Chapter 57

Chapter 57
Aanya’s POV

The world was cold.
Not the kind of cold that seeped from an air conditioner or the winter wind in the hills — no, this was bone-deep, hollow, suffocating. I could feel grit pressing against my skin, hear the muffled thud of dirt hitting above me. My chest tightened, lungs clawing for air as shadows crept over my vision. Kartik’s voice was still there, seeping into the very marrow of my bones — “Before you, Raaz had no weakness… but now, he will break because of you.” His laugh had been sharp, merciless.

My wrists had burned from the rope, my lips split, my cheeks stung from his slap. But none of it compared to the terror in those last moments. The weight above me had grown heavier, and my screams had turned hoarse until there was nothing left but the sound of my own ragged breathing.

And then… nothing.

A different voice now — deep, rough, accented — cutting through the dark. Arms lifting me, pressing me against warmth. Someone shouting orders I couldn’t understand. A car door slamming. My head lolling against a chest that didn’t feel like Raaz’s… yet still safe. The last thing before I slipped under again was the faint scent of tobacco and leather.

When my eyes fluttered open, I was met not with darkness or dirt, but white. Blinding, sterile white. The sharp scent of antiseptic stung my nose, making me blink rapidly until the blurry ceiling cleared. My lips felt parched. I turned my head — slow, every muscle screaming in protest — and saw an IV running into my arm.

And then I saw him.

Raaz was in the chair beside my bed, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might shatter. His shirt was wrinkled, hair messy, and his eyes… those eyes that always burned with control now looked dangerous in a different way.

“Aanya…” His voice was low, rough, like gravel. The moment my gaze met his, he was on his feet.

My throat worked but no sound came. Before I could move, he was at my side, one large hand cradling my cheek — the same cheek that still stung from Kartik’s slap. His touch was feather-light, but his eyes were murderous.

The door opened, and the doctor entered, followed by a nurse. Raaz didn’t move away; he simply stepped to the side, his hand still cupping my face as though afraid I’d vanish if he let go.

“She was brought in just in time,” the doctor said, flipping through a chart. “Physically, she has sustained bruises on her wrists and ankles from restraint, as well as marks on her cheeks. Mentally…” He hesitated, glancing at me before turning to Raaz. “She’s been through severe trauma. She needs rest, gentle care, and zero stress.”

Raaz’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “Stress?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You mean what that bastard put her through.”

The doctor didn’t answer. I just lay there, watching the way Raaz’s shoulders rose and fell, the way his other hand fisted at his side. It was the kind of fury that made everyone in the room tread carefully.

“You will recover physically,” the doctor said to me softly, “but you must also heal here.” He tapped his temple. “That will take time.”

I swallowed hard. My mind still reeled with flashes — Kartik’s sneer, the rough shove to the ground, the suffocating darkness. My body flinched without my permission, and Raaz noticed.

The doctor left instructions with the nurse, and when they both left, silence settled between us.

“You should rest,” Raaz finally said, though his voice trembled with something unspoken.

“I—” My voice cracked. “Raaz… I thought… I wouldn’t…” The words broke, tears burning hot against my eyes.

His jaw flexed. “You will never think like that again. You hear me? No one will touch you again. No one will look at you again if I don’t allow it.”

It should have scared me. Maybe it did. But in that moment, I was too tired, too raw. He lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, one hand still on my cheek, the other taking my wrist, his thumb brushing over the angry red marks left by the rope.

“I should have been there,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I should have—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “But he will pay. Every second you cried, every breath you took in fear… he will pay for all of it.”

I closed my eyes briefly, the weight of exhaustion pulling at me. When I opened them, Raaz was still there, watching me like a man watching the only thing tethering him to life.

“Sleep,” he said, softer now. “I’m here. And I’m not leaving.”

His thumb brushed under my eye, catching a tear before it could fall, and for the first time since the darkness closed over me, I let myself breathe.

Raaz’s POV

I had seen men die in front of me without flinching.
I had pulled a trigger at point-blank range, felt the warm spray of blood, heard the wet thud of bodies hitting the ground. I had watched friends betray me and enemies beg for mercy. None of it had shaken me.

But tonight…

Tonight, watching her lying there in that hospital bed, pale against the white sheets, an IV running into her arm, bruises marring her delicate skin… it was the first time in years that my chest felt like it might cave in.

Aanya.

The name alone could undo me. And now, the thought of what could have happened — what nearly happened — was something I couldn’t even allow myself to imagine fully. Because if I did, I’d lose my mind completely.

She had been so still when I first entered the room, her breathing shallow. I had wanted to shake her awake just to see those eyes look at me again. Instead, I had sat there, unmoving, afraid that if I blinked, she might vanish.

When she finally opened her eyes, I had nearly forgotten how to breathe. Her gaze had been unfocused at first, confused… then it found me. And for a moment, the world made sense again.

But the marks — the angry red rope burns around her wrists, the split skin on her lips, the faint imprint of a hand on her cheek — they screamed at me louder than any words. Every single mark was a memory of my failure.

I had failed to protect her.

The doctor’s voice had been a dull buzz in the background. Physical injuries — nothing major. But the mental trauma… that would stay. I could hear it in his voice, see it in the way she flinched without realizing when he touched her hand to check her pulse.

When they left, it was just us. I told her to rest, but inside, I was on fire.

“I thought… I wouldn’t…” she had tried to speak, her voice trembling like a child’s.

That broke something in me. I told her never to think like that again, my tone harsher than I intended, because I couldn’t bear the thought of her mind even grazing that possibility.

I held her cheek, studied the way her lashes trembled, the way her lips parted as though she had more to say but no strength to speak it. I brushed my thumb along her wrist where the rope had dug into her skin. That mark… I would see it every time I closed my eyes. And it would fuel me until Kartik ceased to exist.

“You will never cry because of someone else again,” I had told her. “If they even think about you, they will regret it before the thought is complete.”

She looked at me like she wanted to believe me but didn’t know how. That was when I knew: I didn’t just have to kill Kartik. I had to erase every trace of fear from her when she thought of me.

The nurse came in to check her vitals again, and I moved to the corner, but my eyes never left her. I watched the way she winced when her arm was adjusted for the IV. I caught every small tremor of her fingers.

When the room was finally empty, I pulled my chair closer to her bed. She was already drifting to sleep, the exhaustion pulling her under. Milo, the little pup I had brought to the farmhouse for her, wasn’t here — and part of me wanted to go and get him, just so she could wake up to something that made her smile.

Instead, I stayed.

I sat there for hours, listening to the slow beep of the monitor, the sound of her breathing. My mind was not quiet. Every so often, the image of her buried under dirt would crash through my head, and my fists would clench until my knuckles cracked.

I thought about that Russian friend — my old ally — who had found her. If he hadn’t… I shut my eyes hard. No. I wouldn’t think about that.

Yash was still in critical condition, but stable enough for me to know he’d live. I had left guards on his door too. He’d want to come with me when I go after Kartik, but this wasn’t his war anymore. This was mine.

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees, just staring at her.

Her hair was messy, strands sticking to her cheek. I reached forward and brushed them back, careful not to wake her. My fingers lingered near her temple, feeling the softness of her skin.

God, she was beautiful even like this — pale, worn, marked with bruises — because she was alive. And that was all that mattered right now.

It was well past midnight when she stirred. Her breathing hitched, and she whimpered softly in her sleep. Without thinking, I reached out, my hand finding hers. Her fingers twitched against mine, then stilled, as though even unconscious she knew it was me.

“You’re safe, jaan,” I whispered, more to myself than to her.

I sat back in the chair but didn’t let go of her hand. And in that moment, I made a silent promise:

Kartik would not see another sunrise.