"How is she?"
Hey hiii mayawiyans!!
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RIVAN exhaled a long, heavy breath, eyes fixed on the unconscious girl in his arms.
Everything inside him was burning — rage, confusion, and a hundred questions he didn't want to face.
But at this very moment... all of that faded.
Because in his arms was pain.
So raw. So innocent. So... helplessly pure.
Gently — slower than he'd ever moved in his entire life — he scooped her up again.
Her head lolled against his chest, soft breaths tickling his skin.
She weighed so little, but her presence felt heavy — like she was carrying a thousand scars no one had ever seen.
And maybe he didn't care before...
But now, as her small hand remained clenched around his shirt even in unconsciousness — like she was still protecting him — something within him shifted.
"Stupid girl," he murmured under his breath, voice almost tender.
"Crying for the wrong person... You don't even know what kind of devil I am."
He slowly walked towards the bed, each step calculated, steady — as if afraid she'd break more.
With utmost care, he laid her down on the bed, brushing the hair away from her face.
His hands — the same hands that had held guns, bled enemies, destroyed empires — now trembled just brushing away a strand of her hair.
He stood still for a second. Watching her.
Listening to her breathe.
"Aditya," he said after a moment, voice low and controlled. "Call the doctor. Now."
Aditya, still standing at the doorway, nodded silently and disappeared.
Rivan turned back to Devyani. He slowly tried to free his shirt from her hand — but—
She whimpered.
"It's... paining..."
Her voice was barely audible. A whisper. A flicker of breath laced with ache.
And her grip tightened.
Rivan froze.
Her brows furrowed slightly, like her body remembered the pain even though her mind had blacked out.
Her lips trembled, and her small frame curled inward as if protecting her own heart.
Rivan stared at her clenched fingers — how firmly she gripped him, like he was her only anchor to survival.
His throat tightened.
This wasn't about him anymore.
This wasn't about the trap. Or the forced marriage. Or Virendra Thakur.
This was about her.
And the pain she had buried behind silence, prayers, and trembling hands.
He slowly sat beside her, allowing her to hold on, letting her fingers cling to his shirt like a lifeline.
Her lips moved faintly. No words. Just breath.
Rivan sat quietly at the edge of the bed, Devyani's fingers still fisted into his shirt as if her soul clung to him.
His other hand rested over hers — not by choice, not by affection, but by something he couldn't name.
Something... unfamiliar.
His eyes never left her face — pale, exhausted, still stained with dried tears.
And for a few seconds — the world felt silent.
Until it wasn't.
A sharp prickle ran up the back of his neck.
His instincts were honed like a predator's — always aware, always watching. And suddenly, he felt eyes on him.
He slowly lifted his gaze.
And froze.
Standing just outside the doorway... were all of them.
His entire goddamn family.
Virendra.
Aditya.
Reyansh.
Yashodha.
Everyone.
Rivan's jaw locked. His spine stiffened.
The storm in his chest surged again, only this time it wasn't pure rage — it was confusion.
His eyes lowered back to Devyani... still unconscious. Still holding onto him.
And then the truth hit him harder than anything else had so far.
This girl.
This trembling, crying, broken little thing...
Was his wife.
His wife.
Rivan Singh Thakur — who never let a single woman come close,
who hated the idea of softness, of emotion, of anything remotely vulnerable...
He didn't remember the wedding.
He didn't know why it happened.
Rivan harshly stood up, prying her fingers loose from his shirt.
He stepped back, breath shaky, as if he'd touched something forbidden.
His hand reached for his hair, pushing it back roughly, trying to compose the chaos inside.
And still...
No one said a word.
The entire hall watched — frozen.
Even Virendra looked stunned, especially when he saw the blood smeared on Devyani's hands and Rivan's.
But Rivan didn't care about the eyes.
He cared about one thing only — the girl lying on his bed.
"Stop staring," he said coldly, without turning his head, voice low but sharp enough to slice air.
"You all look like you just saw a ghost."
Yashodha flinched. Reyansh quickly looked away. Virendra's expression remained unreadable.
Only Aditya dared step forward and whisper, "Doctor is on the way, bhaiya."
Rivan didn't respond.
He just stood there, fists clenched by his sides... watching the girl fate had tied to him.
And for the first time in his entire life...
He didn't know what to do.
The air on the balcony was thick — almost suffocating — but Rivan didn't move.
A cigarette dangled loosely between his fingers, smoke curling up and dancing into the breeze like silent ghosts.
His other hand...
Still stained with his own blood.
Still sticky.
Still warm.
He stared at it — disgusted, confused, furious.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
This wasn't his life.
Marriage?
A girl in his bed?
A wife calling him pati parmeshwar?
Rivan let out a dark chuckle, bitter and dry.
"What the fuck has this world turned into?" he muttered to himself.
He took a long drag of the cigarette — trying to quiet the chaos inside his head.
But nothing worked.
Because this room — this room in that Haveli — carried memories.
Memories he'd buried, burned, buried again.
Blood on the floor.
Screams in the walls.
His past, stitched into every corner of this goddamn palace.
Coming back here was already a sin.
Now this?
He felt the old madness clawing inside his chest — the one that made him crave silence, violence, pain.
He gripped the balcony railing so tight it creaked beneath his hand. The cigarette burned close to the filter but he didn't care.
He wanted to break something.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to shoot.
But then—
A soft, broken sound hit his ears.
Her.
Devyani's voice — barely above a whisper, yet enough to pierce through every demon in his soul.
She whimpered something in her sleep. Her face twisted with pain even in unconsciousness.
And suddenly—
Rivan froze.
That monster in him... paused.
The hands that were about to destroy the railing loosened.
He didn't understand it.
Didn't want to understand it.
But for some reason, he couldn't hurt her.
He couldn't leave her bleeding.
Not her.
He exhaled sharply, tossing the cigarette over the balcony.
Then—
Footsteps.
The doctor had arrived.
Rivan's eyes narrowed, posture straightened. He turned, walking back into the room through the side balcony door.
Devyani now surrounded by family — Yashodha gently dabbing her forehead with a wet cloth, Aditya hovering protectively, Virendra standing like a statue near the foot of the bed.
Rivan stood near the edge of the bed, his blood-streaked hand clenched, jaw tight, but his voice... came disturbingly calm.
"Doctor..."
"Don't you have female doctors in your fucking hospital?"
The doctor — already drenched in sweat from the intensity radiating off the infamous Rivan Thakur — froze, then swallowed hard.
"S-Sorry, sir... I-I was the one on duty... so I came..."
For a second, no one breathed.
Even the ceiling fan felt like it dared not spin in that moment.
Rivan just stared at the man, his eyes like two dead black holes, unreadable... suffocating.
Then a low, disinterested hmm escaped his throat.
And just like that — the calm before the next thunderstorm.
He turned away from the bed slowly, his boots echoing on the marble floor, his blood-stained palm brushing against his black paint as he walked toward the door.
Before exiting, he didn't forget to leave his signature threat behind:
"Get everyone the fuck out of my room."
His voice was soft — too soft — which made it a thousand times scarier.
"If I see anyone standing here..."
"I swear it won't take me even a second to pull the trigger."
"My hands..." — he raised his bloodied one slowly —
"They've been itching to shoot someone since the last fucking hour."
Gasps were heard.
The doctor nearly tripped on his way.
Even the servants outside stopped breathing.
Yashodha instinctively gripped Virendra's arm, holding him back.
Rivan's next words came like a slap of finality:
"And one more thing—"
"This bullshit marriage..."
"It's not considerable to me."
"So stop this fucking drama of pati-patni."
His voice broke slightly — not with emotion, but with exhaustion.
With disbelief.
With chaos.
Everyone stood frozen.
But before walking out, something made him glance back.
Just once.
His gaze fell on her — fragile, pale, still unconscious on his bed.
That girl... with her fingers still twitching in sleep, as if clenching his shirt, murmuring some nonsense like pati ji....
That one glance... did something to him.
But he didn't allow it to grow.
Didn't let it take shape.
Didn't let it soften him.
"Get her treated," he said coldly.
"She's just a guest. Nothing more."
And then, without another word, Rivan Singh Thakur walked out of the room, leaving behind the scent of danger, pain — and something unspoken lingering in the air.
The doctor had just stepped out of the haveli gate, his hands still trembling, his breath still uneven from what he'd just witnessed upstairs. He had sworn to himself—never again. Not even for a million rupees would he step inside that house again. He was halfway down the steps when—
"Doctor."
A single word.
But the voice that carried it... low, rough, and cold like a gun barrel pressed to the back of his head.
The doctor flinched. His feet froze. His body turned to ice.
He didn't even need to look back to know who it was.
Rivan Thakur.
The man who never spoke unless to command.
The man who never needed help.
The man whose name itself was a silent threat across the entire city.
The doctor inhaled sharply, already preparing his final prayer—his legs shaking beneath him. If this was how it ended, he thought, at least his family would know he died serving someone powerful.
He turned slowly, his heart pounding so loudly he could hear it in his ears.
Rivan stood just inside the gate, cigarette still between his fingers, his other hand covered in drying blood. His sharp jaw was clenched, his shirt slightly soaked from where he'd slit his skin.
His eyes—
They weren't angry.
They weren't soft either.
They were... unreadable.
Soulless.
And then the impossible happened.
Rivan said, "Treat my wound."
Silence.
Dead silence.
The doctor blinked.
He thought he heard it wrong.
He thought maybe the blood loss had gotten to Rivan's brain—because the Rivan Singh Thakur he had heard of, seen from afar, feared in rumors—
Because those wounds weren't injuries.
They were his punishments.
His therapy.
His poison.
His peace.
Wounds were the only pain he trusted... the only thing he let stay.
People said Rivan loved his wounds.
He'd smile watching his own blood drip.
He'd leave bullet holes untouched.
He'd stitch his own flesh in silence.
But now...
Now he asked to be treated?
The doctor stood frozen. Was this some kind of test? One wrong move, and a bullet through his forehead?
He swallowed.
"S-Sir?" he stammered, cautiously. "Y-You want me to—"
Rivan took a slow step forward.
"Are you deaf?" he said coldly. "Or just stupid?"
The doctor immediately dropped his bag, trembling as he kneeled.
"No-no, sir. I-I'll do it right now. I-I just didn't expect..."
Rivan raised an eyebrow.
"Didn't expect the devil to bleed like a human?"
The doctor looked up with a gulp but said nothing.
The doctor keeping his head down, terrified to even breathe too loud.
But what the doctor—and the world—didn't know was that for the first time in years...
Rivan didn't enjoy the pain.
This time, the blood wasn't giving him calm.
Because someone else's tears were mixed in it.
Devyani's tears.
And for some damn reason...
He couldn't get the sound of her crying out of his head.
Not her voice.
Not her trembling hands.
Not that soft, broken whisper—
"Blood is pain... please don't hurt yourself......"
He clenched his jaw harder, looking up at the sky.
His whole body was aching—but not because of the wound.
It was something else.
Something unbearable.
And he hated it.
He hated her for causing it.
He hated himself for letting it matter.
As the doctor quietly cleaned and wrapped the wound, Rivan didn't move.
But his eyes—
They stayed fixed on the window above where she lay.
And for the first time in forever...
The devil himself wondered—
What the hell has this girl done to me?
The doctor's trembling hands had just packed his kit, his knees weak from squatting before the most feared man in the city. He was almost done bandaging Rivan's hand when a deep voice sliced through the silence.
"How is she?"
The words were calm... too calm.
And that calmness was the most terrifying part.
The doctor froze again. He looked up slowly at Rivan, who hadn't even glanced at him—his eyes were fixed far ahead, on nothing and everything at once.
"S-Sir... she'll be fine," the doctor said cautiously, his voice respectful, fragile.
"She had a panic attack—possibly triggered by the sight of blood. Something... something from her past, I assume. A trauma. But she's physically stable. She just needs... proper rest."
The moment the word trauma left the doctor's lips, Rivan's fingers twitched slightly.
Past.
Pain.
The doctor slowly stood, unsure whether to leave or wait for a dismissal. But when he saw Rivan nod—just once, curt and wordless—he took the opportunity like a dying man offered air.
He bowed slightly.
"Thank you, sir... for sparing me," he murmured, and turned quickly, walking away as if hell itself would pull him back if he didn't hurry.
And then...
Silence.
Just Rivan.
Standing alone in the courtyard, beneath the flickering lights of the haveli, cigarette burned out in his fingers, blood drying under the bandage, and a thousand storms raging in his mind.
He didn't move.
He didn't speak.
His jaw was tight. His shoulders broad and stiff. The night air did little to cool the fire inside him.
"Panic attack?"
"Blood triggers her?"
The echo of her fragile voice looped in his mind—
"Blood means pain... please, pati ji, don't hurt yourself..."
The way she had screamed.
The way she had clung to his hand, her own palms shaking.
Even in terror—she had tried to save him.
No one had ever done that.
Not once.
His own family was afraid of his silence, of his fury. People bowed when he entered a room. Enemies ran, friends stayed alert, and women... women never lasted more than a passing glance before being thrown out.
The garden was silent.
But not peaceful.
Because Rivan Singh Thakur stood in its heart — a storm cloaked in black, his bloodied hand still clenched tight, his cigarette forgotten, veins twitching like coiled serpents beneath his skin.
His jaw was set, chest rising and falling rapidly, each breath like a growl.
Those trembling hands begging him not to hurt himself — all of it haunted his mind like an unwanted ghost.
He dragged his fingers through his hair, furious at himself — not because she cried, but because a part of him paused when she did.
And that pause?
He hated it more than anything.
That's when—
A presence.
He didn't need to turn.
He didn't need to look.
He sensed him — like every predator does when another steps too close to its territory.
His eyes narrowed as he pulled out his gun in a flash, not even glancing behind.
"Make sure to keep a proper distance..."
"Because if I smell even a drop of manipulation in your voice, I'll put a bullet through your chest, Mr. Thakur."
The voice was ice, sharpened with venom.
Virendra Thakur stood a few feet behind, calm as ever, hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable.
He didn't flinch. He didn't move.
"I didn't come to argue," Virendra said, his tone firm but low.
"I came to make a deal."
Rivan's shoulders stiffened. His knuckles whitened around the grip of his gun.
He let out a bitter laugh — cold and lifeless.
"A deal?" he echoed mockingly.
"You really think I'll sit here and play chess with you over my life?"
"That I'll accept this farce of a marriage like some obedient heir you tried to groom?"
He turned — slowly.
And when he did, his eyes were bloodshot and wild, fury glinting like a blade.
"Step out of your delusion, Mr. Thakur."
"I am not Aditya."
The air between them turned razor sharp.
"I'm not your little puppet who wears your name with pride and follows rules like it's a religion."
"I am Rivan. The mistake you couldn't control. The sin you buried in a penthouse."
"And this marriage?"
"This fucking disaster you plotted with your loyal servants and traditions?"
He raised his gun — not at Virendra, but in the air — and fired one bullet straight into the sky.
"That's how much I care."
The sound echoed across the haveli like thunder.
Servants froze in fear. Windows rattled. Some flinched. Some prayed.
But Virendra didn't blink.
He waited patiently, letting the silence settle again.
"I know you're not Aditya," he finally spoke. "That's exactly why this marriage had to happen."
Rivan glared at him.
"You think I'm so dangerous that you had to tie a woman to my throat?"
"You think this will tame me?"
"No," Virendra replied. "I think one day, it might save you."
That line hit somewhere deep — but Rivan laughed again. A bitter, ruthless sound.
"Save me?" he scoffed. "Let me make one thing clear, Mr. Thakur—"
"I'm not lost. I'm not broken. I don't need fixing. And I sure as hell don't need saving."
His voice dropped, colder than ever.
"This marriage is nothing to me."
Then he pointed toward the mansion.
"Keep that fucking girl inside your four walls. She's your problem, not mine."
He walked away without another word, leaving behind the smell of smoke, blood, and a silence that said — this war isn't over.
The air was thick. Heavy with silence and unsaid wars.
Rivan had barely taken two steps when—
He froze.
Mid-step.
His entire body stilled, like a predator halted by the scent of long-desired prey.
The cigarette slipped slightly between his fingers.
His jaw tightened. So did his grip.
Rivan's gaze lingered on her—too close, too vulnerable, too dangerous. His throat bobbed as he forced a smirk that came out darker than he intended.
"Hmm," he murmured, voice husky, "you look... delicious to me now."
She shifted slightly, innocently adjusting herself on his lap, but that tiny move sent a sharp jolt through his core, a shiver running straight into his abdomen. His fists clenched against the floor. She had no idea what danger she was creating just by being near him.
Rivan gulped hard, pushing down the heat threatening to rise.