanya?" he repeated, his gaze moving from face to face.

Confusion rippled through the room.

"She was with you in the room, wasn't she?" Mrs. Mehra said gently. "Where would she go?"

"No, Mom," Ishaan replied, his voice tightening. "She isn't there. Did she tell anyone she was going out?"

Mrs. Mehra shook her head slowly. "No... she didn't say anything to us."

"Maybe she went to her house?" Sikha suggested quickly, reaching for her phone. "Let me call Nisha."

The call connected. Everyone waited, holding their breath.

"No, Mum," Nisha's voice came through the speaker. "Aanya isn't here."

The words hit like a silent blow.

The room's atmosphere shifted instantly—from confusion to fear.

Ishaan's heartbeat spiked violently. A cold memory surged forward, uninvited—the year she had disappeared, kidnapped, lost. His chest tightened painfully.

Mrs. Mehra hurried to him, guiding him to sit. "Relax, beta. She must have gone somewhere for work. She'll come back."

They waited.

Minutes passed.

Then an hour.

Still no Aanya.

By then, the Verma family had arrived, summoned by Nisha's worried call. Tension clung to every corner of the mansion. No one spoke much anymore, because everyone was thinking the same thing—

If she had gone somewhere simple, she would have returned by now.

Aransh was the first to break the suffocating silence, his voice tight with worry.
"Ishaan... Mattio. He's her secretary. He'll know where she is."

Ishaan didn't waste a second. He dialed Mattio's number, his fingers trembling with restrained urgency. The call rang once, twice—then died. No connection. His chest tightened. 

His fear turned into raw panic.

He began calling Black Crown—Vitale, Grace, Mattio—one after another. Each unanswered call fueled the storm raging inside him. No one picked up. Not a single response.

With clenched teeth, he dialed the Black Crown landline, clinging to a thin thread of hope that someone—anyone—would answer. The line connected, but instead of the voices he expected, an unfamiliar man spoke.

Ishaan forced himself to stay calm, though every nerve in his body screamed. "Where are Vitale, Mattio, and Grace?"

There was a brief hesitation on the other end before the man replied, "They've gone on a mission, sir. With Black Crown men."

Ishaan's blood turned to fire.

"A mission?" he repeated slowly, dangerously. "I didn't assign any mission."

Another pause. Then—

"And... one woman is with them as well."

Those words sliced through him.

"What did you say?" Ishaan asked, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

The man swallowed. "Mrs. Mehra, sir."

That was it.

Rage exploded inside him. His jaw clenched so hard it ached as he rose to his feet with force, the chair scraping violently against the floor. Without another word, he hurled his phone across the room. It shattered against the wall, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the stunned silence.

He turned and walked straight toward the gate.

"Ishaan!" Mrs. Mehra called out, fear lacing her voice. "where are you going?"

Without stopping, he replied coldly, "To bring my wife back."

Aransh and Karan followed immediately, not daring to let him go alone—not in his condition. As they got into the car, Aransh tried to reason with him. "You're injured. You can't even drive properly—"

"I don't care," Ishaan snapped, staring straight ahead, fury burning in his eyes. "She went to Black Crown. From there, she went to Arav's mansion. With Black Crown men. With Vitale, Grace, and Mattio."

The words hit Aransh and Karan like a blow. Shock flashed across their faces.

"I swear, Aransh," Ishaan continued bitterly, his hands clenched into fists, "one day your sister will be the death of me. She never thinks. She just acts. Every impulsive decision of hers sends my blood pressure through the roof."

The car sped through the city, slicing through traffic and darkness alike. They reached the mansion in time—barely.

And that was how Ishaan Mehra now stood at the gates of Arav's mansion, gun steady in his hand, his injured body driven by nothing but fury and fear.

Behind him stood Aransh and Karan.

Ahead of him—

The place where his wife had walked into danger alone.

__

Present:

For a moment, time stopped.

Aanya's eyes were fixed on the man standing at the doorway—gun raised, posture rigid, face carved from rage and terror intertwined. Ishaan Mehra. Her husband. The shot had already been fired. Before either she or Arav could pull the trigger, Ishaan had arrived like fate itself and ended everything with a single, merciless decision.

The sound still rang in her ears.

She watched as Ishaan lowered the gun, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked as if it might shatter. His eyes were dark, stormy, burning with something far more dangerous than anger. He walked toward her with heavy, determined steps, the kind that made her heart stutter.

He is going to kill me, she thought for a split second.

He reached her.

Aanya opened her mouth, panic flooding her chest, ready to explain, to justify, to defend herself—

But before a single word could leave her lips, Ishaan pulled her into his arms.

Hard. Tight. Desperate.

She froze, her hands suspended in the air, shock rooting her to the spot. His embrace was crushing, almost painful, as if he was trying to make sure she was real, alive, still there. His breath was uneven against her hair.

"You scared me, Rose," he said hoarsely. "You have no idea how inappropriate and reckless this decision was. What if something had happened to you?" He pulled back just enough to cup her face, his hands trembling despite his stern expression. "Why did you need to come here?"

Aanya exhaled shakily. "I had to," she whispered. "I just wanted to finish him... so he would never hurt you again. He is the one who caused the accident. Because of him, you were lying on that hospital bed. I—I almost lost you." Her voice cracked. "How could I let him live after that?"

Ishaan's expression shifted. The fury in his eyes softened into something raw and aching. He sighed deeply, resting his forehead against hers.

"You don't have to do that," he said quietly. "You don't have to stain your hands with his blood. Your husband is here for that."

Then his tone hardened again. "You shouldn't have done this, Rose. What if I hadn't arrived in time? He was ready to shoot you."

"So was I," she replied softly, almost casually.

Ishaan pulled back, staring at her in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind right now? You can't just wake up one day and decide to kill someone—"

Before he could finish, Aransh's tense voice cut through the air.
"Ishaan."

"Huh?" Ishaan turned sharply.

"Arav is dead," Aransh said. "You shot him. Straight through the heart."

Ishaan looked at the lifeless body on the floor and smirked coldly. "Good," he said without hesitation. "That's exactly how I wanted it. How dare he point a gun at my wife."

Aanya swallowed hard and finally looked at Arav's body. Reality crashed into her with brutal force. Ishaan was right. If he hadn't arrived when he did, there would have been two bodies lying there.

Hers included.

The realization hit her like a blow. She turned back to Ishaan and wrapped her arms around him carefully, avoiding his injuries. This time, she held him with quiet desperation. Ishaan sighed and hugged her back, one hand resting protectively on her back.

"You shouldn't be here," she murmured. "You should be in bed, resting."

He let out a low chuckle, mocking and tired. "Do you think a man whose wife is like you can rest? A woman who walks into hell without thinking, just to kill someone."

"I didn't come without thinking," she protested softly, still holding him. "I planned this for a month. I had every update on Arav. Mattio was watching him the entire time."

"Hm," Ishaan muttered darkly. "I'll deal with Mattio and the rest later."

He released her gently and turned toward Vitale, Grace, and Mattio, who stood with their heads bowed like caught thieves. His voice turned icy.

"We'll talk at the cottage," he said. "Clean everything here. Dispose of Arav's body properly."

"Yes, boss," all three replied in unison.

Ishaan turned back, took Aanya's hand firmly, and started walking away without looking at her.
"Let's go."

She followed silently, knowing from the tension in his grip and the distance in his silence that he was angry—terrified—and that this conversation was far from over.

___

The drive back was suffocatingly quiet.

The city lights blurred past the car windows, but inside, time felt frozen. Ishaan sat rigid in the back seat, his injured shoulder stiff, his jaw locked in a way Aanya knew too well. He hadn't looked at her once since they left Arav's mansion.

Aanya sat beside him, fingers twisted in her lap, every breath heavy with unsaid words.

This silence was worse than his anger.

In front seat, Aransh is driving  and Karan seat beside him.

When they finally reached Mehra Mansion, the guards straightened instantly, shock flickering across their faces at the sight of Ishaan back so soon. The gates opened, lights flooding the driveway, but the warmth of home felt distant tonight.

Inside, the mansion was quiet. Too quiet.

Mrs. Mehra rushed forward the moment she saw Ishaan.
"Ishaan—aanya are you okay?" she asked, panic lacing her voice.

"We are fine, Mom," he said calmly, though his grip on Aanya's hand tightened. aanya didnt said anything she just look down.

Mrs. Mehra's eyes moved to Aanya, immediately sensing something was wrong. She opened her mouth to speak—but Ishaan cut in gently.

"We're going to our room. Please don't disturb us."

It wasn't a request.

They went upstairs in silence.

The bedroom door closed behind them with a soft click that sounded final.

Aanya turned toward him at once. "Ishaan, please—"

"Sit," he said.

The single word carried a quiet authority that made her heart stumble.

She obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers curling into the bedsheet beneath her. Ishaan didn't look at her immediately. He turned instead and walked toward the bathroom, his movements slow and deliberate, every step reminding her that his body was still healing—even if his will was unbreakable.

She heard the cabinet open. The faint clink of glass. A pause.

When he returned, there was a small first-aid box in his hand.

He sat beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth, close enough that the air between them felt charged with unsaid words. He opened the box calmly, took out antiseptic, ointment, cotton—his hands steady, practiced.

"Take off your shirt," he said quietly.

"Huh?" Aanya looked at him, eyes widening in shock.

"I said take off your shirt," he repeated, his tone unchanged, gentle but firm. "You have injuries on your shoulder and arm. I need to apply the ointment."

She hesitated, heat rushing to her face—not out of shyness, but out of vulnerability. Slowly, she slipped her shirt off, revealing the sleeveless inner top beneath. Scratches marred her skin—faded but still angry, proof of a battle she should never have fought alone.

Ishaan's jaw tightened the moment he saw them.

He dipped cotton into the antiseptic and began carefully, his touch feather-light, reverent. Each time she flinched, his movements slowed even more, as if he were afraid pain might break her.

Then he spoke.

"Do you know what it felt like," he asked quietly, eyes fixed on the wound, "when they told me a woman had gone on a mission with Black Crown?"

Aanya's gaze dropped to her lap.

"My blood stopped," he continued, his voice low, controlled—but vibrating beneath the surface. "I couldn't breathe. All I could hear was my heart screaming your name." He applied the ointment gently, his thumb brushing her skin. "Do you know what it feels like to imagine your wife bleeding somewhere while you're lying helpless, unable to stand, unable to protect her?"

His hands trembled—just once.

Aanya's throat tightened. She could feel his fear now, not as anger, but as something raw and devastating. She reached out instinctively, her fingers wrapping around his wrist.

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know," he interrupted softly. "That's the worst part. You didn't mean to. You did it out of love."

He stepped closer.

"But love without caution is suicide, Aanya."

She looked up then, tears pooling in her eyes. "I couldn't lose you again," she whispered. "I already lost you once on that hospital bed. I won't survive that twice."

Something broke in him.

Ishaan exhaled slowly, then crouched in front of her, ignoring the pain in his back. He cupped her face, thumbs brushing away the tears she hadn't realized were falling.

"And I won't survive losing you even once," he said. "Do you understand that?

She nodded, crying openly now.

"You are my weakness love," he said firmly. "You are my life. " And That's exactly why I was terrified," Because losing you would destroy me in ways I'd never recover from."

He finished applying the ointment, then rested his forehead briefly against her shoulder—careful, restrained, but aching with everything he hadn't said. In that moment, there was no anger, no power, no war.

Only a husband tending to his wife's wounds.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. "I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

"No more secrets. No more wars fought alone," he said. "If someone comes for me, we face it together—but not like this. Never like this."

"I promise," she whispered.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, protectively, as if anchoring her back to him. This time, she didn't hesitate. She clung to him, careful of his injuries, burying her face in his chest.

Outside, the night finally exhaled.

Inside, two souls who had almost lost everything held on a little tighter—knowing that love had saved them again, but also realizing that the real battle was learning how to protect each other without destroying themselves.

And somewhere deep inside Ishaan Mehra, a single thought echoed with terrifying clarity.

No one touches my wife and live

___

One week pass in blur, the Mehra mansion was quiet on the surface—but inside their bedroom, tension simmered thick in the air.

Ishaan stood near the dresser, adjusting his watch with deliberate movements, already dressed as if the argument had been settled in his mind. His posture was firm, his expression controlled, but beneath that calm lay impatience he could no longer hide. Recovery had caged him long enough.

Aanya watched him from the doorway, her heart tightening. To anyone else, he looked better—stronger, almost normal. But she saw what others didn't. The way he paused for half a second too long. The way his jaw tightened when the dull ache returned behind his eyes.

"You're not going," she said quietly.

Ishaan turned to her, disbelief flashing across his face. "Aanya, it's been weeks. I feel fine."

"That doesn't change Bella's instructions," she replied, stepping inside and standing in his path. "No office. No meetings. No work stress. Three months. You promised."

His voice sharpened. "I can't stay locked inside these walls anymore. I'm not a patient—I'm the head of a company."

"And you're a man recovering from a head injury," she shot back, her eyes fierce. "Pressure can damage healing tissue. One wrong day, one intense meeting—and you could collapse again. I won't let that happen."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration breaking through his control. "Do you know how much is waiting for me at the office? Files, deals, people who need my decisions. Every hour I stay here, things pile up."

Her voice trembled, but she didn't back down. "Do you know how it felt watching you lie unconscious? Not knowing if you'd ever open your eyes again?"

Silence crashed between them.

"Ishaan," she continued, softer now, but heavier, "you're healing. Your body is trying to repair what was broken. Stress doesn't just slow recovery—it destroys it."

He looked away, jaw clenched. "I feel useless."

That single sentence cut deeper than any argument.

Aanya stepped closer, placing her hands on his chest, right over his heart. "You are not useless. You are alive. And that is enough for now."

"I built that company," he said quietly. "Walking away—even temporarily—feels like abandoning it."

"You're not abandoning it," she said firmly. "You're protecting yourself so you can return stronger."

His eyes met hers, filled with conflict and fear he refused to name.

"I won't risk losing you again," she added, her voice breaking just slightly. "Not to meetings. Not to pressure. Not to your pride." and i wont let your hard go drain."

For a long moment, he said nothing.

She continue, her voice calm but unyielding. "That's why I will go office."

Ishaan froze.

"What?" His eyes widened in disbelief. "No. Absolutely not. You can't."

"Why not?" she asked evenly.

"You're joining Verma Tech in two days," he said quickly. "Your own company. Your responsibilities. How will you manage Mehra Co on top of that?"

She stepped closer, her voice softer now but no less firm. "I'll delay joining for a while. Until you're fully better."

His head snapped up. "Rose, no. I won't let you put your career on hold because of me."

She reached for his hands, holding them gently but refusing to let go. "Listen to me. Mehra Co is your life's work. You built it. I won't let it fall apart, and I won't let you destroy your health trying to save it."

"This isn't fair," he said, voice tight. "You shouldn't have to—"

"I want to," she interrupted. "Just like you would for me. I'll handle Mehra Co temporarily. When you're fit, when Bella clears you, when you're truly back on your feet—I'll return to Verma Tech. Simple."

He searched her face for doubt, for hesitation.

There was none.

Only resolve.

"You trust me, don't you?" she asked quietly.

Ishaan closed his eyes for a moment, the fight slowly draining out of him. He had faced enemies, wars, and bloodshed—but this woman, standing in front of him with nothing but love and stubborn courage, always defeated him.

He sighed, defeated but safe. "You're impossible," he murmured.

Aanya let out a shaky breath and rested her forehead against his. "Still you love me."

Despite everything, a faint smile touched his lips.

"I absolutely do love you crazily." he said with the chuckle.

She rested her forehead against his chest, careful of his injuries, holding him like an anchor holding a storm at bay. And for the first time since the accident, Ishaan allowed himself to let go—just a little—trusting that while he healed, his empire, his world, and his heart were in the safest hands possible.

CEO Mrs mehra is on the way....😎
Bye bye .....👋🫀✨