The morning sun had barely risen, but the air inside the private estate office was anything but calm.
Ranvijay stood near the tall glass window, his jaw tight, arms crossed as he stared at the distant palace gardens without seeing a thing. The calm outside was a mockery of the chaos churning inside him.
Shiv entered the room briskly, files clutched in hand, face pale. "Bhaiya…"
Ranvijay turned sharply.
"It's confirmed," Shiv said, lowering his voice. "The warehouse in Sector 7… it caught fire last night around 3 a.m. Entire stock is gone."
A muscle ticked in Ranvijay's jaw. "Cause?"
"Still investigating, but…" Shiv hesitated, "the fire department says there were signs of tampering. Not an accident."
Ranvijay's silence was deafening.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. "Who knew about the inventory we kept there?"
Shiv placed the file on the desk. "Only a few trusted staff. And me."
Ranvijay's fists clenched. "Then someone's sold us out."
Shiv looked up, concerned. "Do you want me to send people to track movement near the site?"
"Do that. Check every security feed. I want names." Ranvijay's voice was low and firm, brimming with quiet fury.
He walked to the desk, flipping open the file. The loss was big—not just financially. That warehouse had held more than just material; it had held leverage, plans.
Now it was ash.
"We were getting too close to something," Ranvijay muttered, mostly to himself.
Shiv stayed quiet, letting him think.
Then Ranvijay added, "Keep this quiet from the rest of the family. Especially Myra. I don't want her anywhere near this mess."
Shiv nodded quickly. "Understood."
But both men knew this wasn't a standalone incident.
This was a warning.
And Ranvijay didn't take kindly to threats.
The palace gates stood tall against the morning sun, guards flanking either side. Black SUVs gleamed in the driveway, engines running, ready.
Ranvijay stepped down the wide marble staircase, already dressed in a sharp black suit, the air around him heavy with tension. His face was unreadable—calm, but only on the surface. Beside him, Shiv kept pace, phone in hand, briefing him on overnight updates.
A few staff stood back, heads lowered, recognizing the storm in their master's stride.
"Vikrant!" Ranvijay barked the name without slowing his steps.
The head of security immediately stepped forward, adjusting the earpiece clipped to his collar. "Yes, Sir."
"I want ten more men deployed at the Sector 7 warehouse. No uniforms. Civilians. I want it sealed from the inside out."
"Already done, Sir," Vikrant replied swiftly, matching Ranvijay's intensity.
"I want motion sensors installed by tonight. Every inch of that land should be under our eyes."
Shiv added quietly, "We've cleared out the debris from the north corner. Some of the scorched crates still had traces of—"
"Let the lab analyze it. I want results in twenty-four hours," Ranvijay cut in. "If this was planted, I want to know who walked in and out of that compound in the last seven days."
He reached the SUV, paused, and looked at Vikrant once more. "If anyone—even a rat—moves near that place without my permission, shoot first. Ask later."
Vikrant's jaw tightened. "Understood, Sir."
Ranvijay nodded once, slid into the backseat, and the door shut with a heavy thud.
Shiv climbed into the passenger seat as the convoy pulled out, tires crunching over the gravel. Silence lingered between the two men for a moment before Shiv muttered, "It's starting, Bhaiya. Isn't it?"
Ranvijay's eyes were fixed ahead, the fury hidden deep behind them. "Yes," he said. "And whoever lit that fire… doesn't understand what they've begun."
-----------------
The soft rays of the mid-morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains as Myra sat curled up on the divan, flipping the pages of an old book. She wasn't reading—her mind kept drifting back to the night before. Her cheeks warmed slightly as she remembered the way Ranvijay had held her, the whisper of his voice still echoing in her ears.
"Do you even know what you do to me?"
Just then, a knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.
"Ma'am, a parcel has arrived for you. Sir instructed it to be handed over only to you," a maid said respectfully, placing a sleek brown package on the table before leaving.
Myra blinked in surprise. For me?
She hesitated for a moment, then picked up her phone and called Ranvijay.
He answered almost instantly. "Yes?"
"A parcel came for me… from you?" she asked, uncertain.
Ranvijay's voice, low and rushed, came through. "Oh. Right. I forgot to tell you. That was meant for my room. Can you check it for me? Might be the wrong label."
"But—"
"I'm in a meeting, just open and see," he said quickly before hanging up.
Still unsure, Myra placed the box on her lap. Her fingers gently undid the ribbon and peeled back the wrapping.
Inside was a black velvet case.
She opened it slowly—and gasped.
A delicate bracelet gleamed inside. It was crafted from polished silver, elegant and minimalistic—but what caught her breath was the centerpiece: a single, tiny pearl set within the bracelet's heart. Her hand shot to her mouth in disbelief.
Tears brimmed in her eyes.
She remembered it clearly. That day before the wedding—the moment she had tripped near the temple entrance, her blouse string had snapped, a pearl falling and rolling away. Embarrassed, she hadn't chased it. But later… she had seen it. Woven into a thread on Ranvijay's wrist.
Now it sat in front of her—transformed into a permanent, precious piece.
Her hands trembled as she lifted the bracelet from its case. The pearl hadn't changed, but the intention behind it had. What had once been a random, forgotten moment… had been remembered by him. Preserved.
She closed her eyes, the bracelet cradled in her palms. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks.
"He kept it… all this time," she whispered, voice breaking.
She had always thought he was unreadable, impenetrable. But this gesture… it spoke of everything he hadn't said out loud. The silence. The watchfulness. The care hidden in his harsh love.
Clutching the bracelet close to her chest, she didn't realize how fast her heart was beating.
Some part of her was beginning to believe—
He had always seen her.
Even before she truly saw him.
The room was dark.
Ranvijay entered, his steps slow and careful. Something felt… off.
No golden lamps, no soft rustle of Myra's dupatta. Just silence.
He flicked on the lights.
There she was—sitting at the edge of the bed, her back straight, eyes staring into nothing. Her fingers were clenched into the bedsheet, her jaw tight. She looked like a statue carved from stormclouds.
Ranvijay's brows knit together. "Myra?"
As soon as she heard his voice, she stood up.
Without a word, she walked toward him and placed something cold into his palm.
He looked down.
His heart dropped.
The bracelet.
The bracelet with the pearl.
His fingers curled around it instinctively, breath catching in his throat. Slowly, without saying a word, he slipped it onto his wrist again—where it belonged.
But when his eyes lifted to hers… she wasn't smiling. Her face was unreadable.
"Myra?" he asked carefully. "Did you… not like it?"
Her jaw clenched. Then, without warning—she stepped forward and gripped his collar tightly.
Ranvijay froze.
Her eyes, wide and glistening, locked onto his with fury burning through tears.
"Why are you doing this?" she demanded, voice shaking with anger and pain. "What's with this, huh? Is it that important?"
She shook him slightly.
"What are you trying to prove? Tell me!" Her voice cracked, her body trembling. "Listen to me—I know how this ends! People always leave. No matter what. And I… I always end up alone!"
Tears spilled, unchecked, from her eyes, carving rivers down her cheeks.
"So stop it!" she cried. "Stop this nonsense! Stop making me feel things I'm not supposed to feel! I don't love you, Ranvijay! Do you hear me? I don't!"
But even as the words left her mouth, her knees gave in.
She sank down, still gripping his collar, sliding slowly until she was kneeling before him—sobbing, broken.
Ranvijay didn't move. He couldn't. Her pain pierced him like a thousand knives. The sight of her, collapsed and shaking with sobs, holding onto him like a lifeline, shattered every wall he had ever built.
Her face buried against his chest, fingers curled weakly into his shirt, tears soaking into the fabric.
He knelt down slowly beside her, eyes never leaving her face.
"Myra…" he whispered, voice raw, "you don't have to love me back. Not yet. Not even ever… But I'll still choose you. Every single day."
Ranvijay's jaw tightened as he knelt beside her. She was still gripping his collar, her fists weak but her words sharp.
She turned her face away, wiping at her cheeks harshly, refusing to meet his gaze.
"I don't care how many bracelets you send, or how many kind words you say," she muttered, voice cracking. "None of it matters. It's not real. You'll leave too. Just like the rest."
Ranvijay's hands came up slowly—one cupping her cheek, the other tightening around her wrist, not in pain… but in unyielding command.
She gasped slightly, trying to turn her face away, but he held her firmly.
His eyes—dark, intense, stormy—bore into hers. Not soft. Not kind. Raw. Wild.
"Then keep defying me," he growled lowly. "Push me away. Scream at me. Hate me."
His voice lowered, but his grip never wavered.
"But don't—don't you ever—tell me to stop loving you."
Her breath caught.
"You think I'm doing this for some game?" he rasped. "You think this bracelet, these words… this madness inside me… is about proving something?"
He leaned closer, so close his breath fanned her lips.
"No, Myra. I'm doing this because you are mine. And I will burn down every wall you build, brick by brick, until you accept that."
She tried to pull her wrist away, but he pulled her in, his forehead pressing against hers, eyes never blinking.
"You say you don't love me," he whispered, possessive and broken all at once. "Fine. Then I'll love enough for both of us."
Her lips trembled. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
"And if you think I'll leave," he said, almost dangerously, "then you don't know me at all."
Silence.
Heavy. Thick. Charged with pain and emotion.
His thumb brushed a tear from her cheek, then lingered there, his hand trembling slightly.
"I would never… never walk away from you, Myra."
Myra's breath hitched. Her tears kept falling, but her eyes—those glassy, haunted eyes—no longer fought him with words. Instead, she jerked back suddenly, trying to stand, to create distance.
But she didn't get far.
Ranvijay's arm shot out, grabbing her wrist with a force that startled her. Before she could even stumble back, he yanked her into him—hard—crashing her against his chest.
"Don't you dare walk away from me," he growled against her ear, voice like thunder in the quiet room.
"Let me go—" she whispered, voice shaking.
His arms wrapped around her waist like steel. "No. Not now. Not ever."
She struggled, palms pushing against his chest—but it was no use. His grip tightened. His fingers pressed into her waist, as if anchoring her to him.
"You want to cry? Scream? Hate me?" His eyes were ablaze, madness and heartbreak written all over his face. "Fine. Do it. But do it here. In my arms. Where you belong."
Her breathing was harsh. Every time she tried to step away, he dragged her right back.
"You think I'm going to let you leave?" he murmured, possessive and low, his lips grazing her temple. "You think I can watch you break down and still stay away?"
She froze when his hand came up and gently cupped her face, his thumb tracing the corner of her lips, her cheek, the tear-stained path down to her jaw.
"I've gone too far, Myra. There's no turning back for me anymore. You've ruined me."
His voice cracked on the last word—quiet, but sharp as a blade.
"I don't care how much you push, how loud you scream. I'll hold on tighter."
She clenched her jaw, tears threatening again, but this time her hands didn't push.
"You are mine," he whispered, as if vowing it to fate itself. "And even if you hate me for eternity, I'll still want no one else but you."
He pulled her even closer, forehead pressed to hers, lips brushing her cheek like a breath of a promise.
And in that moment, in the silence heavy with obsession and unspoken longing, it was clear:
Ranvijay wouldn't let go.
Not even if the world begged him to.
She didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't flinch.
Just… stood there. Caged in his arms. Her fingers hung limply by her sides, her lips parted slightly—trembling. As if her soul had gone quiet. As if something inside her had cracked, and all that was left was the hollow echo of the shattering.
Ranvijay's breath slowed as he realized she wasn't fighting anymore. But it wasn't surrender—it was stillness. A silence that screamed louder than words ever could.
"Myra…" he whispered her name, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Her eyes were wide, glassy, unfocused. She didn't even blink when his fingers cupped her cheek again. Her body remained in his hold, soft and unmoving.
"I know I'm the villain in your story," he said, softer now, almost painfully tender, "but if being the villain is the only way to keep you, I'll wear that title like a crown."
Her gaze shifted finally, slowly lifting to meet his. Broken. Empty. And then—a single tear rolled down.
"I don't know how to feel anymore," she whispered hoarsely. "You hold me like I'm precious… but I feel like I'm drowning."
His jaw clenched, the anguish in her voice slicing straight through him. Still, he didn't loosen his grip.
"Then drown in me," he murmured, lips brushing her temple. "But don't ever leave me."
And she didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just stayed there, frozen in the arms of a man who would burn the world down to keep her from walking away.