A wave of relief washed over me when I saw him sitting on the hospital bed, his head leaning against the headboard of the bed , a doctor and a nurse carefully tending to his wounds.

I stood there, panting, leaning against the doorframe, my gaze fixed on him. Alive.

"Hazel!" His voice, filled with surprise, broke through my trance. My heart fluttered at the sound of the nickname I hadn’t heard in two months. I watched as he attempted to get up, despite the doctor’s firm protest.

"Wait. I'm coming there," I said, my voice shaky, my breaths uneven as I tried to steady myself.

I walked toward him slowly, my eyes locking onto the doctor as he gestured for the nurse to remove the blood-soaked cloth pressed against Rayan’s abdomen. The injury hadn’t been treated properly yet, and fresh blood oozed from the wound. My heart clenched painfully at the sight, the knot in my chest tightening.

"How... are you?" I asked softly, my voice barely a whisper, each word heavy with the ache in my heart.

"Breathing," he replied with a dry smile, his eyes clouded with pain that mirrored the storm within me.

"You shouldn’t be here, ma’am," the doctor said firmly while carefully dressing his wound with gauze. "We couldn’t take him to the OT because he insisted his injured employees be treated first. He said he’s fine being treated here. Please take your leave; you can see him later."

My heart clenched. He cared for his employees before himself... He had a way of surprising people every day.

Before I could respond, his voice broke through the tense air.

"What are you doing here, Hazel?" His tone was sharp, his words slicing through me. "You shouldn’t be here. I thought you’d finally find some peace hearing the news. Or maybe..." He paused, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. "Maybe the news of my demise would lessen your misery a little."

Each word cut into me, tearing my heart to pieces.

Before I could stop myself, my hand flew across his face, the sound of the slap echoing in the room.

He looked stunned, his eyes wide with disbelief, while the doctor and nurse froze in place, their own shock evident.

"How could you say that, you monster?" I shouted, my voice cracking as the dam broke, tears streaming uncontrollably down my cheeks.

"Édesem..." he said softly, his tone gentle as he reached out to hold my trembling hand, which had grown cold with anxiety.

"You both... go," he told the doctor and nurse, his voice firm but laced with an edge of exhaustion.

"But sir, the blood... and it’s not treated yet," the doctor stammered, his eyes darting nervously between us.

"Do you think I fucking care about this right now?" he snapped, his glare sharp enough to make the doctor flinch.

I wiped my tears, forcing myself to steady my voice. "Leave the tray. I’ll take care of the rest. I’m a medical student," I said through my sobs, determined.

The doctor hesitated for a moment before nodding and leaving with the nurse, placing the tray on the bedside table. Once they exited the room, I sat beside him, my hands still shaking.

"I can’t believe you said that," I murmured, my voice breaking while putting on some gloves from the tray.

I reached for the gauze and antiseptic, my fingers fumbling slightly as I tried to focus. The sight of his blood-soaked gauzes and the deep cut on his abdomen sent a fresh wave of pain through my chest.

"Careful, Hazel," he muttered, his voice low, his gaze never leaving my face. "You’re trembling."

I swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that blurred my vision. "You care about my trembling hands but not about your life? What kind of man does that?"

His lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. "The kind of man who thought he’d lost his purpose to live... what did you expect from him?"

I froze, my hand hovering over his wound, my breath catching in my throat. His words hung in the air, heavy and raw, stirring something deep inside me.

"Stop saying things like that," I whispered, forcing my focus back to his wound. "You have Muneeb to look after. You’re not allowed to give up, Rayan. Not now. Not ever."

"What about me, Hazel?" he murmured, his voice cracking slightly. "Why can’t I have someone looking after me? I thought of you once... but maybe it’s too greedy of me to hope for that, isn’t it?"

His words hit me like a tidal wave, the vulnerability in his tone making my hands falter for a moment. He turned his gaze away, his expression distant, haunted. "I never thought you’d come," he muttered, almost as if to himself.

"Me neither," I admitted softly, my focus shifting back to his wound. The antiseptic soaked through the gauze as I pressed it gently against his skin, the sharp scent mixing with the metallic tang of blood. He hissed harshly in pain.

"I'm sorry but bear it for a while" I muttered.

Finally managing to clean the deep cut, I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Then why are you here? Showing pity?" he asked, his voice laced with bitterness, his words cutting sharper than any scalpel.

The surgical needle slipped from my fingers, a storm of emotions raging within me. Anger, hurt, and something else I couldn’t name.

"We... we’ll talk about it later," I said, my voice trembling as I fought to keep my composure. "Let me finish your treatment first... please."

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but then he sighed and turned his head away, retreating into silence.

Once I was done stitching the wound, a wave of relief washed over me. The bleeding had stopped, and his breathing seemed steadier.

"How about the injury on your arm?" I asked, breaking the tense silence.

"Bullet grazed it and moved on. Nothing serious," he replied curtly, his tone flat, his eyes avoiding mine.

I paused, unsure of what to say, the tension between us thick and suffocating. It wasn’t just his wounds that needed healing. There was more, something deeper, something neither of us dared to confront.

"I’ll be going... then. Take care," I said, my voice breaking as I stood, each word a painful effort. "Don’t let your wounds get wet. Take the meds the doctor prescribed."

I turned to leave, my heart aching with every step. But before I could reach the door, his unharmed hand caught my wrist, his grip firm but not forceful.

"Are you running from me without answering my questions, Édesem?" he asked, his voice low and tinged with something I couldn’t quite place–hurt, maybe, or longing.

He tugged gently, guiding me to sit beside him again. His gaze bore into mine, searching, unyielding.

"You cared, didn’t you? Or... is it more than that, Hazel? Answer me," he said, his fingers brushing against my jaw, sending a shiver down my spine.

Emotions surged, overwhelming and unstoppable, and before I could stop myself, the dam broke. Tears started flowing from my eyes.

"I thought... I lost you," I whispered, my voice trembling, barely audible.

_______________________________

Her words hit me like lightning, leaving me utterly speechless.

I never thought she would come here today. She looked so unlike herself–her hair disheveled, her face pale, and no scarf or dupatta in sight. She had come in a hurry, disregarding everything.

But why? Why would she do this for a man like me?

The moment I saw her, every ounce of pain from my wounds disappeared. But all the longing, the love, the ache of her absence...it didn’t dissolve. It transformed into something else entirely: hurt.

And in that hurt, I lashed out, saying those cruel words. Words I regretted the moment they left my lips. And when she slapped me, I was shocked, not by the sting on my face but by the depth of her reaction.

Now, as I looked into her teary eyes, my chest tightened in a way I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just guilt, it was something far deeper.

Without thinking, I reached out and wiped her tears with my thumb, my touch unexpectedly tender. Even I was surprised by the gentleness of it.

"Come here," I murmured, patting my bare chest where the doctor had torn my shirt to treat my wounds.

She hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, but eventually, she gave in. Slowly, she rested her head against my chest, her arms wrapping around my sides as though seeking refuge.

And then she broke. She cried freely and loudly, her sobs shaking her small frame as she clung to me.

I froze, utterly unprepared for this. No one had ever cried for me before, not like this. I didn’t know whether to feel honored or devastated. Her tears, her pain....it only deepened the ache in my chest.

For a moment, I didn’t know what to do. How does a man like me console the girl whose life he destroyed? The girl who now cried on his chest, terrified of losing him.

Was this even real? Or had I hit my head too hard and started imagining things?

As her sobs turned to hiccups, I finally moved, letting instinct guide me. My hand stroked her back slowly, trying to offer comfort.

"Shh... it’s okay. I’m here," I murmured, my voice softer than it had been in months.

I didn’t know if I could live up to the weight of those words, but at this moment, she needed them.

"I’m not going anywhere," I added, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me. "How could I, when I once said I’d be your everything, your world?"

And as she cried against me, I realized that no matter how much pain I’d caused her, no matter how broken we were, this moment...just the two of us, was enough for now.
.
.
.
Once her crying subsided, she lifted her head and looked up at me, her cheeks still glistening with tears. "Sorry, I made your chest a mess," she murmured, her voice tinged with guilt.

Mess? If only she knew. She had made me happy in a way I couldn’t put into words. After so many days, I could feel her warm breath, her heartbeat so close to mine.

"It's okay. I don’t mind," I replied softly, not wanting to ruin the fragile peace between us. My words were brief; exhaustion was creeping in, and I could feel my eyelids growing heavy.

She noticed instantly, concern flashing in her eyes. "You should rest," she said gently. "You’ve lost too much blood. I think you’ll need an IV drip. Let me call the doctor."

"No," I said, shaking my head weakly. "It’ll take too much time. I can’t stay here for long."

Her brow furrowed, but I continued, my tone darkening as anger surged through me. "Rahat’s been shot. He’s in the operating theater, and I don’t fucking know how he is right now. If anything happens to him..." My jaw clenched, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I’ll make the bastard who attacked us regret the day he was born. I’ve already caught two assassins alive. I need to interrogate them."

Her hand lightly pressed against my chest, as though trying to steady the storm brewing inside me. "Don’t worry," she said softly. "Nothing will happen to Rahat bhai. He’s strong. I have a feeling he’ll be alright. Stay here until he wakes up and take care of yourself too."

Her voice was calm, soothing, and her warm breath against my skin began to quiet the rage simmering within me. She was still lying on my chest, her presence grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in months.

"And tighten your security," she added, her tone tinged with worry. "I didn’t see anyone at the door. What if someone attacks again?"

I let out a tired sigh, my voice softening as I explained, "They’re here, but in disguise. They didn’t intervene because it was you." My eyelids fluttered closed, my body betraying me despite my best efforts to stay awake.

"Get some sleep, Rayan," she urged gently.

"Will you be gone when I wake up?" I asked, fighting against the heaviness pulling me under. A part of me dreaded losing the warmth of her presence.

I was never like this. Never clingy to anyone.  But after her everything has changed in a way I never imagined even in my dreams.

She took a deep breath, the sound of it lingering in the silence before she replied, "I won’t. But let me call the doctor."

Her words were the last thing I heard before sleep claimed me, a fragile sense of peace settling over me as I clung to the hope that she would still be here when I opened my eyes.

__________________________________

She went back to him. That bastard. The man who’s caused her nothing but pain. Sarfaraaz fucking Talukder.

The first time I saw her, I felt an urge, a primal need, to claim her as mine. Not because of love...no, I don’t believe in that fairy tale nonsense but because I couldn’t let that bastard win. Not again. Not every time. So, when the chance came, I made sure I won that auction-dance. Manipulation, strategy–whatever it took.

And I did win.

But before I could savor the moment, Sarfaraaz ripped her away from me. Just like that. My fists still clench every time I think about it.

At first, it was about the thrill of victory. But as I started to watch her, to see her, something inside me shifted.

I noticed her rare smiles, the way her eyes held galaxies of unspoken pain, and the quiet grace with which she carried herself despite the storms she faced. After she left Sarfaraaz’s house, I kept an eye on her. I couldn’t help myself. She looked lost, distant, even in a crowd. Sometimes, I saw her sitting alone in the garden of her college, her shoulders trembling as she cried quietly.

It twisted my heart in ways I didn’t know were possible.

That was the moment I realized, this wasn’t about beating Sarfaraaz anymore. It wasn’t about winning.

I had fallen for her.
For Tania. My angyal. (Angel)

Love wasn’t something I believed in, not after what happened  when I was 19. That... incident destroyed whatever innocence I had left. Since then, I’ve only lived by two principles: win or lose, give or take. My involvement with women has always been transactional. No emotions. No strings.

Until her.

The day I saw Tania sitting on Sarfaraaz’s lawn, basking in the golden sunlight, something inside me broke. Her smile lit up the world around her, making everything seem brighter, more alive. That’s when I knew I wanted her. I needed her. And I promised myself that I want this angel for myself.

A few days back, I saw her crying silently on a bench in the quiet garden. The sight of her, so fragile, shattered something in me. I wanted to approach her, to pull her into my arms and shield her from all the pain that bastard had caused her. I wanted to be her solace, her comfort.

But as I stepped closer, she turned suddenly, her tear-filled eyes scanning the space around her.

"Sarfaraaz?" she whispered, her voice trembling with longing.

The hope in her voice, the desperate look in her eyes–it hit me like a blow to the chest. She wasn’t waiting for comfort. She was waiting for him.

It hurt in a way I wasn’t prepared for. A sharp, unfamiliar pain that cut deeper than any physical wound.

I didn’t want her to see me, to know it was me and not him. So I left, retreating into the shadows like a coward.

And now, today...her birthday. I had planned everything. A surprise, something to make her smile again. But then I saw her rush out of her hostel, her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed. She didn’t look like the birthday girl I imagined; she looked devastated. She flagged down a taxi, and I followed her.

And where did she go?

To him.

To Sarfaraaz.

It was obvious. She loves him, no matter how much pain he’s caused her.

And for the first time in my life, I felt defeated in a way that wasn’t about winning or losing. This was something else entirely–something raw and unfamiliar.

She’s only 22, and yet she’s done something to me I can’t explain. She’s carved her way into my heart without even trying.

But I’m not giving up.

One day, she’ll be in my arms. She’ll be mine. And I’ll make sure of it, no matter what it takes.

__________________________

A few hours later

I sat beside his bed, watching him sleep. His IV drip was about to finish.  Exhaustion was carved across his face, softening his otherwise sharp, dominating features. His usually gelled hair had lost its sharpness, with a few jet-black strands tousled across his forehead. Despite the peacefulness in his expression, the commanding aura he carried remained intact.

Unable to resist, I reached out and brushed his hair away from his forehead. My fingers lingered for a moment, running gently through his strands. Even yesterday, I would have never imagined seeing him like this again. My heart had ached for him for so long, but I’d buried those feelings deep, refusing to listen to them.

And yet, here I was.

The fear of losing him had dug up
emotions I thought I’d buried forever. They were dangerous, threatening to consume me, yet more beautiful than anything I’d ever felt. It was something I couldn’t dare to voice aloud. Once spoken, there would be no escape. It felt like willingly leaping into hell.

A voice whispered in my mind, You’ve already tasted hell. And that hell is him.

Suddenly, he stirred. Startled, I quickly withdrew my hand, but not quickly enough. His iron grip caught my wrist.

"Sarfaraaz!" I winced in pain, his hold unyielding.

His grip loosened immediately, but he didn’t let go. His eyes fluttered open, locking onto mine.

"Oh, it’s you," he muttered in a husky tone, his voice laced with surprise. "So you really haven’t left."

"I keep my word," I replied softly. "How do you feel? If you’re better, I’ll....." My voice faltered, unable to finish. I didn’t want to leave.

He sighed, the sound pained yet resigned. "Better. But I feel like stabbing my wounds just so I can keep you here longer."

"This madman…" I muttered under my breath.

"Don’t say such nonsensical things," I retorted, trying to free my wrist from his grasp. "Take your meds on time. All the instructions are written on the prescription."

"I’m speaking sense, Hazel" he said, his voice calm yet dangerously assured. "If I want to keep you here, you know I will."

His gaze pierced through me, and his next words hit like bullets.

"Why were you so afraid of losing me, Édesem? Have you ever asked your heart that?"

The question shattered my resolve. I knew the answer, but admitting it felt like surrendering a part of myself I wasn’t ready to lose.

"Looks like you have," he said, almost to himself, his tone patient yet heavy with tension. "That’s why you can’t meet my eyes, isn’t it?"

"I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about," I stammered, trying to rise. "Let me go."

Before I could move, he pulled me into his chest. He was already half-lying, his head resting against the headboard. His arms encircled me as he cupped my face, forcing me to look at him. Our faces were mere inches apart, his breath warm against my skin.

"Tell me the truth, Hazel," he whispered, his voice low and intoxicating. "You’ve fallen for your monster, haven’t you?"

The proximity, the heat in his gaze, and the raw tension in the air made me dizzy. My heart screamed the truth, but my lips refused to betray me.

"Think whatever makes you feel better," I said defiantly, my voice trembling. "You’re already sick, so maybe this will help."

He sighed, the sound oddly relaxed. One of his hands moved to play with my hair, his fingers running through the strands with a tenderness that made my heart flutter.

"And you forgot to wear a dupatta today, let alone a hijab, in hurry" he murmured, his tone teasing yet possessive. "You let people see your hair, your curves just like that, and you expect me to believe you think of me as your destroyer?"

His fingers stilled when they reached my hair clip. His expression shifted briefly, but he quickly masked it.

"I’ve never seen you wear accessories," he said, his tone had something I could not quiet place. "What’s special about this one?"

I hesitated, not wanting to provoke him unnecessarily. "Today is my birthday," I admitted quietly. "I was getting ready when I saw the news."

His eyes softened. Leaning in, he placed a gentle kiss on my cheek. "Happy birthday, Édesem. I’m sorry I ruined it. It didn’t go the way I thought..."

The small gesture sent butterflies fluttering wildly in my stomach. "Thanks," I whispered, unable to hide the softness in my voice.

"Now, tell me about this hair clip," he demanded, his curiosity unrelenting.

An idea sparked in my mind. If he wanted to pry, I might as well make him jealous.

"It’s from my mysterious prince charming," I said, feigning nonchalance. "He gave it to me. I was eagerly waiting for him before you… forced me into this marriage. If I’d married anyone, it would have been him."

"So, he was your first love?" he asked, his grip on me tightening.

"Yes," I said with a pout. "It’s a pity I can’t marry him now because of you. But maybe I’ll go on a date with him."

Instead of the fury I expected, amusement danced in his eyes. A smirk curled his lips, confusing me further.

Before he could respond, a knock at the door broke the moment. I jumped from his grip, adjusting my dress hastily.

"Go to the washroom," he instructed firmly. I didn’t need to be told twice.

Five minutes later, he called for me. When I stepped out, I saw a bag on the chair beside his bed.

"Wear whichever you like," he said.

Opening the bag, I found scarves and hijab pins neatly arranged.

"Thank you," I said sincerely.

"I don’t want anyone else to see my wife like this," he said casually, his tone possessive. "You’re mine, Hazel. Only mine. Whether you accept it or not"

The words stirred something raw and fluttering within me.

"Now wear your scarf," he added. "We’re going to visit Rahat. He just regained consciousness."
______________________________

As Rahat's eyes fluttered open, the sterile white ceiling and the steady beeping of a heart monitor greeted him. The sharp, unmistakable scent of antiseptic confirmed his location...he was in a hospital.

Fragments of memory came rushing back: the chaos, the gunfire, and the sudden pain that tore through his shoulder. He instinctively tried to shift, but a sharp ache radiated from his left shoulder, forcing a groan from his lips.

"I’ll kill that bastard... I swear," he muttered groggily, his voice hoarse.

The door creaked open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man burst in, his face a mix of relief and worry.

"Boss! You’re awake!" the man exclaimed, his voice trembling slightly. "You scared the hell out of me."

Rahat let out a faint chuckle despite the pain. "I got shot in the shoulder, idiot. Not the chest. Stop being so dramatic," he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

The man, Ravi, sniffled, quickly wiping at his eyes before standing straighter. "Yeah, yeah... I’ll go inform Sarfaraaz Sir. He’s been worried sick."

As Ravi turned to leave, Rahat called out, his voice steadier. "How is he, Ravi?"

"Better. Recovering," Ravi replied before disappearing out the door.

Rahat exhaled, closing his eyes briefly, letting the exhaustion pull at him. The momentary silence was broken by a familiar voice, soft yet laced with anger.

"Rahat!"

His eyes snapped open to see Shanaya standing at the foot of his bed, her brows knitted in worry.

"Sana," he said, surprise evident in his tone.

"How could you be so reckless? Can’t you protect yourself properly?" she demanded, her tone sharp, though her eyes betrayed her concern.

"It was a sudden attack, Sana," Rahat replied calmly. "But... what are you doing here? Weren’t you traveling?"

"I came back as soon as I saw the news," she admitted, her voice softening.

Rahat stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, after a pause, he spoke again, his voice quiet but pointed.

"He’s hurt too," Rahat said, his tone steady. "But why are you here, Sana? Not with him?"

The air grew heavy, a tense silence settling between them as Shanaya hesitated, her lips parting as though searching for the right words.

"I... I..." she stammered, her usual confidence faltering. Finally, she took a deep breath, her voice low and tinged with defeat. "He has a wife to look after him."

Her gaze dropped for a moment before she continued, her tone soft but laced with vulnerability. "And I was... more worried about you. Strangely."
____________________________________

Spoiler : "Why are you taking me? Leave my hand." I said frowning my brows.

"I'm taking you to your Prince Charming. So stay quite" he said, his voice steady, expression unreable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I booked you for me the moment my eyes laid on you. Call it a fate or my own doing I don't fucking care. You were mine from the very start"
__________________________________

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