29.
PAST~
"Yug, can you please call him?" Aarav's voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper as he groaned, pulling the blanket up to his chin. Fever had kept him bedridden for two days now, and the fatigue had settled deep in his bones. But that wasn't what hurt the most.
It was Shaurya's absence.
The silence had grown louder in his mind.
He had pushed himself too hard, overworking and forgetting to rest—maybe trying to silence the ache of missing Shaurya by drowning in tasks. And still, the silence throbbed louder. Especially now, when he needed him the most.
Even the baby planning—his own idea—had begun to feel lonely.
Shaurya had agreed, yes. But that was all.
No excitement. No opinion. Just quiet cooperation, like someone going through the motions.
And that stung. Just 2 days ago, the embryo was implanted to the surrogate's uterus. Aarav decided to use Shaurya's sperm.
"I'll call, but first—take your medicines," Yug said firmly, arms crossed, a worried frown pinching his face as he looked at the frail figure on the bed.
"No," Aarav groaned, rolling onto his side. "Just call him."
Yug sighed and pulled out his phone.
Ringing...
Ringing...
Shaurya didn't answer.
"Try from my phone," Aarav muttered. "He'll pick up."
Yug hesitated, but nodded and redialed—this time from Aarav's number.
Still, no answer.
Aarav's expression darkened. He turned his face into the pillow, biting back the sharp sting behind his eyes.
"He's probably just busy," Yug said gently, sitting beside him and rubbing his shoulder in slow, comforting strokes. "Maybe something urgent came up."
"Too busy to take a single call from me?" Aarav's voice cracked, and he ended up coughing again, his chest heaving weakly.
Yug's worry deepened. "Aarav, don't work yourself up like this. Please. You need rest. And you need these medicines. Don't be stubborn."
"Let Shaurya come first," Aarav whispered, pulling the blanket over his head like a shield and turning his back to Yug.
You're forgetting me, Shaurya. I miss you so much... just come back...
Aarav pressed his eyes shut as hot tears slipped silently down his cheeks, soaking into the pillow.
But time, indifferent and cruel, moved on.
A week passed. No word. No call. Not even a message from Shaurya.
Under Rajmata's persistent scolding and Yug's patient caretaking, Aarav's fever eventually broke. His body began to heal. But the heart? That was another story entirely.
He didn't say much to anyone. Just followed their instructions, took his medicine, and forced small smiles. But inside, something had shifted.
He kept staring at his phone—half-expecting it to light up with Shaurya's name.
It never did.
And slowly, painfully, Aarav began to accept a truth he never wanted to face.
Maybe Shaurya didn't want this life.
Maybe he never did.
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The bar pulsed with low music and dim red light, a haze of cigarette smoke curling into the stale air.
At a corner table, away from the murmurs and eyes of the usual patrons, sat Shaurya—sleeves rolled, tie undone, a half-finished glass of whiskey before him.
Across from him lounged Vaani, draped in elegance, her smile lined with something colder than amusement.
Shaurya leaned back, rubbing his temples, his head already heavy. His drink tonight tasted different. Sweeter. But he didn't think too much of it. He needed the silence in his mind.
Vaani watched him carefully, then smiled as she refilled his glass.
"You always used to drink the strongest, remember? Back then no one could keep up," she purred, sliding the glass toward him.
Shaurya blinked. The edges of his vision were beginning to blur, but the fire in his chest needed quenching. He downed it in a single gulp.
Vaani tilted her head, pretending to speak casually. "You've changed a lot, Shaurya."
He didn't respond.
She took that as an invitation.
"Aarav has changed you," she said, tracing the rim of her own glass. "Your mind always played a strategic game. Now all you do is planning a baby?"
Shaurya's jaw twitched, but he didn't speak.
Vaani's voice dipped, smooth like poison in honey. "He's controlling your life. Tell me I'm wrong."
He glanced at her, finally. His pupils were slightly dilated now. Sweat was starting to bead near his hairline.
"You're wrong," he muttered. "Aarav's not like that."
"Really?" she smirked. "Then tell me why you are the one bending all the time. You're a mafia leader, Shaurya—not some domesticated husband who dances to someone else's tune."
Shaurya's head felt foggy. Her words floated but didn't quite land. Still, something in them stabbed at the base of his thoughts.
"You think Aarav isn't selfish?" Vaani pushed further, leaning closer.
"He knew how much pressure you are under, but he still went ahead with the baby plan.
All on his own. And what next, Shaurya? What if one day he asks you to leave everything behind?
Leave the mafia. Leave the life that made you who you are?
Shaurya, don't forget Aarav was brought up normally, away from the world we're living. "
Shaurya's fingers curled around the edge of the table. He didn't lift his head. "He'd never do that."
"Wouldn't he?" Vaani whispered, voice slippery.
"We decided together," he said, more firmly this time. "The baby. All of it. It is ours—both of us."
Vaani opened her mouth again, but Shaurya was already standing.
"No," he snapped, his voice tight. "I've had enough of this."
He stumbled slightly, knocking the chair back. His head spun violently now, footsteps unsteady as he pushed past the bar doors and into the night air. Lights blurred. His breathing was shallow, almost panicked.
In the parking lot, Ravi leaned against the car, finishing a call when he spotted Shaurya emerging—staggering.
"Boss?" Ravi frowned. "What the hell—"
Shaurya swayed, blinking hard. "Drive me," he muttered. "To the palace. I need to see him."
Ravi quickly caught him before he could fall. He assumed he was just drunk—he'd seen Shaurya worse before.
"Alright, alright. Sit here," he said, guiding him to the passenger seat. "Take this, water'll help."
Shaurya accepted the bottle with shaky hands, gulping some down. He unbuttoned a few buttons, his skin clammy, brow drenched in sweat.
Ravi narrowed his eyes. "You're burning up. How much did you drink?"
Shaurya didn't answer. He only repeated, in a hoarse whisper, "Take me to him."
Ravi nodded, concern rising but silent. He started the engine, casting one last glance at his boss—whose eyes were glassy and unfocused now.
Something was wrong.
But it was too late.
The drug had already begun its slow crawl through Shaurya's mind—erasing pieces of it.
And Vaani, somewhere inside the bar, watched the taillights disappear with a cold smile, her fingers still wrapped around her untouched drink.
The palace was quiet that night. The moonlight poured in through the ornate windows, painting silver shapes on the marble floors. It was past midnight when Ravi pulled the car into the driveway. Shaurya hadn't said a word the entire ride—his head resting against the window, eyes barely open.
Ravi helped him to the room but didn't follow in.
As the door creaked open, the only light was the faint glow of a lamp beside the bed.
And there he was—Aarav, fast asleep under the soft layers of his blanket, his breathing calm and even.
His fever had gone down. His skin glowed slightly under the warm light, a few strands of hair falling into his eyes.
Shaurya stood there, his body swaying slightly from the effects of the drug, but something about seeing Aarav like that—peaceful, unaware—steadied his legs.
He moved slowly, like a ghost in the night, until he reached the bed. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, eyes never leaving Aarav's face.
For a long moment, he just stared.
Then, gently, with a tenderness he didn't think he could still afford to feel, he reached out and brushed the strands away from Aarav's forehead. His hand lingered there, trembling slightly.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered, voice hoarse.
His other hand reached out, cupping Aarav's cheek, thumb brushing lightly against his skin.
"You have no idea how much I need you right now..."
Aarav stirred faintly, but didn't wake.
Shaurya leaned closer, his forehead almost touching Aarav's. "You're the only thing that makes sense anymore."
He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. "I know I've been distant. Cold. I hate it too, Aarav. I hate how things are falling apart. The clans—they're all turning on us. I don't know why... It's like someone's pulling strings I can't see."
He paused, exhaling slowly. "And I'm being pulled with them."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Forgive me...baby. I wanted this life with you. I wanted the baby too, I want you to be by my side but I'm sinking, Aarav. And I don't even know how it started."
His head dipped. "I'm trying. I swear I am. But something's wrong."
His hand moved from Aarav's cheek to his chest, resting over his heart as if hoping to feel something steady there—something that might pull him back.
"And I love you," he whispered. "I love you in ways I can't fix with words or flowers or promises. I love you even when I'm not myself."
Shaurya leaned forward and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to Aarav's temple.
Then he pulled back, breath hitching.
He didn't know Vaani had been slipping poison into his system—coated in trust and familiarity. Small doses, subtle shifts. Just enough to cloud his judgment. Just enough to fray his memories. Just enough to turn love into distance.
Aarav shifted again, sighing softly in his sleep.
Shaurya stood slowly, reluctant to break the moment, but afraid of what might happen if he stayed too long.
The Shekhawat mansion began to feel colder. Not physically, but in the way silence clung to the walls—too still, too sharp, too unnatural.
Shaurya Shekhawat was no longer the same man. Or just because it didn't have Aarav's warmth.
He hadn't realized it at first. It started with the insomnia —tossing and turning at night, his mind racing through wars that hadn't happened yet.
Then came the irritability, the quick temper, the brutal outbursts he couldn't control.
His kills became messier, more cruel. The violence.
.. more personal. It disturbed even his own men, though none dared speak it aloud.
Ravi saw it first.
He saw it in the way Shaurya's hands trembled when no one was looking. The way his jaw clenched when Aarav's name was mentioned. How his eyes darted too fast, how he winced at sudden sounds.
And how he kept forgetting things—important things.
"Shaurya, we've already handled the Singh clan deal. It's been done since Monday," Ravi had said cautiously.
Shaurya had blinked at him, confused, almost frightened. "It has?"
That was when Ravi stopped pretending everything was fine. He called in a doctor discreetly, under the guise of a routine checkup. After the session, the doctor prescribed anti-anxiety medication—mild, safe, non-addictive. Something to help calm the storms that were eating him alive.
But Vaani had already made her move.
That night, while no one watched, she slipped into Shaurya's room, opened the bottle, and replaced the pills with her own—a careful mix of tranquilizing toxins and slow-acting substances that distorted memory, blurred perception, and amplified emotional volatility.
It wasn't enough to make him collapse. But it was enough to make him spiral.
The next few days were chaos.
Shaurya stopped sleeping entirely. He became more irritable, snapping at anyone who spoke more than necessary.
His anxiety attacks started coming every other night.
Sometimes he locked himself in the bathroom, gripping the sink, gasping for air like his lungs had turned against him.
Sometimes Ravi found him curled in a corner, fists clenched, eyes red and wild.
But Aarav... Aarav didn't know.
Shaurya had stopped answering his calls.
It wasn't because he didn't want to. In the rare, fragile moments of clarity, he missed Aarav so deeply that it felt like grief. But the poison coursing through his veins twisted that longing into guilt. Into shame.
He started believing what Vaani had whispered that night at the bar:
"He's controlling you, Shaurya. You think he loves you, but look at your life now. He wants a child, a family. You think that fits the kind of man you are?"
And it echoed in his head now—on repeat.
Shaurya stopped going to the palace. He shifted to an old outpost in the city under the guise of "operations." But Ravi knew. He knew it was because Shaurya couldn't bear facing Aarav. Couldn't bear seeing what he might lose. Couldn't bear the war inside his own mind.
Every time Aarav's name came up, Shaurya either fell silent or deflected.
Every time his phone rang, he stared at the screen like it was a bomb.
And every time he closed his eyes, he saw blood.