The Calm before the Storm
The Calm before the Storm
Siara’s consciousness drifted back slowly, like surfacing from the depths of a dark ocean.
The first thing she noticed was warmth.
Not just the warmth of blankets, but something richer, more intoxicating. A scent that curled around her senses—woodsy, dark, with the faintest trace of something undeniably him.
Ekansh.
Her brows furrowed as she shifted slightly, her body aching in protest. The bed beneath her was too soft, too luxurious—a far cry from her own. The heavy duvet wrapped around her like a cocoon, shielding her from the slight chill in the air.
And then came the realization.
This wasn’t her room.
Her eyes snapped open.
The dim glow of a fireplace flickered against the dark walls, casting long shadows across the unfamiliar space. The room was large—modern, yet carrying an undeniable old-world charm. The walls were dark, the furniture minimal but expensive. A faint hum of silence settled around her, save for the occasional crackle of the fire.
And yet, beneath the silence, there was something else.
Something comforting.
Her gaze flickered downward—and she froze.
She wasn’t in her clothes.
She was wearing a shirt. His shirt.
The realization sent a jolt of something strange through her—part horror, part disbelief. The oversized fabric swallowed her frame, the sleeves hanging loose past her wrists. It smelled like him, like the same maddening scent that had wrapped around her the moment she woke up.
Her throat tightened as memories from the past hours came crashing back.
The gunfire. The sharp, blinding pain in her arm. The darkness threatening to pull her under.
And then—his arms.
Ekansh catching her before she hit the ground.
His voice, sharp yet controlled, telling her to stay awake.
Siara’s fingers curled into the sheets as she swallowed hard, pushing herself upright. The sudden movement sent a sharp pain lancing up her injured arm, dragging a small wince from her lips.
That’s when she saw him.
Ekansh sat near the fireplace, his posture relaxed as he rolled down the sleeves of his shirt with meticulous ease. He looked too calm, too unbothered, as if she wasn’t currently wrapped in his clothes, in his space, because of him.
Her voice came out sharper than intended.
“Where am I?”
Ekansh didn’t even glance up.
“My villa.”
Siara’s stomach twisted.
Her eyes flickered around again, taking in the details she had missed before. The large window overlooking the cityscape, the faint scent of something earthy in the air. Everything about this place screamed his world.
She inhaled slowly. “Why?”
This time, he did look at her.
His gaze was unreadable, his expression infuriatingly casual. “Because you were bleeding out, and I wasn’t about to let you die in the middle of the street. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Siara clenched her jaw.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
Ekansh smirked. “No, you just threw yourself in front of a bullet for me. Quite the reflex.”
Siara stiffened.
His tone was light, but his eyes held something else. Something sharp, something knowing.
She met his gaze without hesitation. “It was just that. A reflex.”
Ekansh hummed, as if considering her words. Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
“An expensive one.”
Siara exhaled sharply. “Don’t read into it.”
“Oh, I don’t need to.” His voice was almost amused. “Tell me, do you always put yourself between death and the man you claim to hate?”
Siara’s fingers twitched.
No.
She didn’t.
She wasn’t reckless—not like this.
But before she could think of a response, another thought slammed into her.
Advika.
Her heart lurched.
Siara sat up straighter, ignoring the pain as her mind raced.
Aadu was alone. She must be worried sick.
She needed her phone—
“You don’t have to worry.”
Siara’s head snapped toward him. “What?”
Ekansh leaned back, his expression unreadable.
“I already sent her a message,” he said smoothly. “Told her you had an urgent meeting and would be out of reach for a few days.”
Siara froze.
A beat of silence.
Then—
“You what?” she whispered, disbelief laced in every syllable.
Ekansh shrugged. “It was the easiest way to stop her from worrying.”
“You had no right.”
His lips twitched. “And you had no right to take a bullet for me. But here we are.”
Siara gritted her teeth. “How the hell did you even get into my phone?”
Ekansh smirked slightly. “Siara, you’re smart. Surely, you don’t think a simple password would stop me?”
Her hands clenched into fists.
She needed to leave.
Siara swung her legs over the side of the bed.
Ekansh watched, saying nothing.
She expected him to stop her.
To command her to stay.
But instead—
“Go ahead,” he said easily.
Siara stilled.
She narrowed her eyes, suspicious.
But she pushed herself up anyway, ignoring the slight dizziness.
One step.
Then another.
And on the third—
Her body betrayed her.
Her knees buckled, and before she could even process it, strong arms caught her.
Siara gasped, her hands instinctively clutching his shirt as Ekansh steadied her effortlessly.
He sighed. “Thought so.”
Her breath came uneven as she looked up at him, too close.
His face was inches from hers, his touch too steady, too sure.
Siara clenched her teeth, trying to pull away, but before she could, he shifted—
And in one swift, fluid motion, he scooped her up.
Her breath hitched.
She tensed instinctively, hands pressed against his chest.
“Ekansh—”
He ignored her, carrying her back to the bed like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Siara hated how natural it felt.
He placed her down gently, adjusting the blanket over her with quiet ease.
Then, he straightened.
Siara exhaled sharply, her heart hammering.
“Great,” she muttered. “Just great. First you play my savior, lie to me about everything, force me to trust you—and now here I am, kidnapped.”
Ekansh chuckled. “Kidnapped is a strong word.”
Siara shot him a glare. “Oh really? What would you call this, then?”
His smirk deepened. “Rescued.”
She groaned, turning her face away.
A beat of silence.
Then—
“You’re angry now,” he murmured.
His voice was lower, softer.
“But soon, you’re going to hate me for real.”
Siara frowned, something uneasy settling in her chest.
She turned back, eyes sharp. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Ekansh didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he took a slow step back, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
And then—
Right before he turned toward the door—
His lips quirked, amusement dancing in his gaze.
“
You’ll find out soon, little storm.”
Siara froze.
Her breath caught, something warm and infuriatingly foreign twisting in her chest.
Little storm.
He had never called her that before.
And somehow, she knew—he meant it.