Vihaan's POV:
The meeting with Mr. Reynold had dragged longer than I expected. And though my mind was supposed to be on contracts and evidence, it wasn't. It kept drifting back to her.
Ama.
The moment I saw her standing in my cabin earlier, I wanted to pull her into my arms — to make sure she was really there, breathing, alive. But instead, I just sat there, holding my words like they were evidence in a courtroom I didn't know how to win.
She looked better — walking again, recovering — but her eyes still carried that quiet ache, the kind that silence only deepens. Maybe I was too harsh on her. She wasn't right, but she wasn't entirely wrong either.
Ama has always been reckless… but her recklessness comes from love. From wanting justice for her parents, from carrying pain that refuses to rest. She never does things halfway; she throws her whole heart into them — even if it breaks her in the process.
And maybe… that's what scares me the most.
Maybe I should call her. It was already past nine — she must be awake by now. I stared at her name on the screen for a moment, hesitating, then reached for the call button.
But before I could press it, my phone lit up — incoming call: Ama.
My heart skipped. I answered immediately."Ama—"
"Vihaan, Vihaan, it's—"
The line cut.
Her voice — breathless, trembling — was the last thing I heard. My stomach tightened instantly. Something was wrong.
I tried calling her back once, twice — no answer. The third time, it didn't even ring.
My mind raced. That tone in her voice wasn't panic out of confusion; it was fear. Real fear.
I covered the distance from my office to the car in seconds, barely registering the startled looks from the staff. The traffic outside was a nightmare — horns blaring, red lights stretching endlessly ahead — but I couldn't afford a single minute of delay.
Ama's voice was still echoing in my head. "Vihaan, it's—" and then nothing.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, weaving through the lanes as the city blurred past. My heart was pounding too fast to think straight, but one thought kept burning through the noise — I needed to get to her.
Amara's POV:
I was still caught in the same loop — guilt circling around me like a storm I couldn't step out of. The need to explain myself to Vihaan, to make him understand, to just… apologise, kept gnawing at me.
"Why, God," I muttered, pressing my palms against my face, "why did you send Maria(His Secretary) right when things were finally getting clear? Couldn't you wait just a little longer?"
Before I could spiral further, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen — Jia.
"Yeah, Jia," I answered, trying to sound normal.
"Ama, I called to tell you your food's in the fridge, so don't bother cooking," she said, her voice cheerful as always. "I might be a little late tonight. Adrian wants to meet, so it could take a while. Oh, and Mom left for Granny's place, so she won't be home either."
"Okay, okay," I said, half smiling. "Don't roam around too much, eat properly, and don't go craving something unhealthy again. Got it, madam?"
"You don't even try to make fun of me," she shot back, a laugh hiding behind her mock warning. "Or I won't take you out for that lunch date, remember?"
I could almost picture her grin — the same one that always made her look too young for the world she was trying to survive in.
For a moment, the heaviness inside me lifted — just a little.
After another long session of blaming myself — and then, inevitably, blaming God — I finally dragged myself out of my room to eat something. The plan was simple: finish dinner, maybe call him afterward.
Dinner, if you could call it that, was just boiled broccoli and spinach. I forced it down, each bite tasting like guilt instead of food. Somehow, I managed to finish and went back upstairs.
Then came a knock at the front door.
I frowned. Jia? She said she'd be late — but maybe plans changed. I sighed and started down the stairs.
It's strange — my wounds always hurt more at night, as if the darkness itself pressed down on them. Every step felt heavier, slower.
The doorbell rang again. Once. Twice.
That wasn't Jia's rhythm. She never rang twice.
A flicker of unease twisted in my chest. What if she argued with Adrian again? Maybe she's upset... acting out of sorts.
I took one more cautious, painful step — and froze. It wasn't Jia.
"Julian."The word slipped out before I could stop it — barely a whisper, more like disbelief than recognition.
Before I could react, the door was flung wide open.
"Hi, dear sister." His voice carried that same mocking warmth, and the smirk that followed made my stomach twist. "Not really happy to see me?"
That smile — cruel, familiar, deliberate — froze me in place.
My mind screamed Run.
Run upstairs. Call someone. Do something.
But my body felt heavy, like the air itself had turned to iron. I couldn't fight him — not now. Not when my wounds still throbbed with every breath.
In that desperate rush, my foot slipped on the rug, and I crashed against the side of the couch — pain shot through my head, sharp and dizzying — but I couldn't stop.
I forced myself up, the room spinning for a moment, and stumbled toward my room. My fingers shook as I grabbed the phone and dialed Vihaan's number.
"Vihaan… Vihaan, it's—"
Before I could finish, a hand yanked the phone from mine. Julian's cold laughter followed as he ended the call.
Vihaan's POV:
My heart was pounding louder than the sound of the traffic. I didn't even remember how I crossed half the signals or how many times I almost rammed into another car. Her voice — breathless, cut short — kept replaying in my head like a warning.
"Vihaan… Vihaan, it's—"
And then nothing.
By the time I reached her street, the house looked eerily quiet, too still for the chaos twisting inside me. The gate was half open. My gut twisted.
"Ama!" I shouted, running up the porch. No answer.
The front door wasn't locked. I pushed it open and froze. The faint smell of iron — blood — hit me first. Then I saw her.
She was lying near the couch, motionless, her hair matted with blood from a deep cut near her temple. Her phone lay shattered beside her.
For a second, I couldn't breathe. Then I was on my knees beside her, my hands trembling as I lifted her slightly.
"Ama… hey, hey, open your eyes, please." My voice cracked. "Come on, you can't do this to me, not again."
Her eyelids fluttered, faintly, and she murmured something — too weak to hear. I pressed my palm against her cheek, already cold.
Without thinking, I scooped her up and rushed to the car.
"Hold on, please hold on," I whispered, my voice breaking as I sped through the streets.
The city lights blurred into streaks as I drove through the night. Every red light felt like a curse, every second an eternity. My hands were slippery on the steering wheel — maybe from sweat, maybe from the blood that stained them when I picked her up.
"Keep your eyes open, Ama," I said, glancing at her pale face lying motionless beside me. "Hey your diet food will end in three days, what icecream you want?"
"Maybe it will add up, now" she said almost in a whisper.
The hospital gate finally appeared ahead. I hit the brakes so hard that the tires screeched. Within seconds, I had her in my arms again, running through the emergency doors.
"Doctor! Somebody help!" I shouted. The staff rushed in, placing her on the stretcher.
As they wheeled her in, a nurse asked, "What happened?"
"I-- I don't know," I stammered. "She was alone at home. When I reached, she was bleeding, unconscious."
They disappeared behind the glass doors, leaving me standing there — breathless, shaking. I could still feel her warmth on my hands, fading.
I sat down on the nearest chair, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. My heartbeat was still racing. The room felt too bright, too sterile for the storm inside me.
For a brief second, my mind flashed back — the way she looked earlier that morning, nervous but trying to smile in my office. She was about to say something before Maria walked in. I should've stopped her. I should've listened.
"Damn it, Ama…" I whispered, pressing my fist against my forehead.
The guilt was loud — louder than the hospital machines beeping in the distance.