Chapter 13: A Debt of Concern

Soft sheets. A warm weight over her limbs. An unfamiliar scent—sandalwood, musk, and something rich, distinctly masculine.

Siara’s lashes fluttered as she slowly opened her eyes, adjusting to the dim golden light. The ceiling above was high, adorned with intricate carvings, and as her gaze swept the room, she realized it was nothing short of opulent.

Black hues dominated the space, complemented by golden accents and deep mahogany furniture. The entire room exuded power and wealth.

This wasn’t her room.

Before she could sit up, a deep voice cut through the quiet.

“Finally awake.”

Her heart jolted slightly.

Turning towards the sound, her eyes landed on Ekansh Vardhan. He stood near the window, his white shirt slightly unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, and his sharp gaze fixed on her. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something she couldn’t quite place.

"You really scared me last night," he muttered, taking a slow step towards her.

She blinked, trying to push away the remnants of drowsiness. "What… are you doing here?"

Ekansh exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I was there to pick up Kavya." His voice was calm, but there was tension beneath it. "But can you imagine my shock when I saw you walking towards the exit, barely conscious? And then, right in front of me, you passed out in my hands." His jaw clenched. "You know what I felt when your body went limp? When I realized your skin was burning?"

Siara froze.

"You were burning up, Siara," he continued, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. "I had to call a doctor in the middle of the night, praying that whatever the hell was in your system wouldn't have lasting effects." His dark eyes locked onto hers. "So yeah, mujhe farak padta hai." (So yes, I do care.)

Siara swallowed. She had expected concern—maybe a few scolding words. But this?

She shifted slightly and suddenly realized something.

Her blazer was gone. The dress she had worn last night had been replaced by a soft, comfortable kurti.

She stiffened, looking at him sharply. "Mere kapde…" (My clothes...)

Ekansh’s lips curved into a slow smirk. "Kya hua, Siara? Umeed thi ki maine badle honge?" (What happened, Siara? Were you hoping that I was the one who changed them?)

Her eyes widened, and heat rushed to her cheeks. "What?! No! Absolutely not!"

His chuckle was deep, thoroughly amused. "Relax, Ms. Rajawat. Kavya and the female staff changed them." He leaned forward slightly, his smirk deepening. "Not disappointed, I hope?"

"Shut up," she muttered, gripping the duvet tighter around her.

Ekansh laughed softly but didn’t push further.

Then, in the blink of an eye, his teasing expression faded. His gaze hardened.

“You were reckless last night.”

Siara frowned. “Since when do you care? We’re still rivals.”

Ekansh let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Oh, ab rivals yaad aa rahe hain?" (Oh, now you remember we’re rivals?) He took a step closer, eyes narrowing slightly. "When you stepped in to help Kavya, did you think about that? Huh, Siara?" His voice dropped, intense. "Did you stop and say, ‘Oh, but she’s Ekansh Vardhan’s sister, so maybe I shouldn’t?’"

Siara clenched her jaw. She had no answer to that.

Ekansh smirked, knowing he had won this round. "Exactly."

Siara folded her arms. "That was different."

"Was it?" His head tilted slightly. "You didn't think about business rivalry then, so why are you bringing it up now?"

"Because it is different," she insisted, her voice firmer now. "That was about helping someone in trouble. But you and I—our rivalry is personal. It has nothing to do with Kavya."

Ekansh’s smirk faded. His gaze darkened as he leaned forward, placing one hand on the headboard behind her, caging her in. "Aur tumhe lagta hai ki mujhe farak padta hai?" (And you think that matters to me?)

Siara's breath hitched.

Ekansh’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Tumne meri behen ki madad ki bina kisi shart ke. Tumne socha bhi nahi, bas kar diya. Aur ab tum mujhse keh rahi ho ki main alag tareeke se sochu?" (You helped my sister without hesitation. You didn’t even think twice, you just did it. And now you're telling me I should think differently?)

Siara looked away. "I can handle this myself."

Ekansh scoffed, pushing back just a little, his fingers grazing his jaw. "Haan, dekha maine kal raat. Bahut acche se handle kiya." (Yes, I saw last night. You handled it really well.) His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Siara glared at him. "I didn’t expect to be drugged!"

"And I didn’t expect to see you collapse in my arms!" His voice rose slightly, frustration laced in his tone. "Do you know what that felt like?" He took another step closer, his eyes flashing with something raw. "To watch you go limp? To feel your body burning and not knowing if you’d wake up?"

Siara's fingers curled around the bedsheet. She hadn’t thought about that.

Ekansh exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to compose himself. "Now tell me what happened."

Siara hesitated.

Ekansh’s gaze darkened. "Siara." His voice was quieter but firm. "Don’t make me force it out of you."

She lifted her chin defiantly. "You really think you can?"

A slow, dangerous smirk curled at his lips. "You really think I won’t?"

Their eyes locked, a silent challenge passing between them.

Finally, Siara exhaled, looking away. “…A waiter bumped into me last night,” she admitted. “I didn’t think much of it, but then I felt a sharp sting on my arm.” Her fingers lightly traced the spot. “At first, I ignored it, but then… my body felt strange. He must have injected something. I knew something was wrong, so I went to the washroom, but the dizziness got worse. I barely made it to the exit before…”

“Before you collapsed into my arms,” Ekansh finished, his voice tight.

Siara glanced at him. His hands were curled into fists, his entire posture rigid.

"Who was it?" he asked, his voice eerily calm.

"I don’t know. It happened too fast."

Ekansh took a slow, controlled breath.

"Why do you want to find out so badly?" she asked carefully.

Ekansh’s gaze snapped to hers, and something in his expression sent a shiver down her spine.

"Because," he said, voice low and steady. "I am Ekansh Vardhan."

The weight of his name settled between them.

It wasn’t just an introduction. It was a statement of power, of authority. A reminder of who he was.

Ekansh Vardhan did not let things slide.

He leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. "Aur Ekansh Vardhan kisi ka ehsaan nahi rakhta." (And Ekansh Vardhan doesn’t keep favors.)

Siara frowned. "Matlab?" (Meaning?)

"You helped my sister," he said, his voice unwavering. "So just consider this my way of paying back—by making the person who did this to you regret it."

Siara's breath hitched.

This wasn’t just a promise.

This was a death sentence.

And whoever had dared to cross her… was about to face Ekansh Vardhan’s wrath.