Chapter Twenty Seven.
The moment Ira stepped into the mansion, the warmth wrapped around her and she released a small, relieved sigh.
Her fingers were stiff from the morning chill, her dupatta still damp at the edges.
She headed toward the staircase..but paused.
Mrs. Rathore rushed past with two maids trailing behind her, all three of them carrying towels, a kettle, and what looked like medicine. Her brows were pinched tight with worry.
Something happened…?
Ira’s stomach tugged, but she didn’t approach. Mrs. Rathore looked busy.
With a tiny shake of her head, Ira continued upstairs.
She reached Devraj’s room, knocked gently, and pushed the door open.
“Good morning, si–”
She froze.
Her words died. Her breath died.
Her entire soul died for one long second.
Devraj stepped out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel riding dangerously low on his hips.
Droplets of water slid down the sharp planes of his chest, down the deep cuts of his abdomen, disappearing at the towel’s edge.
His hair dripped against his forehead, his jaw tight from balancing on one crutch.
Ira slapped the door shut so fast it echoed.
“Oh my God..why..why now?!” she whispered harshly, hitting her forehead. “This is not his usual time..why would he..ugh!”
“Ira!”
His voice thundered behind the door.
She flinched.
“Ira!! Come in!”
She stared at the door like it had betrayed her. “S-sir– I can’t. You’re..you’re not–”
“I said come in!” his voice cracked, sharp with anger… but something else too. Something desperate.
His grip on the crutch trembled.
Ira swallowed, hand shaking as she opened the door. She stepped inside slowly..then froze again.
He was still half-naked.
“Sir, you… you haven’t worn–” she stuttered, her eyes darting to the floor.
“Aren’t you my caregiver?” His tone was low, unnervingly steady.
“Get me ready.”
There was a shift in his eyes,something unhinged flickered there.. Something she should’ve noticed.
But Ira only saw irritation.
Not obsession pulling at the seams.
“I… I will get your clothes and then you can–”
“Come close, Ira.”
His voice dropped, almost a whisper. But that whisper held need.
She hesitated. The air thickened.
Still, she stepped closer, leaving a safe distance, barely a few feet.
But even that felt too far for the storm brewing inside him.
And then…
Her words from last night replayed in his head.
The only people I like are my friends, sir… We’re not friends. I don’t like you. Not in any personal way. And we’re not close, so I can’t like you in that way either. I’m just your caregiver, sir.
I don't like you. I don't like you! I don't like you.
He had tried to sleep.
Tried to forget.
His room was in a bad condition, the maids had to do a lot of work cleaning it last night, and Devraj slept in a different room. And in that dim room, lit only by the storm’s gray light, Devraj looked like a man on the verge of breaking. Breaking because of her.
And she didn’t even know.
Because the moment she said those words, something in him fractured.
Now, standing half-naked before her, with her refusing to look at him…
That fracture widened, cracked and split open.
His jaw flexed.
“Come closer, Ira… and help me get to the bed.” Devraj instructed, voice low and rough with something she couldn’t quite place.
Ira’s breath wobbled.
I have to touch him like that?
Every nerve in her body tensed. She swallowed, forcing herself to nod.
She stepped forward..closer… closer… until she could feel the heat coming off his damp skin.
This was what he wanted, her closer to him, chained if possible..
Her palm rose slowly, hesitantly, and finally settled against his bare arm.
Devraj shuddered.
Her touch was warm, gentle..terrifyingly soft. It seeped into him, right through the surface, right into the part of him that had spent the whole night replaying her rejection.
His gaze locked onto her immediately, deep and unblinking.
Ira made the mistake of glancing up.
“Your eyes are beautiful.” he breathed.
Her heart skipped. Her stomach twisted. Her smile was tight and uncomfortable.
“Y-you need to move, sir.” she said quickly.
But instead of shifting, his hand slid to her waist.
Ira flinched.
His palm was firm. Too firm. Claiming without saying a word. She forced herself to breathe, reminding herself.
You are just helping him. Just endure this, Ira…
Devraj leaned into her support as they moved. His fingers remained at her waist, tightening slightly every few steps.
He didn’t look ahead..not once. His eyes stayed on her face, tracing her every expression, drinking in every flicker of discomfort, every blink, every swallow.
Whenever she felt his stare, she gulped.
By the time they reached the bed, her heart was racing.
She helped him sit, carefully lowering him. She reached for the crutch and set it aside.
“I… I’ll bring you fresh clothes.” she managed, her voice thin with nerves.
She escaped to the walk-in closet like the room itself was suffocating her.
Devraj watched her go, the corner of his lips lifting, slow, subtle.
A smile he didn’t allow the world to see. A smile only she triggered.
When Ira returned, she carried a folded sweatshirt and joggers..the most comfortable things she could find.
Her hands trembled a little as she stepped closer.
And Devraj’s dark eyes followed her with the same intensity a starving man gives.
“H… here it is, sir. I’ll go and get your breakfast now.”
Ira placed the folded clothes at the edge of the bed. Her hands shook just a little, and she hoped he didn’t notice.
His eyes followed every inch of her face.
“E-excuse me.” she muttered, slipping away quickly.
The moment she stepped into the corridor, she exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her chest.
She hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath.
“What is wrong with him? That was so uncomfortable. I hope I never have to do that again.” she whispered to herself as she hurried down the hallway, her footsteps soft but fast.
~??????~
Ira entered the kitchen and halted mid-step.
Mrs. Rathore, usually elegant, calm, and composed, was standing over a pot, stirring soup herself, her forehead creased with worry.
Several maids hovered nearby.
That alone made Ira’s brows lift. Mrs. Rathore didn’t usually cook. Since she arrived working here, she never see her cook. Ever.
“Good morning, Mrs. Rathore.” Ira greeted softly.
Mrs. Rathore looked up, her shoulders relaxing the slightest bit at the sight of Ira.
“Oh, Ira. How are you?”
“I’m alright, ma’am. But… are you okay? You look… worried.”
Mrs. Rathore sighed, the exhaustion finally slipping through.
“Vivaan has caught a cold. He’s been sneezing nonstop. I called the doctor, but he won't use his medications. I thought maybe some soup would help, but he refuses to take it..says it’s bitter.”
Ira’s heart softened. Mrs. Rathore truly looked like she was about to break down over her grown son and a simple cold.
It’s just a cold, Ira thought gently.
Why is she this worried? My bhai gets colds too… it’s not that serious.
She stepped closer, her voice warm.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a cold. He’ll get better.” Ira said gently, hoping to calm her.
Mrs. Rathore didn’t look convinced.
She turned to a maid. “Turn the gas off… the soup is done.”
But her voice was tight now..too tight. Her shoulders stiff.
“Vivaan and colds are not friends.” she murmured anxiously. “Cold can be cruel to him. I just want him to take something warm, but he won’t take the soup.”
Ira glanced at the pot. The soup did look strong..healthy, but not something a sick, cranky man would want.
She hesitated.
I might regret this later… but she needs help.
She cleared her throat softly.
“Ma’am… if it’s okay, I could make a soup my mom always makes for my brother when he’s sick. It works every time and..not bitter. Maybe Vivaan will like it.”
Mrs. Rathore blinked at her, hope sparking so fast it almost looked like relief.
“Oh, Ira… thank you. Yes. Yes, please.”
Ira smiled, warmth filling her chest. “You should rest a little, ma’am. I’ll handle this.”
She gently guided Mrs. Rathore to sit on one of the high stool, then turned to the maids.
“Tomatoes, ginger, pepper… and a little fresh lime..” she instructed, listing few other things.
The maids scattered instantly, eager to help, bringing everything to her station in under a minute.
The chef handed her an apron, and Ira slipped it on, tying it behind her waist.
The soft morning light poured in from the windows, warming her face as she leaned over the counter.
Her hands worked instinctively, movements confident and precise.
Chop. Stir. Taste. Adjust.
She cooked like someone who loved caring for others.
One of the maids quietly moved the older soup away, giving Ira the entire counter.
Mrs. Rathore watched her with soft eyes...grateful beyond words.
~??????~
“Wow… this smells amazing, but..” Mrs. Rathore dipped the spoon again, eyes widening. “..it tastes hot. Are you sure the ginger isn’t too much?”
Ira wiped her hands on a napkin and smiled confidently.
“No, Mrs. Rathore. That’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.”
Mrs. Rathore still looked uncertain.
“Oh, it’s just… Vivaan might not want it. He hates ginger.”
Ira froze.
This boy.
Rich, spoiled, and somehow hates everything useful.
Who doesn’t take ginger? What’s next..he doesn’t breathe oxygen properly?
Her brain spiraled.
If he hates ginger, is he going to reject this too? Oh God.
One of the maids reached for the bowl to take it upstairs.
“Wait–” Ira stepped forward. “Is it okay if I’m the one who gives it to him?”
Mrs. Rathore blinked but nodded quickly.
“Okay dear. And I’ll send a maid to take Devraj’s breakfast to him.”
Ira nodded, took the tray, then walked out the kitchen and turned toward the staircase.
“If he rejects this.” she muttered under her breath, “I will..gently but firmly..shove it down his throat. His mother is stressed enough. Honestly, rich people problems are so confusing.”
She walked up the corridor, balancing the bowl carefully, while a maid carrying Devraj’s breakfast turned into a different hallway toward the other staircase.
Two opposite directions.
Two very different men.
After a few turns, Ira reached Vivaan’s door and knocked.
A faint, stuffy voice answered, “Come in.”
She pushed the door open and stepped inside..
“I TOLD YOU! No more soup..I’m getting sick of it!”
Vivaan’s voice came hoarse and dramatic from under his duvet.
The man looked like a defeated emperor: red nose, messy hair, blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon.
Handsome, yes..miserable, absolutely.
“For a grown man.” Ira’s voice floated into the room, calm but unimpressed, “you sure do act like a baby over a common cold.”
Vivaan blinked as if the voice was a hallucination, then found Ira standing inside his room. He tried to sit up...failed...tried again.
“Stop struggling..” she said, stepping closer, She set the soup on the bedside table.
“W-what are you doing here?” he asked, eyes darting everywhere but her face.
Ira raised an eyebrow, arms folding across her chest...a stance that made Vivaan instantly nervous.
“Your mother is worried sick.” she said. “I helped make this soup to make you feel better. According to your mom, you won’t take the medication the doctor instruct you take, and you hate every soup brought to you.”
Vivaan groaned dramatically, like someone asked him to walk into battle.
“I told her I’m fine. No more of this. You can take it back.” He waved weakly, then looked at Ira.
And Ira just stared at him. Quiet and Serious.
Vivaan swallowed. She looked dead serious.
“I hate food wasting. And I hate seeing your mom this worried. So you have two options, Vivaan.”
She leaned closer, her tone becoming the kind that melts spines.
“Either you drink this in peace…”
She paused.
“...or I shove it down your throat.”
His eyes widened.
“And before you assume I can’t.” she continued calmly, “my older brother is slightly bigger than you. When he gets sick, I help my mom hold him down and she forces the soup into his mouth.”
Vivaan froze like she just threatened his bloodline.
“All I need to do is ask your mom for two men to help.”
Her smile was… concerning.
Sweet, but also I’m-not-playing-with-you sweet.
“Do you want us to go that route…” Ira tilted her head, “…or will you drink it in peace?”
Vivaan stared at her.
Eyes wide.
Terrified.
He wasn’t sure if she was an angel or a demon.
He picked up the bowl and sniffed again, suspicious… then sighed in defeat and gulped a mouthful.
“I… I’ll drink it.” he muttered.
Ira smirked, leaning her weight onto one hip. “Good boy. See? That wasn’t hard at all. Oh..by the way? There is ginger.”
Vivaan’s eyes widened. “I never knew you were this scary.”
“Be grateful I didn’t dump the whole jar in.” she said, rolling her eyes. She plopped down on the edge of his bed...close enough to make him finish faster.
“Hurry up.” She said.
~??????~
Meanwhile, Devraj sat on his bed, replying to emails, though his mind wasn’t on them. He kept glancing at the door, waiting..waiting for her.
A knock.
A small, eager smile tugged at the edge of his lips.
“Come in..” he said, already straightening slightly.
The door opened… and the smile vanished.
A maid slipped inside, trembling like she’d been pushed toward a lion’s den. She carried his breakfast tray with both hands shaking.
“S-sir… this is your breakfast.” she whispered, approaching the table.
Devraj’s jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped. His eyes shot to the doorway again.
No Ira.
“Where is Ira?” His voice was calm..too calm. A low growl beneath each word.
The maid flinched. “M-ma’am went to s-serve Young Master… he c-caught a cold… so she made him soup and t-took it to him.”
Devraj’s entire body went taut.
“Get out.” It wasn’t loud.
She fled...literally ran.
The moment the door clicked shut, his eyes darkened, and his pupil dilated. The inhale he took was more rage than breath.
His hands trembled as he reached for his crutch, gripping it like he wanted to snap it in half.
He pushed himself up, slowly, painfully, stubbornly, and began to walk out.
He didn’t care that his legs shook. He didn’t care that every step hurt.
Ira was with Vivaan.
And that was enough to burn the last shred of patience he had.
~??????~
Vivaan kept drinking, but his eyes kept flicking toward her, soft, guilty, almost… hopeful. Ira finally raised a brow.
“What? Are you okay?”
He froze mid-spoonful, shoulders drooping. A sigh slipped out of him.
“I’m sorry.” he murmured.
Ira kept her bored, unimpressed expression.
“I… I know I was ignoring you these past weeks. I didn’t want to. Trust me. But… my brother told me to. And I didn’t want to upset him. H..His anger is...terrifying.”
That snapped her attention fully.
“Huh? What do you mean?” Ira asked, confusion knitting her brows.
Vivaan shook his head. “You don’t have to understand all that. But I do miss teasing you. I’m sorry, okay? I know you’re mad at me… So please drop the guard down a little for me.”
Ira stared at him quietly, observing, judging, reading between the lines. Then she exhaled a small sigh.
A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “I haven’t forgiven you… but I’ll think about it.”
Vivaan let out a low laugh, relieved.
"I will take what I can get." He grinned
“Good. Now eat fast. I need to get back to work.” she said.
He grinned and slurped down the last of the soup. When he finished, he licked his lips dramatically.
“God, this is delicious. I actually feel better. What did you put in it?”
“A secret recipe.” Ira winked, and he chuckled.
She stood up and leaned in to check his temperature, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.
Then she touched just below his jaw, checking the warmth in his neck area.
“You’re definitely cooling down.” she said with a soft smile.
And that was when Vivaan’s door exploded open.
Both of them gasping.
Devraj stood there.
Leaning slightly on the doorframe. Teeth clenched. Eyes blazing with a fury so controlled it was terrifying.
His jaw ticked so hard it looked painful. His chest rose and fell in tight, angry breaths.
“B..Bhai?” Vivaan said.
“Sir?” Ira said at the same time, slowly rising to her feet, her hand subconsciously dropping from Vivaan’s neck.
Devraj’s glare flicked to that movement.
And his eyes went even darker.
???