CHAPTER 29
SIYA
Later that night
Sleep usually comes easily to me, but tonight, it refuses to. Maybe it’s the alcohol from earlier. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m lying in the same room as the man who turned my entire life upside down.
I sit against the headboard with one leg folded beneath me, staring blankly at my phone. My mind isn’t even racing anymore. It feels strangely numb. Empty.
The sound of the bathroom door opening cuts through the silence.
The moment I see Raghav shirtless, my gaze immediately betrays me.
He walks out of the bathroom wearing nothing but loose grey sweatpants hanging low on his waist. He’s drying his damp hair with a towel, and for several seconds, my brain completely stops working.
Damn him.
Why does he always have to look this good?
Unwillingly, my gaze drops from his face to the chain resting against his chest before sliding lower. The muscles across his shoulders flex as he rubs the towel through his hair. Droplets of water trail down the side of his neck before disappearing somewhere below.
I immediately look away but then glance back at him again. My eyes stupidly continue to follow him before I can stop myself.
His shoulders.
His arms.
The hard lines of his body.
The faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.
Raghav is a complete Greek God wrapped inside the body of a Mafia Prince. When I look back at his face, he’s already watching me. My heart nearly stops. Did he catch me checking him out?
Sh*t.
Heat rushes into my face. I quickly look away and pretend to be interested in my phone again.
The room falls silent as he walks towards the bed and dims the bedside lamp. The mattress shifts slightly as he gets onto the bed beside me.
Suddenly, the entire room feels ten degrees hotter.
For the past two nights, I had fallen asleep before he came to bed. Unfortunately, tonight, I’m fully awake. Fully aware. And too conscious of the fact that Raghav Kundra is lying only two feet away from me, wearing nothing except those grey sweatpants.
I hate this. And I especially hate whatever is happening inside my head right now. Before my brain can embarrass me any further, I move towards the edge of the bed.
“Where are you going?”
His voice stops me just as I’m about to slide off the bed. A moment later, his fingers close around my wrist. He’s lying on his side, with one arm tucked beneath his head, watching me intently.
“Balcony. To get some fresh air. Do I need your permission for that too now?”
Without waiting for a response, I shrug off his hold and get down of bed. I step onto the balcony, and the cold air hits my face instantly.
Thank God. Whatever is happening inside that room is far more dangerous than the temperature outside. I wrap my arms around myself and stare into the darkness stretching across the mountains. Everything out there looks peaceful, but nothing inside me feels this calm.
All my dreams and my longing for freedom feel too distant now.
I don’t know how long I remain standing there, lost in my thoughts.
Probably long enough for sleep to begin pulling at my eyelids.
Finally, I turn around and head back inside.
The room is quiet. Raghav is already asleep.
He’s lying on his stomach now, with one arm folded beneath the pillow and the other resting beside him.
He hasn’t even pulled the duvet over his body despite the chill in the room.
Again my eyes unwittingly drift across the broad expanse of his back, and I notice the faint scars on his skin. There’s one near his shoulder, another lower down, and one close to his spine.
My stomach tightens unexpectedly.
Every scar tells a story. Every scar means someone once tried to kill him and failed. He had stayed away from that life, and yet, after years of staying hidden, he exposed himself to the entire underworld all over again.
For me. Why?
The question refuses to leave me alone. But once again, I stop myself in the fear of reaching any absurd conclusion.
Nope. I’m not doing this tonight. I’m not analysing Raghav Kundra, and I’m definitely not sympathising with him either. Also, I absolutely refuse to spend another second staring at his shirtless body. Grabbing the discarded duvet, I throw it over him with more force than necessary.
“Idiot,” I mutter under my breath. “Who sleeps shirtless in this weather?”
Whatever!! Why the hell was I worrying about him?
I quickly move back to my side of the bed before my brain changes its mind again. Turning my back towards him, I close my eyes. And this time... sleep finally comes.
RAGHAV
Next Day
The discussion with the French wine distributors drags on much longer than I would have liked.
We stand together near the vineyard overlooking the valley, discussing barrel aging, export timelines, and the new vintage we plan to release next season.
Under normal circumstances, I would have paid close attention to every detail.
But not today. Not when I see Haider walking towards us. He doesn’t interrupt the meeting; he simply waits until I notice him. The moment our eyes meet, I know something has happened. I excuse myself from the distributors, promising to continue the discussion over lunch, and head towards him.
“What is it?” I ask.
Haider folds his hands behind his back.
“Siya is at the stables riding Rogan.”
“What?” I snap.
He nods. “She asked one of the stable boys to saddle him. Before anyone could stop her, she was already gone.”
I curse under my breath.
That stubborn woman.
Of all the horses at RK Estate, she had to choose Rogan.
I’d warned her last time she stayed here that Zephyr and Rogan weren’t meant for anyone else, especially not Rogan.
I had trained that horse myself. It took weeks before he finally stopped trying to throw every rider off his back.
Even now, he remains unpredictable. He obeys me because I’ve earned his trust.
With anyone else, all it would take was one wrong movement, one poorly timed command, or a sudden noise for him to turn dangerous. Without wasting another second, I head straight to the buggy parked nearby. Haider silently gets in beside me.
The buggy speeds across RK Estate. Why does she have to challenge every single thing I tell her not to do? Is this her latest way of making me regret marrying her? Because if it is, she’s chosen the one thing I would never joke about.
The buggy comes to a halt outside the stables. Before Haider can even step down, I’m already striding towards the riding arena enclosed by the wooden fence. As soon as I reach there, I stop, because what I see steals every word from my mind.
There she is, mounted on Rogan.
Siya is dressed in fitted dark jeans tucked into riding boots, a cream pullover hugging her frame beneath a sleeveless quilted jacket. Her hair, tied into a high ponytail, sways with every graceful stride of the horse.
She looks completely at home. For the moment, I simply watch her.
Then my anger comes rushing back.
Damn it, Siya. Get off him.
Rogan circles the arena at a controlled trot. Siya isn’t merely sitting in the saddle, she’s riding him confidently as though she has known this horse for years.
A stable worker standing near the gate notices me, and his face immediately pales. He starts walking towards me, clearly preparing to explain himself, but I stop him with a single look. Not now. Not when my entire attention is fixed on my wife inside the arena.
She hasn’t seen me yet, or maybe she has. Knowing Siya, she’s probably pretending she hasn’t. Just then, a loud metallic clang tears through the stable as one of the younger stable boys accidentally drops a large feeding bucket onto the stone floor.
Rogan reacts instantly. His ears flatten, his body tenses, and he rears, his front legs lifting off the ground.
“Rogan!” Several stable workers shout at once.
Every muscle in my body locks.
Sh*t.
Without thinking, I take two quick steps towards the arena, almost climbing over the wooden fence. But I stop myself. If I distract either of them now, I’ll make things worse. My fingers curl tightly around the rough wooden railing until my knuckles turn white.
For one terrifying second, all I can picture is Siya being thrown to the ground beneath a frightened thoroughbred.
Instead of panicking, she remains calm. Siya doesn’t scream or tense up. Her back remains perfectly straight, and her heels stay anchored. Her one hand tightens on the reins while the other slides calmly over Rogan’s neck.
“Easy, boy...”
Her voice reaches him before mine ever could. The pressure on the reins eases as she shifts her weight slightly. Rogan snorts and tosses his head once, then settles beneath her as if nothing had happened. That’s when I slowly release the breath I hadn’t even realised I was holding.
Damn, this woman! She actually handled him better than some riders who’ve spent their entire lives in the saddle.
Rogan continues moving, now at a relaxed trot, responding to every subtle command she gives him.
There’s no resistance, no stubborn streak, and not even the slightest attempt to test her.
He’s actually listening, which surprises me more than anything else.
Rogan usually doesn’t listen to strangers, not even to experienced riders.
Trust has always been something he offers very slowly.
Yet today, for reasons I can’t begin to understand, he’s carrying Siya as though he’s already decided she belongs on his back.
I can’t look away from either of them.
Siya didn’t choose Rogan; Rogan chose to accept her.
It’s almost as if the stubborn horse sees something in her that I’m still trying to understand.
A moment later, Siya gently slows him to a walk and brings him to a smooth halt near the centre of the arena. She swings one leg over and lands on the ground. One of the stable boys immediately hurries over, clearly nervous under my watchful gaze. He takes Rogan’s reins with both hands.