Amara's POV:
The next morning, the hospital smelled faintly of antiseptic and sunlight. The doctor signed the discharge papers, and before I could even move, Vihaan was already there — collecting the file, double-checking the medicines, making sure I didn't lift a single thing.
"Ready?" he asked softly, his hand brushing my shoulder, steady and careful.
I nodded. He slipped an arm around me as we walked out, his touch protective, grounding. Every step I took felt lighter because he was there — the only constant that didn't waver, no matter how everything else did.
Outside, Jia was waiting near the car, her face brightening when she saw me."Ama! You're finally out." She ran forward and hugged me carefully, mindful of the bandage.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I smiled. "Vihaan didn't let the doctors rest until they confirmed it."
Jia laughed lightly, but Vihaan didn't even look at her.He opened the car door for me and said, "Let's get you home first." His tone was gentle with me, but coldly formal when his eyes brushed past Jia.
During the drive, the silence wasn't between us — it was between them. I could feel it, like two edges of glass that once touched but now refused to meet.
When we reached home, Jia tried again. "Thank you for bringing her, Vihaan."
He just nodded once. "She shouldn't strain herself," he said, adjusting the shawl around my shoulders. His fingers lingered for a moment, as if silently promising he wouldn't let me break again. Then he turned toward Jia, his voice calm but distant. "Just… keep her away from stress."
Jia lowered her eyes. "I will."
He gave a faint nod, turned back to me, and for a second — only a second — his expression softened completely. "Rest, Ama. I'll come by later with your prescriptions."
"Vihaan…" I started, but he smiled weakly, brushing a strand of hair off my face. "Don't worry about anything else. Just get better."
And then he left — careful, composed, carrying a storm in silence.
I watched him go, my heart caught between gratitude and ache. He hadn't said a single harsh word, but I knew. The distance between him and Jia wasn't born from anger — it was born from hurt.
Vihaan's POV:
I knew Ama had sensed my behavior — she always did. But I'm not like her. She can swallow the pain, forgive, and move forward as if the world hasn't betrayed her. I can't. Not when I know Jia is Albert's daughter. Not when I know it's Jia, because of whom Ama is trying to save the man who murdered her mother. And me? I just stood there, helpless. That guilt—it's eating me alive.
But there's one thing I can do. One thing I will do.
"Mr. Liam Salvatore," I called out as I stepped into his — no, Ama's parents' — house.
Footsteps echoed from the stairs. Liam came into view first, calm and unsuspecting. But right behind him was Julian — and the sight of him snapped whatever thin restraint I had left.
Before anyone could speak, I closed the distance. My hand balled into a fist, and I drove it straight into Julian's face. The crack echoed through the hall.
He staggered back, clutching his jaw, eyes wide with shock.
"That," I said, breathing hard, "was long overdue."
Julian stumbled back, ready to retreat, but Liam caught his arm and yanked him upright.
"He's our guest," Liam said, his grin slicing across his face. "And this isn't how we treat guests."
I took a step closer, my voice steady but laced with venom. "Funny. I thought we'd meet in court — but looks like desperation got the better of you, Liam."
Our eyes locked, neither of us flinching. The air felt charged, heavy with something unspoken.
Then I turned to Julian, my tone dropping lower, dangerous. "And you—try something reckless with her one more time, and I swear there won't be a third."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It crackled. Even the walls seemed to listen.
"A few more days, and I promise none of you will be in a state to do anything, I promise," I said before escorting myself out.
Liam's grin didn't falter — not right away. But I saw it. The twitch in his jaw, the momentary stillness in his eyes — the kind that comes when confidence meets fear head-on.
He straightened his cufflinks like nothing happened, but his voice carried a rough edge when he finally spoke. "You think power gives you the right to play hero?"
I smiled — slow, deliberate. "No. But it gives me the right to end monsters who pretend to be men."
For a heartbeat, nobody breathed. Julian stayed perfectly still, his eyes darting between us, waiting for a cue that never came.
No one moved. Vihaan's name carried weight — in boardrooms and courtrooms alike. Going against him wasn't bravery; it was suicide.
Amara's POV:
Jia had been asking me nonstop what really happened, but I couldn't tell her the truth. Not this time.
"I told you, I felt dizzy and hit my head, that's all," I said, forcing a casual smile.
She frowned, still unconvinced. "Fine. But please, be careful. You just started recovering, and now another injury?" Her voice was laced with worry.
By evening, the dizziness still lingered, a dull throb pulsing behind my temples. I lay down, hoping a short rest would help. The world felt heavy and quiet—until I felt the shift on the bed beside me.
Someone had just sat down.
My eyes snapped open.
It was Vihaan.
He sat quietly beside me, elbows resting on his knees, gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. For a moment, neither of us said a word. The air between us felt heavy, like it carried things unspoken.
"You should be resting," he said finally, his tone softer than usual.
"I was," I murmured, pushing myself up slowly. "Until you decided to sit there like a ghost."
That earned me a faint exhale — almost a laugh, almost not.
As I reached for the glass of water on the table, my eyes caught something — his hand. The skin across his knuckles was raw, bruised, and a faint smear of dried blood at the edge.
I froze. "Vihaan… what happened to your hand?"
He followed my gaze and flexed his fingers, too casually. "Nothing. Just a long day."
But I knew that look — that calmness he wore only when he was hiding something. My stomach tightened.
"Don't tell me—" I started, my voice rising as the realization hit. "Don't tell me you went after Julian. Alone. Inside the Salvatore house?"
Vihaan didn't answer. He didn't need to. The silence said enough.
I shot upright, heart pounding. "What do you think you are? A beast? What if they—"
Before I could finish, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine — soft, sudden, silencing every word that was about to tear through the air.
For a moment, all the anger, fear, and confusion tangled into that kiss.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead lingered against mine, our breaths uneven, tangled.
"Sorry, but I couldn't stand the thought of them hurting you again," he whispered.
I didn't say anything at first. My heart was still racing, but the storm inside me had started to quiet. His words lingered in the air, raw and unguarded — the kind Vihaan rarely allowed himself to speak.
I exhaled slowly, my anger dissolving into something gentler. My fingers brushed against his hand — the bruised one — and for once, he didn't pull away.
"Don't stress yourself out," He said in a calm voice and a smiley face.
"You're impossible," I murmured, finally finding my voice.
A faint smile ghosted across his lips. "You've told me that before."
"I meant it then," I said softly, "and I mean it now."
He is more reckless than I ever can be, yet never admits it.