Chapter Twenty One.
Devraj sat with his leg stretched out, the doctor gently pressing along the muscle line.
Ira stood nearby, her hands folded in front of her, pretending to focus on the medical checkup, but her eyes were darting across the room in quiet frustration.
One of her earrings was missing. Again.
It wasn’t the first thing that had mysteriously gone missing these past few days, a handkerchief, a lipstick, even her hairpin and two to three more of her veil.
She had brushed it off as carelessness, but now, it was becoming strange.
Still, she didn’t dare look distracted.
“Hmm…” The doctor’s voice pulled her back. “You’re recovering faster than you were a few months ago, Excellent progress Mr. Rathore.”
Devraj gave a faint nod.
“You can now properly use the crutch..” the doctor continued with a smile. “That’s a good sign. But please, keep following your current routine. Your muscles are rebuilding well.”
Devraj gave a slow nod again.
As the doctor packed up his bag, Ira’s eyes followed absently, until he turned toward her with a kind smile.
“You’ve done a great job, Miss.” he said warmly. “His recovery has improved significantly.”
Ira smiled, “Thank you, Doctor. I’m just doing my job.”
“Of course.” the doctor chuckled. “But at this rate, Mr. Rathore might not even need your assistance again in few weeks.”
The air changed.
The words were meant as praise, harmless, hopeful, but something flickered in Devraj’s amber eyes.
His jaw tightened, and the veins in his temple pulsed faintly.
His body went rigid. His hand, resting on the bedsheet, curled into a fist.
Who asked him to say that? Who told him she wouldn’t be here?
Ira didn’t notice at first. “That’s wonderful. I’ll be–”
“Get out!”
The words hit loud. Ira froze mid-sentence, her heart stumbling in her chest. The doctor blinked, startled.
The doctor’s confidence evaporated in an instant. “G–good day, Miss.. S-sir.” he stammered, fumbling with his suitcase before practically escaping through the door.
Silence fell again, Ira glance at Devraj.
He was still staring, hard, unblinking, his jaw set tight.
Her throat went dry. She had no idea what she’d done wrong this time.
It wasn’t new. He’d been like this for weeks silent, brooding, unpredictable, short-tempered, eyes too dark when they met hers.. Not that she cared much, as long as he cooperated enough to let her do her job.
“I’ll… I’ll go get your lunch, sir.” she said softly, her tone cautious.
She didn’t wait for a response. She turned and slipped out of the room as fast as she could.
As the door shut behind her, Devraj’s hands trembled slightly. He dragged one over his face, through his hair.
His phone on the bed rang once… twice… but he didn’t pick up.
His reflection in the dark screen stared back at him, tense, wild-eyed.
Not yet, he thought, He couldn’t let her leave. Not her.
~???~
When Ira walked down the stairs, the faint sound of footsteps and hushed voices reached her.
The doctor was by the main door, saying his goodbyes to Mrs. Rathore. His tone was cheerful, hers delighted.
Ira’s attention drifted back to her task, she needed to get lunch back to Devraj. She was almost at the hallway when she heard her name.
“Ira?”
She turned, as Mrs. Rathore walked toward her, warmth glowing in her face.
“The doctor just told me the best news ever.” she said, clasping her hands.
Ira smiled faintly. “I’m glad, ma’am. Sir is getting better.”
“Oh, it’s all thanks to you.” Mrs. Rathore said with genuine gratitude. “You’re the only caregiver we’ve hired who’s not only helped Devraj physically but also been so responsible and patient. Thank you so much, dear.”
Ira’s smile grew softer. “I’m just doing my job, ma’am. But thank you.”
She glanced toward the hallway. “I should go get Sir’s lunch now.”
Mrs. Rathore nodded. “Of course, go on.”
Ira headed to the kitchen. The cook had already arranged the meal on a tray.
She smiled, murmured a quick thank-you, and lifted it carefully before heading back upstairs.
~◆◇◆~
By the time she reached Devraj’s door, her chest felt tight, a strange, familiar tension that always came before she entered his room.
She took a deep breath. In. Out. Then opened the door.
The room was quiet, when she stepped in.
Devraj was standing by the glass doors that opened to his balcony, his weight supported by his crutch. His tall frame was outlined against the light filtering through the sheer curtains.
Ira walked in slowly and placed the tray on the table.
“S–Sir, your lunch is here.” she said softly.
No response.
He didn’t even turn. Just stood there, still.
But the silence… the way it stretched between them… it was suffocating.
Devraj finally turned. His eyes found her, steady, before he walked, slowly, toward the couch near the table.
And lately, the way he stared, not casual glances, but long, quiet looks that made her skin prickle, had started to unsettle her.
He lowered himself into the seat with ease, resting the crutch beside him.
“You’re not leaving.” his voice suddenly broke the silence.
Ira blinked.
“Even after weeks. Even if I get better.”
Her brows furrowed slightly, unsure of how to reply.
He turned his head just enough to meet her eyes. “It’s in the contract.” he said, his tone cold but clipped, his jaw tightening. “You must complete the three months.”
Ira blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in his voice.
Then she gave a small nod, forcing calmness into her expression.
Best not to say a thing, she thought quietly. His moods had been unpredictable lately. One wrong word and the entire room could change.
Devraj turned away and began to eat, the quiet clinking of cutlery filling the air.
Ira turned to the bed.
The duvet was slightly crumpled, something she’d usually fix without thinking. She walked over and began to smooth it out, but before her fingers even lifted the fabric...
“Let it be!”
His voice struck authoritatively.
Ira froze mid-motion, her body jerking back as if burned. She turned, eyes wide, and saw him glaring, that same cold, fury twisting his features.
She’d fixed the bed every single day, Why was he suddenly...
“You don’t have to do it. Leave it..” he said again, quieter this time but with the same heavy authority.
Ira swallowed hard and nodded, stepping back immediately.
“Get me my meds.” he said, not looking at her.
She nodded again, quickly moving toward the drawer where his pills were kept.
Her fingers searched quietly through the small tray of bottles when the sound of the door opening made her freeze.
She looked up, brows drawing together.
And then a woman walked in.
Elegantly presented, poised. Dressed in a cream-colored jumpsuit that fit her like it was stitched to her skin. Her perfume lingered in the air, soft but expensive.
“Wow…” Ira murmured under her breath. “She’s beautiful.”
The woman’s heels clicked softly against the floor as she walked in, her eyes lighting up when she saw Devraj.
But Devraj’s entire body went rigid. His face darkened, jaw tightening in anger.
The woman smiled, but then her gaze shifted and landed on Ira, standing beside the drawer with the medicine in her hand.
Devraj’s tone came out cold. “Alia? What are you doing here?”
Ira blinked at the sudden change in his voice. He sounded really angry.
“Raj baby.” Alia said with a soft laugh, walking toward him. “Don’t be like that.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward Ira. “Besides… who is she?”
She gestured lazily in Ira’s direction as she continued her slow, confident walk toward Devraj.
Devraj’s fingers curled against his crutch, His eyes, dark with restrained fury, followed Alia’s every step.
“What are you doing here?” Devraj’s voice came out through gritted teeth, heavy with restrained anger.
Alia only smiled.
Ira quietly stepped closer, pretending not to sense the tension.
She placed the small tray with his medication on the table.
“Sir, here it is.”
Alia’s gaze snapped toward her. “And you are?” she asked, like Ira had just stepped out of place by simply existing in the room.
Ira frowned a little but kept her voice polite. “My name is Ira. I’m the caregiver assigned to Mr. Rathore.”
Alia’s lips curved. “Oh, how nice..” she drawled, keeping her eyes on Ira.
“Forgive my manners. I’m Alia, Raj’s woman.” She emphasized the word deliberately, her tone dripping with a smug sort of sweetness.
But Ira just offered a calm smile and nodded.
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Alia. And thank you for visiting. I’m sure it means a lot to Sir.”
That small, polite response, her unbothered calm, made something in Devraj snap.
He clenched his jaw so tightly.
She’s okay with it? She believes her?
A pulse of anger, no, something worse, ran through him like a current.
And before he even knew what he was doing, his voice broke through...
“She’s not.”
Both women turned to him.
Devraj’s hand tightened around his crutch as he pushed himself up, his movements sharp and unsteady but filled with a force that made even the air tense.
He moved closer to Alia, his eyes dark and blazing.
“You are not my woman.” he said, each word gritted out. “Leave.”
Alia blinked, clearly not used to being spoken to that way. She tried to touch his arm, her voice faltering. “Raj, come on–”
“Get out!” His voice thundered this time, echoing through the room. “Now! Before I get the security to throw you out of my Estate!”
The raw fury in his tone made both women flinch.
Alia’s eyes widened, she’d seen him angry before, but not like this. Not this kind of shaking, possessive rage that looked ready to shatter something.
Her lips parted, but no words came, she gulped, then looked between him and Ira, the latter standing frozen, her heart racing, before swallowing hard and stepping back.
Devraj’s chest heaved, his face carved in fury as he glared at Alia like she was poison.
Alia hesitated for a second longer, then turned and walked toward the door, the sound of her heels clicked against the floor.
At the door, she glanced back once, Devraj’s eyes were still on her, wild.
Then she left.
The room went silent, Ira stood still, utterly confused.
She had no idea what just happened, or why his anger felt so personal.
Did she do something to him to get him this pissed?
“S…she is not my woman, okay?” Devraj’s voice suddenly came low.
His eyes were still on the door where Alia had left, but his hands clenched hard against the handle of his crutch. “D–don’t believe her. I…I don’t have any…woman.”
He turned slowly toward Ira. His gaze softened for a moment, then darkened again.
I want to have you as my woman instead, he thought fiercely, his throat tightening as he watched her face, the calmness, the innocence.
She didn’t even realize what she did to him. He was losing it.
Ira frowned slightly, caught off guard by his words.
Huh? Not that I care… why is he telling me this? It's none of my business. she thought.
“Um, sir… you don’t have to explain that to me.” she said with an awkward polite smile. “But she really is a beautiful woman.”
That smile, that casual remark, hit him like a slap.
Devraj’s expression hardened instantly, and he took a step toward her. His crutch clicked against the floor, the sound slicing through the silence.
“She is not my woman.” he said again, his voice trembling, from something desperate. “O..okay? J..just know that. Don’t misunderstand it. Please.”
He sounded almost frantic now, like the idea of Ira believing otherwise was unbearable.
Ira blinked. His eyes looked wild, almost pleading.
“Um… okay?” she said softly, unsure what else to say.
Devraj’s lips pressed together. His eyes didn’t leave her. His voice dropped to a whisper, hoarse and raw.
“Good. I don’t have anyone. Just you…”
Ira frowned slightly, glancing at him as if trying to read his tone.
Is he okay? she wondered. Why does he sound so strange now?
“You should get some rest now, sir.” she said carefully. “I’ll clean that up.”
She gestured toward his unfinished meal, trying to shift the atmosphere back to normal.
Devraj gulped, but he nodded and limped back to his bed, sitting slowly and setting his crutch beside him.
Ira approached with his medication and a glass of water. “Here, sir.” she said softly.
Devraj took the pills and swallowed them, his eyes still trained on her.
When she reached to take the glass back from him, his fingers brushed hers, warm and soft.
Then his voice came again, quieter but edged with tension.
“Did you… believe her, though?”
Ira paused, confused by the sudden question. Her brows drew together slightly.
“Someone can’t just say something like that without reason. You both must have history together. She seems like a decent woman, so… yeah.” She shrugged lightly, not thinking much of it.
Devraj’s eyes darkened instantly.
“We did have history.” he said, “But she is not my woman.”
Ira just nodded, uninterested now. She turned away, gathering the dishes from the table.
As she walked off, Devraj’s eyes followed her.
My woman, he thought again. Mine.
Devraj sat motionless on the bed, the faint sound of her sandles fading down the hallway.
His jaw flexed.
“She really is a beautiful woman.” she’d said.
He replayed it in his head again and again, that soft, genuine tone, not envy, not fear, not hesitation.
Just admiration.
Is she not jealous?
She… she seemed so okay with it. Why? Does she not even… like me a bit?
His heart ached.
I’m going crazy at the thought of her with another man, he thought bitterly. But she doesn’t care if another woman called me hers?
His jaw clenched. Does she… want me to be someone else’s man?
He dragged in a shaky breath, his chest tightening.
I can’t stand her with another man. How can she be so comfortable with Alia around me?
His head dropped, breath trembling, his thoughts spiraling faster than he could stop them.
Then his gaze fell on the glass cup beside him, her fingerprints still faintly visible against the clear surface.
He reached out, tracing the rim with his thumb, eyes darkening as his pulse quickened.
It was ridiculous, pathetic even, but he couldn’t stop himself.
His hand stilled. His gaze drifted to the bed where a piece of green fabric peeked out from under the duvet.
Ira’s dupatta.
He had stolen about four of them.
His fingers hovered for a moment before he pulled the veil free.
The scent hit him instantly, although her scent was fading from it.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, curling his fingers around the soft material as a rough sound escaped his throat.
The phone rang suddenly.
His eyes snapped open, dilated and wild, his grip tightening around the fabric.
He snatched the phone up. “What?” he growled
“Sir, Mr. Kunal Mehra just left his office.” the man reported on the other end.
Devraj’s eyes narrowed, a slow smirk touching his lips. “Make sure he doesn't get here.”
??????