Chapter 7
The room felt suffocatingly quiet.
Rain hammered against the glass windows.
Lightning flashed across the dark city skyline behind him.
And I stood there frozen, divorce papers trembling slightly in my hands.
My eyes moved back to the contract.
Then again to him.
"What is this?"
Dhruv leaned lazily against the desk near the window.
One hand inside his pocket.
The other holding a glass of water.
Calm.
Cold.
Untouched.
Like the words written on those papers were completely normal.
But they weren't.
Not at all.
I looked back at the line again.
"Riya will not marry or publicly date for two years following the divorce."
My chest tightened.
Slowly, I lifted my eyes toward him again.
"You want to divorce me..." I whispered.
His expression didn't change.
"But you also don't want me to move on?"
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
His jaw tightened faintly.
Not emotionally.
Like I'd phrased it incorrectly.
Dhruv straightened slightly before speaking.
"This isn't about emotions."
Of course.
Of course that would be his answer.
Everything with him was business.
Control.
Reputation.
Never feelings.
I laughed softly in disbelief.
The sound came out shakier than intended.
"You really think you can decide who I date after divorce?"
His eyes locked onto mine.
Sharp.
Dangerously calm.
"I can decide anything that affects the Malhotra name."
God.
This man.
Something inside me snapped again.
I closed the file sharply.
"You don't own me."
Silence.
Pure silence.
Dhruv stared at me for a long moment.
Then slowly,
Very slowly,
He walked toward me.
My heartbeat instantly became uneven.
Not romance.
Never romance.
Tension.
Intensity.
The kind that made breathing difficult.
He stopped right in front of me.
Close enough to make me nervous.
Close enough for me to hate how unfairly attractive he looked under the dim lights.
His voice dropped lower.
"You think this world is kind, Riya?"
I stayed silent.
His eyes darkened slightly.
"The second our divorce becomes public, people will attach your name to every man you stand beside."
His gaze stayed fixed on mine.
"They'll call you a gold digger."
Another pause.
"An opportunist."
The words stung because I knew he was right.
But before sympathy could form,
He ruined it instantly.
"And if you immediately start dating someone after divorcing me," he continued coldly, "the media will destroy the Malhotra reputation."
There it was.
Not concern for me.
Concern for the empire.
Always the empire.
I looked away bitterly.
"So this is about your image."
"Everything is about image."
His answer came instantly.
Without shame.
Without hesitation.
Like morality itself was irrelevant to powerful people.
I looked back at him slowly.
"And what about you?"
His brows furrowed slightly.
"What?"
I swallowed hard.
"Are you not allowed to date anyone after divorce?"
Silence.
That tiny silence itself answered me.
A bitter smile formed on my lips.
"Exactly."
Dhruv's expression hardened.
"This isn't the same."
Something in me finally lost patience.
I stood up from the bed immediately.
"Because you're Dhruv Malhotra?"
My voice rose slightly.
"The billionaire who thinks the world should follow his rules?"
His eyes became colder instantly.
Dangerously colder.
But I didn't stop.
"For someone who hates love so much, you sure about love controlling people?"
The second those words left my mouth,
The atmosphere changed.
Completely.
Dhruv's jaw clenched sharply.
And before I could react,
He suddenly grabbed the contract from my hands and threw it onto the bed beside me.
The movement shocked me enough to step back slightly.
He moved closer immediately.
Towering over me.
His voice dropped lower.
Quieter.
Scarier.
"You know absolutely nothing about me."
My heartbeat pounded wildly.
But anger kept me standing there.
"Then explain."
Silence.
His eyes locked onto mine.
And for one strange second,
I saw something there.
Not softness.
Never softness.
Something darker.
Exhaustion maybe.
Years of pressure.
Loneliness buried too deep to admit.
But then it vanished instantly.
Walls back up again.
Dhruv laughed quietly.
A cold, humorless laugh.
"I don't explain myself to anyone."
Of course he didn't.
Men like him expected obedience, not questions.
I looked at the papers again.
Then slowly placed the pen back onto the table.
"I'm not signing this."
His expression became unreadable.
Again.
"What now?"
I met his gaze directly.
"If you want divorce, remove that clause."
Silence.
"And stop treating me like your property."
Another long silence.
The tension between us became unbearable.
Rain crashed louder outside.
Neither of us moved.
Then finally,
Dhruv spoke.
Cold.
Controlled.
"You really enjoy testing my patience."
Something about that line irritated me even more.
I folded my arms nervously despite my trembling heartbeat.
"And you really enjoy acting like a dictator."
For one dangerous second,
His eyes darkened intensely.
Then suddenly,
He stepped even closer.
So close my back almost touched the edge of the desk behind me.
My breath caught instantly.
God.
This man was impossible to handle at close distance.
He leaned down slightly.
Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath near my face.
And then...
Very quietly...
He said:
"You should learn the difference between control..."
His gaze dropped briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes.
"...and protection."
My heartbeat stopped.
Not because the moment was romantic.
Because it felt loaded.
Heavy.
Like there was something beneath his words he refused to say aloud.
But before I could respond,
Dhruv stepped back instantly.
Cold again.
Expression blank again.
Like that moment never happened.
He picked up the contract calmly from the bed and placed it back inside the drawer.
"We'll discuss this later."
Then he walked toward the door.
And just before leaving,
He stopped.
Without turning around, he spoke one final sentence.
"You think the world outside my name will treat you better?"
A pause.
Then colder,
"Try it."
The door shut behind him.
Leaving me alone.
Confused.
Angry.
And somehow unable to stop replaying the way he'd said:
"Protection."
Then, after taking deep breaths,
I lay down in my bed, staring at the ceiling, not realizing when I dozed off.
....
The mansion was silent at 2 AM.
Completely silent.
The kind of silence that felt eerie in such a huge house.
I woke up feeling thirsty, rubbing my eyes tiredly before stepping out of my room quietly.
The marble floor felt cold beneath my feet as I walked downstairs toward the kitchen.
Only a few dim lights were on.
The entire mansion looked hauntingly beautiful at night.
Too luxurious.
Too empty.
I grabbed a glass from the kitchen and filled it with water.
And then,
A sudden sneeze echoed from the living room.
I froze.
Another sneeze followed immediately after.
My brows furrowed.
Slowly, I walked toward the sound.
And there,
On the massive grey couch,
Sat Dhruv Malhotra.
My breath caught slightly.
He looked... different.
Not weaker exactly.
Just less untouchable.
His hair was messy.
The top two buttons of his black shirt were open.
His tie had been discarded carelessly beside him.
A laptop sat open on the table with dozens of business files scattered around.
Even at two in the morning,
He was still working.
Of course he was.
Dhruv rubbed his forehead tiredly before sneezing again.
Only then did he notice me standing there.
His eyes immediately hardened slightly.
Like vulnerability itself annoyed him.
"What are you doing awake?"
Even sick, his tone stayed cold.
I ignored the question.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Instant answer.
Typical.
I walked closer carefully.
"You don't look fine."
He gave me a flat look.
"And you suddenly became a doctor?"
I sighed softly.
God.
This man could probably argue with death itself.
Another sneeze interrupted him.
Then he pressed two fingers briefly against his temple like he was irritated at his own body for malfunctioning.
That's when I noticed it.
His face looked slightly flushed.
"You have fever."
"No, I don't."
I blinked.
How did he deny fever with such confidence?
Without thinking much, I stepped closer and placed my hand lightly against his forehead.
The moment my skin touched him,
Dhruv froze.
Completely.
His eyes snapped toward me instantly.
The atmosphere shifted in one second.
My heartbeat stumbled.
Because this was probably the first gentle touch between us that wasn't accidental.
And somehow it felt strangely intimate.
Not romantic.
Just... soft.
Human.
His skin felt burning hot.
I pulled my hand back immediately.
"You definitely have fever."
Dhruv looked deeply unimpressed.
"It's minor."
"You came home drenched yesterday too."
Silence.
Then he muttered coldly, "I had meetings."
As if meetings were more important than health.
Actually... for him, they probably were.
I looked toward the kitchen again.
"Wait here."
"I'm not going anywhere."
His sarcastic tone followed me.
...
Ten minutes later, I returned carrying a mug.
Dhruv looked at it suspiciously.
"What is that?"
"Kadha."
His expression immediately worsened.
"No."
I almost smiled.
Actually smiled.
For the first time around him.
"You haven't even tried it."
"I already hate it."
The stubbornness in his voice sounded oddly childish.
I placed the mug on the table in front of him.
"Drink."
His brows lifted slowly.
The room suddenly felt dangerous again.
"Was that an order?"
My confidence disappeared instantly.
Right.
This was Dhruv.
Not some normal sick man.
Still, I quietly pushed the mug toward him again.
"Please."
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then finally picked it up with visible annoyance.
Took one sip.
And looked personally betrayed by the taste.
I had to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.
Dhruv noticed immediately.
His eyes narrowed.
"You think this is funny?"
"A little."
Silence.
Then surprisingly,
Very surprisingly,
He drank the rest anyway.
Probably out of ego.
Like he refused to lose against herbal medicine.
After finishing it, he stood up.
And instantly swayed slightly.
My eyes widened.
"You need rest."
"I'm going to my room."
He took one step.
Then stopped subtly.
Like dizziness hit again.
Before thinking, I grabbed his wrist lightly.
"Dhruv."
The moment I touched him,
He looked down at my hand.
Then at me.
Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
Not warmth.
Not softness.
Just unfamiliarity.
Like nobody touched him with care often.
I slowly let go awkwardly.
"You should lie down."
He looked exhausted suddenly.
Not physically.
Life exhausted.
The kind hidden beneath years of pressure.
Without arguing further, he finally walked toward his bedroom upstairs.
And honestly?
That alone proved he felt terrible.
Because normal Dhruv would've fought the fever itself before listening.
...
His room smelled like expensive cologne and exhaustion.
Dark interiors.
Minimalistic furniture.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sleeping city.
Everything looked perfectly organized.
Except him.
Dhruv sat on the edge of the bed while rubbing his forehead again.
I quietly searched through the drawers nearby until I found medicine and a thermometer.
When I turned back toward him,
He was watching me.
Silently.
His dark eyes followed every movement carefully.
Not trusting.
Just observing.
I walked closer hesitantly.
"Open your mouth."
His brows pulled together instantly.
"What?"
"The thermometer."
His expression looked genuinely offended.
"I know how thermometers work."
"Then cooperate."
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Silence.
Dead silence.
I realized my mistake immediately.
Who talks to Dhruv Malhotra like that?
But instead of getting angry,
He simply stared at me strangely for a moment.
Then took the thermometer from my hand himself.
A few seconds later, I checked it.
103°F.
My eyes widened.
"Dhruv!"
"It's fine."
"No it isn't!"
He looked mildly shocked at my sudden reaction.
Probably because nobody raised their voice at him out of concern.
Only fear.
Or business.
I quickly soaked a cloth in cold water and sat beside him carefully.
The massive bed dipped slightly beneath our weight.
God.
Why did sitting this close make me so aware of him?
I gently placed the cold strip against his forehead.
Dhruv visibly stiffened.
Not because he disliked it.
Because he wasn't used to it.
Used to being cared for.
The realization hurt unexpectedly.
For a few quiet moments, neither of us spoke.
Rain continued outside softly.
The city lights reflected through the windows.
And for once,
The silence between us didn't feel sharp.
Just tired.
Dhruv leaned his head back slightly against the headboard, eyes closed now.
His features looked softer during sleepiness.
Still intimidating.
Still unfairly handsome.
But less guarded.
I quietly handed him medicine and water.
He took them silently.
Then finally opened his eyes again.
And looked directly at me.
Longer than usual.
"You should sleep."
His voice sounded rough from fever now.
I shook my head softly.
"What if your fever increases?"
A strange expression crossed his face.
Gone too quickly to understand.
Then he looked away first.
"People usually avoid me when I'm sick."
The sentence came out casually.
But something about it felt painfully honest.
My chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because suddenly I imagined eighteen-year-old Dhruv handling companies alone after his father's death.
Building empires.
Managing pressure.
Probably never having time to be vulnerable.
Never having someone sit beside him with medicine and cold strips.
I spoke quietly.
"You don't have to do everything alone all the time."
The second those words left my mouth,
Dhruv's eyes slowly lifted toward me again.
And the look in them this time felt dangerous.
Not romantic.
Worse.
Affected.
Like I had accidentally touched something buried too deep inside him.
His jaw tightened immediately after.
Walls returning instantly.
"Don't misunderstand this."
Cold again.
"There is no emotional meaning behind any of this."
The words should've hurt.
But weirdly,
I almost smiled.
Because even sick with 103 fever, Dhruv Malhotra was still busy making sure nobody thought he had feelings.