•| SEVENTEEN |•
Your hands were trembling the moment you stepped inside the bar.
The loud music hit your ears first — heavy bass vibrating through the floor, neon lights flashing across the dim space, the smell of alcohol thick in the air.
Men were laughing loudly, glasses clinking, some already too drunk to even sit straight.
It wasn’t a place you had ever been to before…
and definitely not alone, especially not at night.
You clutched your phone tighter in your hand, your eyes scanning the crowd nervously while your heart pounded against your ribs. For a moment you almost turned back — the environment felt suffocating in a completely different way than the lift earlier — but then you remembered why you came.
Krish.
Swallowing your fear, you walked further inside, carefully moving past groups of drunk men who barely noticed you — and those who did, their lingering gazes only made your grip tighten on your dupatta.
It didn’t take long to find him.
He was sitting at the far end of the bar counter, slightly hunched forward, one arm resting lazily on the table while the other loosely held a glass.
Several empty glasses were already scattered around him.
His tie was loose, shirt buttons slightly undone, hair disheveled — nothing like the composed, intimidating businessman everyone feared.
He looked… broken.
You slowly walked toward him, each step hesitant but determined.
“Mr. Mehra…” you called softly.
No response.
You came closer until you were standing right beside him. Your fingers slowly reached for his coat sleeve, gently holding it.
His gaze dropped lazily to your hand first… then slowly traveled up to your face.
For a second, his eyes narrowed — trying to focus through the haze of alcohol.
Then he scoffed bitterly.
A hollow, humorless sound.
Before you could even react, he harshly shrugged your hand off and pushed you away.
“Don’t come close to me…” he slurred, voice thick with alcohol and pain, eyes turning away from you. “…not even in my imaginations.”
The words hit harder than the push.
Still, you steadied yourself and stepped closer again, worry overpowering hurt.
“Mr. Mehra, you’re drunk… please, let’s go from here,” you said softly, trying to sound calm despite the way your voice trembled.
You reached for his arm again — this time more carefully.
But the moment your fingers touched him—
He yanked his arm back violently.
“Don’t touch me!” he snapped, louder this time, anger laced with something deeper — something shattered.
The sudden force made you lose balance.
You stumbled backward, your foot twisting slightly as you fell onto the cold bar floor.
A soft gasp escaped your lips as pain shot through your palm where it hit the ground.
You looked up at him from the floor — shocked, hurt, and shaken.
But he wasn’t even looking at you properly.
Before you could even gather yourself, a shadow loomed over you.
“Are you okay, miss?” a drunken man slurred, crouching down in front of you with a crooked smirk plastered on his face.
The strong stench of alcohol hit your senses instantly, making your stomach churn.
His eyes roamed over your face shamelessly, lingering longer than they should have.
Fear crawled up your spine as his hand slowly lifted — unsteady, shameless — moving toward your face… toward your lips.
You froze.
Your body refused to react.
But before his fingers could even brush your skin—
A strong force shoved him aside.
“Get your filthy hands off her!” Krish’s voice thundered, raw and dangerous despite the alcohol clouding his senses.
The man stumbled back, cursing under his breath, but one look at Krish’s furious eyes made him retreat without another word.
Without even sparing him a second glance, Krish bent down and grabbed your arm, pulling you up from the floor in one swift motion. Before you could steady yourself, he was already dragging you out of the bar, his grip firm, almost possessive.
You stumbled behind him, trying to match his long strides as the loud music faded and the cool night air hit your face the moment you stepped outside.
He stopped abruptly near the pavement and turned toward you, his brows furrowed deeply.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, voice rough, breath still laced with alcohol.
You avoided his gaze, looking down at your feet, nervously fidgeting with your fingers.
“Umm… the waiter called—”
“What if he was lying, huh?” he cut you off sharply, his voice rising. “Do you even realize what could’ve happened to you in there? At this time? In that place? Are you crazy?”
He was drunk… his words slightly slurred… but the worry in his eyes was unmistakable.
It caught you off guard.
“I was worried about you…” you murmured softly, almost defensively.
He stilled.
“Why?” he asked immediately, his tone quieter now — but sharper.
The question stunned you.
You opened your mouth… closed it… then forced out the safest answer you could find.
“B-because… I mean… I’m human. Just basic humanity,” you said awkwardly, shrugging lightly, avoiding the real answer even from yourself.
He scoffed, shaking his head faintly as if he didn’t believe you — or maybe didn’t want to.
“Let’s just go. It’s late,” you added quickly, trying to end the conversation before your heart betrayed you.
He looked around vaguely.
“Where’s my car…?” he muttered, squinting slightly.
“You’re not driving,” you said firmly for the first time. “It’s not safe.”
Without waiting for his protest, you stepped forward and stopped a cab on the roadside. After a little struggle — mostly because he was too drunk to cooperate — you managed to get him inside.
You sat beside him, slightly stiff, giving the driver your address since you didn’t know his.
“Where’s your house?” you asked softly, turning toward him.
But there was no reply.
You frowned slightly.
He had already dozed off.
His head rested against the seat, hair falling messily over his forehead, tie still loose, lips slightly parted as he breathed evenly. The harsh, intimidating aura he always carried was gone — replaced by something softer… younger… almost boyish.
You found yourself staring longer than you should.
A small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips.
“Cute…” you whispered unconsciously, watching his peaceful face — completely unaware that the same man who terrified you… was slowly becoming the one you worried about the most.
---
You somehow managed to get him inside the house, half-dragging, half-carrying him as his arm hung heavily around your shoulders, his full weight pressing down on you.
Each step felt like a struggle, your feet stumbling against the floor as you tried not to fall along with him.
His expensive cologne mixed with alcohol filled your senses, making your head spin slightly.
“Why is he so heavy… ahh,” you groaned under your breath, adjusting your grip on his waist as he mumbled incoherently.
Reaching the sofa felt like a victory. With one last push, you let him fall back onto it, his body sinking into the cushions while you bent forward, hands on your knees, huffing and puffing from exhaustion.
Strands of your hair stuck to your sweaty forehead as you tried to catch your breath.
“God… I’m never doing this again,” you muttered, straightening up slowly.
You glanced at him — tie loose, shirt buttons slightly open, face flushed from alcohol — completely unaware of his surroundings.
“Let him sleep here,” you whispered to yourself, turning around to leave so you could at least get him a blanket.
But before you could take even a full step—
His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.
Your breath hitched.
“S-sara…” he slurred.
You froze instantly, your brows knitting together in confusion at the unfamiliar name.
You slowly turned back toward him, your heart beginning to pound for reasons you didn’t understand.
He was looking at you… but not really seeing you.
“You know… that I love you right?” he whispered brokenly, his voice cracking with pain so raw it made your chest tighten. “Then why did you leave me… what was wrong with me…?”
Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
He suddenly leaned forward, pulling you closer by your wrist, his other hand coming up to hold your arm as if afraid you’d disappear again.
“Tell me… am I that bad, huh?” he raised his voice, pain turning into helpless anger.
You flinched at his sudden tone, your body reacting instinctively to the intensity in his eyes.
“Mr. Mehra… i-it’s me, Sam—” you tried to clarify softly, your voice trembling.
But he didn’t hear you.
Didn’t register you.
He abruptly stood up — unsteady but forceful — and before you could react, he turned you around and grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. His grip wasn’t harsh… but it was desperate… broken.
His eyes were glassy… blurry… drowning in memories.
“Kiaan needs you…” he whispered, his voice dropping into something so fragile it shattered you from within. “You should’ve stayed… at least for him… for our son…”
Your heart stopped.
Your ears rang.
You felt the ground beneath you disappear.
“S-son…?” you breathed out faintly, the word barely leaving your lips.
“Kiaan… our son…” he murmured again, his forehead almost touching yours as if he was confessing his deepest wound to the woman who caused it.
And as his grip on you loosened slightly, his head falling forward in exhaustion against your shoulder…
You stood there motionless — heart heavy, mind spinning — realizing that you were about to marry a man whose past was far deeper… far more painful… than you ever imagined.