Chapter Twenty.
Devraj’s hands gripped the treadmill rails, his knuckles white, veins standing out against his skin.
His breath came in short, ragged bursts, not just from the strain but from something simmering deeper.
His jaw clenched tight, the muscle there ticking with every step he forced out.
Ira stood nearby, stopwatch in hand, her eyes flicking between him and the timer.
He’d already gone beyond his usual limit. His legs trembled, sweat drenched his shirt, but he kept going, his breath was unsteady.
“Sir, time’s up.” she called gently.
He didn’t stop. No response. Only the relentless thud of the treadmill and the faint whirring of the machine beneath his feet.
His eyes were dark, as if every step was a punishment he was giving himself.
“Sir, you’ll hurt yourself.” she said, firmer this time, taking a cautious step closer.
Still nothing. His entire body was tense, His breathing deepened, rough and erratic.
The sight of him made her uneasy.
That smile she gave Kunal in those photos kept flashing before his eyes, burning like acid, how close Kunal was. Everything was burning him.
“Sir, time’s up.” Ira said.
Her voice..broke through his haze. He blinked, and in that second her hand reached out to lightly tap his arm.
The sudden touch jolted him.
His weakened leg gave out.
“Sir!” He lost balance, and she gasped, trying to steady him..but his weight was too much. Both fell hard to the floor.
Her back hit the floor hard, knocking the air out of her lungs.
For a second, the place stilled. Then her eyes blinked open, and she froze.
Devraj was above her, chest heaving. His breath fanned against her cheek, his hair damp with sweat as it came dripping from his temples.
His elbows pressed against the floor beside her head, trapping her between his arms.
His eyes, dark and clouded, locked on her.
“Sir…” Ira whispered concerned. “Are you alright?”
But Devraj didn’t answer. His breath trembled as he stared at her face, her lashes fluttering, her lips parted. Something inside him twisted.
He swallowed hard, voice rough when he finally spoke. “Why… him?”
Her brows furrowed. “I… I don’t understand–”
“Kunal..” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I'm talking about...Kunal.”
His gaze burned into hers, unsteady, angry, desperate all at once. “Why him?”
“Sir, I..i..please move, I can’t breathe properly,” she said quickly, trying to keep her tone polite despite the awkward closeness.
“Answer me.” he said again, his voice sharper this time.
Ira stiffened. What's with him and trying to know more about my personal affair? Wasn't it in the contract not to interfere?
“Because I like him, sir..” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t back away. “And… we’re getting married soon. ” she just want him to move a bit. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
Devraj stilled. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the faint hum of the treadmill still spinning behind them.
Married. She really want that with that..guy?
The word rang in his head, over and over, heavily.
His chest rose and fell faster. He wanted to look away, to act indifferent, but his fingers twitched against the floor.
His throat felt tight. He hated how weak his heart feels when it comes to her. Every time he sees her or her talk about that mutt Kunal...Something hot, anger, jealousy, something darker, burned beneath his ribs.
His voice came out quieter, strained. “You’ll marry him?”
“Yes, like I've said before. He is a good man sir.” she said politely, and trying so hard not to push him away.
Devraj’s eyes darkened, and a hollow, almost mocking smile touched his lips.
“Good man…” he repeated under his breath, his voice nearly shaking. “Right.”
He pushed himself up slowly, every movement deliberate as if he was controlling something violent within him.
His hand lingered near her for a second too long, then he reached for his wheelchair slowly and struggle to sit down.
“Be careful next time.” he said flatly, turning his wheelchair toward the corner without looking back.
But his grip on the wheel was so tight, his knuckles trembled.
When Ira stood, she sighed, thinking he was just upset again, as always. But Devraj...behind that calm mask...was shaking.
The thought of her belonging to someone else made his blood roar.
~??????~
Ira looked around again, her brows furrowing.
“It was here a few moments ago.” she mumbled, half to herself, bending slightly to peek under the couch and beside it.
Devraj’s typing was the only sound filling the room, the rhythmic tap of his fingers on the keyboard. He didn’t even glance her way.
“Maybe he’s seen it…” she thought, hesitating. Then she straightened, brushing her palms against her kurta.
“Um…sir?” she called softly.
Devraj stopped typing mid-word and looked up, his eyes meeting hers in quiet question.
“My...my veil. Did you…” she trailed off, embarrassed by how silly it sounded. “Never mind.”
His gaze lingered for a second too long before he looked back to his screen. “Isn’t it time for you to leave?” he said flatly.
Ira nodded, clutching her tote bag but still scanning the room one last time.
“What are you looking for?” he asked without lifting his head.
“Oh…um…my veil, sir. I can’t find it.”
That made him look up, really look. His eyes softened for a second, then darkened, as if something flickered inside them.
She gulped, uneasy under the weight of his stare.
After a pause, he just went back to typing.
“What was the point of asking then…” she muttered quietly, sighing. “Goodbye, sir.”
When the door clicked shut behind her, silence fell heavy.
Devraj’s fingers stilled above the keys again. He waited… one heartbeat… two… until he was certain she was gone.
Then, slowly, he slipped his hand beneath the duvet.
The maroon veil came into view, soft and still faintly warm from her touch. A faint drop of dried water marked the edge where she had carelessly dropped it earlier.
His breath hitched as he brought it close, pressing the fabric to his nose.
Her scent, jasmine, something clean and maddeningly gentle,washed over him.
He inhaled deeply. A low, involuntary groan escaped his throat, it was rough and hoarse. His grip on the veil tightened.
“Ira…” he breathed, her name cracking in the stillness. His jaw tensed, his eyes turning darker with every sniff.
“She doesn’t belong to him.” he murmured, almost trembling. “I want it all. I will have her.”
The faintest smile ghosted his lips as he closed his eyes and took another deep inhale, addicted, lost, and utterly gone.
~???~
"That's a bit weird though. Are you sure you checked the whole room?" Ritika asked laying stomach-flat on Ira’s bed, her legs swaying lazily in the air.
"Well, yeah. Riri, I did." Ira said, sighing as she slid a hanger along the closet rail.
"Then just buy another one."
"That was my favorite." Ira muttered, her tone soft but sulky.
Ritika groaned, kicking her feet again. "Then maybe Devraj Singh Rathore took it."
Ira froze for half a second, before she turned to look at her.
"What?" she blinked.
"Just imagine he did." Ritika’s grin widened, enjoying her reaction.
Ira raised a brow, unimpressed. "Why on earth would he take my veil?" She rolled her eyes and turned back to the closet.
"Who knows?" Ritika teased, her voice sing-song. "What if he... likes you?"
Ira sighed. "Here you go again with your nonsense." she muttered, shutting the closet door with a soft thud.
Ritika chuckled. "You don’t have to act so serious. It’s just a thought."
"It’s not funny, Riri."
"I’m not saying it is. But think about it, it’s weird, Ira." Ritika said, propping her chin on her palm.
"Weird how?" Ira turned, folding her arms, her brow knitting slightly.
"I mean, you told me yourself. He keeps asking about your relationship with Kunal, right? And the calls... the random texts. What if it’s not just curiosity?" Ritika said, her tone turning thoughtful, though still teasing.
"Ritika, please. You’re making it sound like a movie." Ira gave her the most dumbfounded look she could manage.
Ritika smirked. "Don’t give me that dumb look. It could be true."
"You’re talking nonsense. That man doesn’t even smile, let alone like someone, and please, not me."
"The fact that he’s dangerous doesn’t mean he can’t feel something, Ira."
Ira scoffed. "Yeah, sure. And out of all the women in the world, it’s me he’d fall for?"
Ritika tilted her head, that mischievous smile still playing on her lips. "What if it is?"
"I forbid it. I have Kunal, and he’s the best man I have." Ira said, her tone firm yet tender, with a flush face..
Ritika smirked from where she sat cross-legged on the bed.
"Oh right, our Kunal." she teased, her voice dripping with mischief.
Ira turned, narrowing her eyes.
"My Kunal. Not our." she said pointedly, tossing a pillow at her friend.
Ritika dodged it, laughing. "Fine, fine! Possessive much?"
Ira shook her head, trying not to smile. "You’re impossible." she muttered, heading into the bathroom.
The sound of running water soon filled the quiet room.
Ritika lazily sprawled across the bed, scrolling through her phone when Ira’s device buzzed beside her.
She glanced at it out of habit, just a notification from Instagram.
Probably another reels, she thought.
But her thumb hovered, lazily reached over and grabbed it., curiosity winning as she tapped it open.
Then her eyes went wide.
No way.
"Um... Ira?" she called, voice uncertain.
"Yeah?" Ira replied, muffled by the running tap.
"You, uh... have a new friend request on Instagram." Ritika said slowly, still staring at the name on the screen.
"Huh?You know our friends, right? If it’s someone you and I don’t know, don’t accept it. Just ignore or cancel it." Ira said casually.
"Um... are you sure?" Ritika asked, her voice slightly trembling with excitement.
Ira giggled. "Yes, silly. Don’t overthink it."
Ritika chewed her lip, then against her better judgment... she tapped accept.
The name on the screen made her heart skip.
Devraj Singh Rathore.
She blinked, her breath catching as she opened his profile.
"How the hell did he even find her?" She muttered under her breath, scrolling through his feed.
The account was verified. Millions of followers.
Every post was a glimpse into another world, power and confidence.
That haunting masculinity that drew people in without trying.
There were pictures of him in expensive suits, standing tall with the pride of a man who owned every room he entered.
Gym shots that showed thick veins running down his arms, vacation photos with stormy skies behind him the pictures looked intense.
Candid shots of him staring into the distance, a shadow of something dark flickering in his eyes.
"He’s.." Ritika swallowed, her heart fluttering. "Is this man really thirty-three? Gosh... look at his jawline. The veins on his arms.. He’s... huge. And those eyes... Is it even gold? Yellow? Copper? He is so–"
"Why are you drooling on my phone?"
Ira’s voice made Ritika jump, nearly tossing the phone in panic.
Ira stood by the bathroom door, damp hair clinging to her neck, towel in hand.
Her brows knit in confusion as she stepped closer.
Ritika fumbled, trying to hide the screen behind her back, unknowingly liking one of Devraj’s pictures.
"N-nothing! Just..uh...reels!"
Ira crossed her arms, suspicious. "Reels, huh?"
Ritika forced a laugh, her pulse racing.
“My phone.” Ira said, stretching out her hand toward Ritika.
Ritika froze and gulped.
“Now, please.” Ira repeated, her tone firmly.
Ritika sighed in defeat and handed it over.
Ira smiled shaking her head as she took the phone, but her smile vanished the moment she saw the screen.
Her brows drew together.
“Sir?” she murmured under her breath, confusion flashing across her face.
Then she looked up sharply. “Why is he following him? And why are you on his page?”
Ritika blinked, fumbling for words. “Well… I told you about the new request, and you said I could accept it.”
“I said if it’s not our friend or someone we don’t know, don’t accept it!” Ira said, trying to stay calm but her irritation slipped through.
Ritika lifted a finger in her defense. “Well, we do know who Devraj Singh Rathore is, don’t we? He’s your boss.”
Ira dragged a hand down her face. “You are unbelievable.” she muttered.
“It’s not a big deal though.” Ritika said.
Ira exhaled and glared at her.
She was about to toss her phone back onto the bed when she froze again.
Her gaze narrowed. “Wait. Please don’t tell me you liked any of his pictures.”
Ritika’s eyes widened. “Huh? Of course not–”
“Really?” Ira turned the phone toward her, showing her the screen. The heart icon glowed red.
Ritika’s jaw dropped. “I swear that was an accident!” she cried.
“Of all the pictures, Riri..on the beach? Really?” Ira groaned, covering her face with her hands.
Ritika tried to hold back a laugh but failed. “Come on, it’s just a picture. You think he’ll even notice? The man has, what, millions of followers? He’s not checking who likes what.”
Ira lowered her hands, exhaling heavily.
“Still, it’s weird that he sent a request in the first place.” Ritika muttered, more to herself.
“I think I heard Aunty downstairs.” Ira said quickly, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Come on, let’s go.”
Ritika grinned knowingly but said nothing, slipping off the bed to follow her.
As they stepped out, Ira’s phone buzzed again in her hand. She ignored it, laughing faintly at something Ritika said.
But what she didn’t notice, what she didn’t see was the small notification that blinked at the top of her screen.
Devraj Singh Rathore liked all her pictures.