The entire house was engulfed in silence, as if no one had ever lived there. Shadows stretched long across the walls, cast by the dim glow of streetlights outside. The only sound that broke the stillness was the occasional rustling of the curtains as they swayed with the night breeze. Outside, the trees whispered in hushed tones, their leaves brushing against each other, creating a sound eerily reminiscent of whispered secrets.

It was late-well past midnight-when Ishaan returned home. He parked the car in the driveway, but instead of immediately stepping out, he sat still for a moment, gripping the steering wheel. His jaw clenched, his brows furrowed, as if lost in thought. There was an odd heaviness in his chest, a weight that refused to lift.

Tonight had been one of those nights-the kind that left a bitter taste in his mouth, filled with anger, frustration, and emotions he didn't know how to name. He had tried to bury it all, leave it behind the moment he entered his house, but emotions didn't work that way. They clung to him, seeping into his bones, refusing to be silenced.

Taking a deep breath, he finally stepped out of the car and shut the door behind him. The sound echoed in the quiet night. As he turned toward the house, an odd sensation settled over him-a feeling that something was wrong. He paused at the entrance, his fingers hovering over the doorknob.

It was subtle at first, just a whisper at the back of his mind. But as he pushed open the door and stepped inside, the feeling intensified.

Something was off.

His sharp eyes scanned the living room. Everything seemed in place. The plush couch, the untouched coffee table, the dim glow of the night lamp in the corner-it was exactly as he had left it. And yet, something was different.

A scent lingered in the air-faint, unfamiliar, but unsettling. His heart gave a strange, uneasy thump.

He turned toward the kitchen, his gaze drifting across the dining area. That was when his eyes landed on the table.

This morning.

The memory crashed into him like a wave. Naina had been sitting right there, resting her head against the polished wood, lost in thought. She had looked so small, so fragile, but he had been too caught up in his own frustration to notice. Instead of staying, he had stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving her alone for the first time.

His heart clenched.

Why did that thought bother him now?

His steps grew quicker, his movements sharper. He climbed the stairs, his muscles tensed as if preparing for something he couldn't name. Reaching his bedroom, he pushed the door open.

Empty.

His breath hitched. His eyes swept across the room, searching for any sign of her. Nothing.

His pulse quickened.

Turning on his heel, he strode toward the bathroom and shoved the door open. The cold tiles gleamed under the dim light.

Empty.

His fingers raked through his hair, his jaw tightening. A restless fear began to crawl up his spine. He shook his head, refusing to acknowledge the anxiety creeping into his chest.

She must be on the balcony.

Yes. That made sense. She often stood there, lost in thought, staring at the night sky. Without another second, he walked toward the balcony doors and pulled them open. The cold breeze hit him instantly, rustling his hair, but his eyes weren't focused on the night. They were searching.

Searching for her.

But she wasn't there.

The air around him grew heavier, as if pressing down on his lungs.

His fists clenched.

And then, in a firm yet slightly shaken voice, he called out:

"Naina?"

The name echoed through the house.

No response.

The silence that followed was unbearable, stretching long and suffocating.

His breathing turned sharp. His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven movements.

A single thought clawed at his mind.

Did she run away?

The idea hit him like a punch to the gut. His entire body stiffened. The possibility that she had left-escaped-sent a cold chill through him.

Without hesitation, he moved.

He checked every room. The guest rooms. The painting room. His personal library. Even the storage spaces filled with things he had long forgotten. His footsteps grew heavier, faster. Desperation clawed at him, but he refused to acknowledge it.

There was only one place left.

A room he rarely used.

Reaching for the doorknob, he twisted it open.

The door creaked.

The dim light flickered.

And then-

The air in his lungs froze.

There she was.

Naina.

Lying on the cold, hard floor.

Blood pooled beneath her, its deep shade staining the pale tiles. Strands of her hair clung to her face, damp with sweat, while the rest fanned out around her like ink spilling across the ground. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes closed, her body terrifyingly still.

For a moment, Ishaan didn't move.

Couldn't move.

His mind refused to process the sight before him.

A cold, unfamiliar fear gripped his chest, squeezing until it became impossible to breathe. The sound of his own heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else.

And then, as if something inside him finally snapped-

"Naina!"

His voice cracked. He rushed forward, falling to his knees beside her. With trembling hands, he reached for her, turning her over carefully.

Her face-pale.

Her lips-dry, slightly parted.

A deep scratch ran along the corner of her mouth. And her head-blood was still dripping, pooling onto the floor beneath her.

His throat tightened painfully. A lump formed, making it hard to swallow.

He shook her gently. "Naina..." His voice was hoarse, almost pleading.

No response.

His chest burned.

"Naina!"

Still nothing.

A sharp, agonized breath escaped him. He pressed his fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse. For something. Anything.

Faint.

But still there.

A choked sound left him. Relief. Fear. Desperation.

From across the room, a small cry echoed.

Gem.

Her cat was pacing anxiously near the doorway, his golden eyes locked onto Naina. He meowed loudly, as if trying to tell him something.

There was no time to think.

Moving on instinct, Ishaan scooped Naina into his arms. Her weight was frighteningly light, her head lolling against his shoulder.

His pulse roared in his ears as he rushed out of the room, down the stairs, and toward the car. Every second felt like an eternity.

Carefully, he laid her in the back seat. His hands were shaking as he slammed the door shut.

Just as he got into the driver's seat, a familiar blur jumped in.

Gem.

The cat landed on the passenger seat, still meowing, refusing to be left behind.

Ishaan didn't argue. He reached over, pushed the door shut, and sped off.

The highway stretched ahead, a blur of lights and shadows. His hands gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles white. Every few minutes, his gaze flickered to the backseat.

"Naina, wake up."

Nothing.

His jaw clenched.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number.

"Faris." His voice was sharp, urgent. "Get to the hospital. Now."

There was no room for questions. No room for explanations.

Within minutes, the hospital came into view. As he pulled up, he saw Faris standing outside, confusion written on his face.

Ishaan didn't stop.

He flung the door open, grabbed Naina, and rushed inside.

Doctors ran forward, shouting orders. Someone tried to pull her from his arms, but he didn't let go until they forced him to.

As they wheeled her away, he stood frozen, his chest heaving.

Outside, his bodyguards took their positions, standing alert.

None of it mattered.

Nothing mattered.

Except the girl who had somehow become his entire world.

Ishaan felt the weight of the world crashing down on him. The cold hospital hallway stretched endlessly, yet it felt suffocating. His hands trembled, his heart pounded, but his mind-his mind was a storm.

With slow, unsteady steps, he moved to the sitting area at the far end of the corridor. The air felt heavy, thick with tension and dread. The dim, flickering hospital lights above cast long, distorted shadows on the floor, mirroring the darkness swirling inside him.

His legs felt weak.

For the first time in his life, Ishaan felt powerless.

Letting out a sharp breath, he dropped onto the cold metal bench. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands clutching his face before running through his hair in frustration. At times, he pressed his palms against his forehead; other times, he gripped his thighs, his knuckles turning white.

His mind refused to quiet down.

Everything around him blurred. His vision tunneled, making the world seem distant, unreal. It felt like he was drowning in a void where nothing existed-nothing but the thought of Naina.

He had never considered himself weak. Not once.

But when it came to her...

One single scratch on her was enough to drive him to insanity.

And today-today he had seen her covered in blood.

His grip on his own wrists tightened. The veins on his arms bulged as he struggled to keep himself from breaking apart. His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, but he didn't care.

Naina's lifeless form, the way her body had lain on the cold floor, her blood pooling beneath her-it was carved into his mind like a nightmare that refused to fade.

How did this happen?

He tried to piece it together.

The wound on her head-maybe she slipped. Maybe she fell against the piano. It was a possibility. But then...

His breath hitched.

The mark on her lips.

That was not from a fall.

Someone was in that house.

His muscles tensed. His eyes darkened. His fists curled into tight balls, nails digging into his palms, leaving crescent-shaped imprints on his skin.

Someone was there.

Someone touched her.

A slow, boiling rage burned in his chest, consuming him like wildfire.

He tilted his head back, resting it against the cold wall behind him, his gaze lifting to the ceiling. His breaths came out slow and heavy, his mind sinking deeper into dark, suffocating thoughts.

Who was it?

Who dared to step into his house? Who dared to hurt Naina?

Faris stood silently nearby, cradling Gem in his arms. The little creature's body trembled with distress, his golden eyes flickering between Ishaan and the closed emergency room doors.

Faris wanted to ask something. Anything. But the tension in the air was suffocating.

Even a single word felt dangerous.

So, silence remained.

For thirty agonizing minutes, Ishaan sat there. Unmoving. Lost in his own madness.

Then-

The door to the emergency room creaked open.

Ishaan's head snapped up.

A doctor stepped out, his white coat slightly stained with traces of blood.

Ishaan was on his feet before he could think. His movements were sharp, immediate, driven by pure instinct. In the blink of an eye, he had crossed the corridor and stood face-to-face with the doctor.

The intensity in his eyes was unsettling.

His voice was low, rough, demanding.

"How is she?"

The doctor exhaled, placing a firm hand on Ishaan's shoulder, trying to offer some reassurance. But the exhaustion in his face was evident.

"Sir, you'll need to be patient. She's still in critical condition."

A sharp breath escaped Ishaan. His jaw tightened.

"What do you mean?"

The doctor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "She lost a lot of blood. She was brought in late... If she had arrived any later, it could've been-"

Ishaan's eyes flashed dangerously.

Too late.

The words hung unspoken, but he understood.

The doctor continued, explaining the medical details, but Ishaan barely heard them. Every syllable only fueled the storm inside him.

His fingers twitched.

His teeth clenched.

His mind was unraveling, sinking deeper into a dark abyss.

The doctor finished speaking, giving him a small nod before walking away.

Ishaan stood there.

Unmoving.

Seething.

His breathing turned ragged as he stepped closer to the door. His palm pressed flat against its cold surface, his forehead resting against it as well. His fingers curled, his nails scraping against the wood.

Then-In a voice so low, so venomous, it barely passed as a whisper, he muttered-

"Whoever has done this to you... I will make them taste death and make them suffer every fucking day."

His voice dripped with promise. A dark, unforgiving promise. His eyes, once filled with torment, now burned with something far more terrifying. Bloodlust... Whoever did this... He would find them.He would make them beg. And then-He would break them.

One.

By.

One.

Minutes passed, then hours. Ishaan barely moved from his spot outside the emergency room.

Faris watched from the side, gripping Gem a little tighter. The air around Ishaan was suffocating-an unsettling mix of silence and something far darker.

Something deadly.

Even Gem, a mere cat, could feel it. He curled into himself, his tail twitching anxiously.

No one dared to approach Ishaan.

The hospital staff moved around cautiously, casting nervous glances in his direction. His presence alone was suffocating.

His knuckles were bruised, his fists clenched so tightly they trembled. His eyes-dark, sharp, and burning with an intensity that could swallow anyone whole-were fixed on the closed doors. He wouldn't leave. Not until she opened her eyes. Not until he got answers, Hours stretched, and finally, the door creaked open again.

A nurse stepped out.

"Sir... you can see her now."

Ishaan didn't waste a second. He stormed inside. And the moment he saw her-lying on that hospital bed, so small, so pale, her body covered in bandages-

Something inside him shattered. He took slow, quiet steps toward her, his gaze locked onto her face. She looked fragile. Too fragile. His hands clenched. She was chaos wrapped in innocence. She wasn't meant to be lying there, lifeless and weak. His fingers twitched as he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

His touch was feather-light. Careful. Because right now, she looked as if she would break if he held her too tightly. His throat tightened, his lips parting as if to say something, But words failed him. For the first time in his life...He didn't know what to say. So instead, he sat. Right beside her.

And waited.

In the dimly lit hospital room, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor provided a steady backdrop to Ishaan's turmoil. He sat beside Naina's bed, his gaze fixed on her pale face, searching for any sign of movement. The sterile scent of antiseptics filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of his cologne, now wilting on the windowsill.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as Ishaan watched over her, his mind replaying the harrowing events that had led them here. The image of Naina lying unconscious in a pool of her own blood haunted him, each recollection tightening the knot of guilt and fear in his chest. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, as he silently pleaded for her to wake up.

After what felt like an eternity, Ishaan noticed a subtle flicker beneath Naina's closed eyelids. His breath caught in his throat as he leaned in closer, his eyes scanning her face for any further signs of consciousness. Slowly, her eyelashes fluttered, and she turned her head slightly towards him. Her eyes, though heavy and glazed, opened just enough to meet his.

"I... I... Ishaan..." Naina's voice was barely above a whisper, each syllable strained and weak.

Relief washed over Ishaan like a tidal wave, momentarily drowning his anguish. He reached out, his hand trembling, and gently clasped her hand. The warmth of her skin, though faint, was a reassuring contrast to the cold fear that had gripped him for hours, He fought to keep his composure, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. He had always prided himself on being the most powerful man, and the one she could lean on during turbulent times. But now, seeing her so vulnerable, the facade of strength he had meticulously built began to crumble.

He turned his head away briefly, blinking rapidly to chase away the tears that threatened to fall. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he steeled himself, Yet, despite his resolve, he couldn't resist the magnetic pull drawing him closer to her. Leaning in, he rested his forehead gently against her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck. The proximity allowed him to feel the faint rise and fall of her chest, a subtle reminder that she was still with him.

"I'm sorry," Ishaan whispered, his voice barely audible. The weight of his guilt pressed heavily upon him, each word laced with the torment of knowing he had left her unprotected.

The room remained silent, save for the soft hum of medical equipment. Ishaan closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief moment of vulnerability. The scent of Naina's hair, the warmth of her skin, provided a solace he hadn't realized he desperately needed.

As he whispered his apology, the weight of his guilt pressing heavily upon him, Naina stirred. Her body tensed almost imperceptibly, and she swallowed hard, attempting to quell the surge of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her.

Ishaan's presence so near reminded her of the harrowing ordeal she had endured-the stinging slap that had echoed through the room, the cruel grip on her hair as her assailant forced her head against the unforgiving surface of the piano. The memories were vivid, each one a sharp jab to her psyche.

Despite the turmoil raging within her, Naina remained silent. She lacked the strength to recount the details of her assault, the courage to reveal the identity of her attacker. Fear clamped down on her vocal cords, rendering her mute. Yet, amidst the chaos of her emotions, one truth stood clear-no matter how much she tried to distance herself from Ishan, he was always there, an unwavering sentinel in her life.

The room was enveloped in a profound silence, broken only by the soft hum of medical equipment. The air was thick with unspoken words.

Ishaan, seeking solace and offering comfort, lifted his arm and gently placed it around Naina's waist. The gesture was instinctive, a silent vow to protect and cherish. He felt her body stiffen momentarily beneath his touch, a fleeting reaction that caused a pang of uncertainty to ripple through him. Yet, he held her close, anchoring himself to her presence, drawing strength from the simple act of holding her near.

Naina's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The warmth of Ishaan's embrace battled with the cold remnants of her recent trauma. Slowly she melt into his arms, to find refuge from the storm within her, She closed her eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, allowing it to ground her amidst the chaos.

Time seemed to stand still as they remained locked in this silent communion. The past and present intertwined, a tapestry of pain and comfort, fear and love.

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