The car ride was silent.
The tension thick.
One of us was scared. Confused. Drowning in emotions she didnât understand.
The other?
Cursing himself to fucking hell for acting on impulse.
For letting his rage slip through his cold, calculated mask.
For thinking she hates him even more now.
What I didnât knowâ¦
Was that, for the first time, I had given her something she never expected.
A sense of safety.
A moment where she wasnât alone.
---
The car came to a slow halt.
I stepped out, walking around to open the door for her.
She reached for the handle, but I beat her to it.
Pushed it open.
Placed my hand over the car frame, ensuring she wouldnât bump her head.
She hesitated.
Her eyes flicked toward me.
My face was blank. No emotion.
She stepped out quickly, avoiding my gaze, and rushed into her house.
I didnât stop her.
Just stood there, watching her retreating figure.
Waiting.
Making sure she got inside safely.
And only when the door shut behind herâ
Did I turn back to my car, slide into the driverâs seat, and speed the fuck away.
---
I had meetings.
With the Chief Minister. Industrialists.
Deals worth billions waiting on me.
But my mind never left her.
Not for a single fucking second.
And I was going to get every answer I needed.
---
Evening
My phone rang.
I didnât feel like talking to anyone.
But when I saw the nameâ
Shivank.
I picked up.
"Aditya, did something happen when you picked up Anshika?"
My grip on the phone tightened.
What?
I thought back to earlier. To my own recklessness.
To the possibility that I made things worse.
"What happened? Why are you asking? Is she okay?" My voice was sharp, demanding.
Shivank sighed, frustration laced in his tone.
"She locked herself in her room the whole evening. When she finally came out, her eyes were red. Swollen. Like sheâd been crying for hours. And she wonât tell me anythingâjust keeps saying sheâs fine. But I know something happened."
My blood ran cold.
Did Iâ
Was it because of me?
A sharp, suffocating feeling clawed at my chest.
But thenâ
My mind snapped to something else.
Something worse.
"Shivank," I asked, voice dangerously low, "does Anshika get panic attacks?"
Silence.
Thenâ
"Why are you asking? Did she have one? Waitâfuckâitâs been a year since her last one. She was doing fine. Are you telling me sheâ"
My jaw clenched.
A year?
This was her first panic attack in a year?
And I was there to witness it?
A slow, deadly rage unfurled inside me.
Not the kind that burned and disappeared.
The kind that settled in my bones.
The kind that demanded blood.
She suffered through this?
For years?
Alone?
I was going to make sure whoever was behind this begged for death before I gave it to them.
---
I ended the call.
And immediately dialed my assistant.
"I want every single detail on Anshika Sharma. Medical records. School records. Everything."
"Sir, Iâ"
"I donât give a fuck how you get it. I want it now."
Because I couldnât ask Shivank.
Thatâd be suspicious.
And no one was more protective of her than him.
Except me.
Except fucking me.
---
The file landed on my desk within the hour.
I sat in my chair.
Fingers curled into tight fists.
My heart, for the first time in years, felt like it was fucking shaking.
I opened the medical records first.
Andâ
I wished I hadnât.
My vision blurred at the sheer number of appointments with psychologists.
Trauma therapy.
Suicide attempts.
She tried to end her life.
Two.
Three.
Fucking three times.
She was bullied.
At school.
And she spent three fucking years in therapy because of it.
She stopped a year ago.
A year.
I slammed the file shut, my chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
A sharp, piercing pain settled in my heart.
Like something inside me had been ripped apart.
If I had knownâ
If I had been thereâ
I wouldnât have let it happen.
I wouldâve burned the fucking world to keep her safe.
But I was so fucking caught up in my own emotions.
In my own pathetic obsession with her.
That I never realized.
And I hate myself for it.
---
But I know now.
And theyâwhoever they areâ
Theyâre fucking dead.
Sheâll never see them again.
By the time Iâm done, theyâll be erased from this world like they never existed.
And sheâll never have to remember their faces.
I leaned back in my chair, a slow smirk curling on my lips.
Rotated it slightly, my eyes fixated on the glowing city skyline.
Ideas of pain filling my head.
No one hurts whatâs mine.
Hurting is one thing.
But touching?
Theyâll wish they were never fucking born.