Chapter Thirty.
"Sir, it's confirmed. It was a loan, that's the only connection between Mr. Tiwari and Mr. Verma. And it appears the loan was fully paid off today," the man reported from the other end of the line.
Devraj sat on the edge of his bed, phone pressed to his ear, spine rigid.
His other hand was wrapped tightly around a dupatta.
Her dupatta.
The fabric was soft... but the scent was thinning, slipping away.
"Good," Devraj said finally. "I want you to dig deeper. Make sure it's clean. No hidden ties. No favors. No future transactions."
"Understood, sir."
"And if Mr. Verma ever needs money again," Devraj added quietly, "it will come from the Rathores. No one else. Not Mr. Tiwari. Not anyone connected to him. Understood?"
"Yes, sir. I'll take care of it."
The call ended.
Devraj lowered the phone slowly..
His gaze dropped to the dupatta twisted around his fingers.
He lifted it, bringing it to his face, inhaling deeply...desperately.
The scent was faint now..
His chest tightened.
It's fading.
"Still here..." he murmured, "Not gone yet."
He closed his eyes, breathing it in again, as if he could force it to stay, as if he could trap the remnants of her inside his lungs.
"Closer..." he whispered, voice rough, almost pleading.."I want you... closer."
A sudden knock hit the door.
His eyes flew open, irritation flaring instantly.
"Come in." he growled.
The door opened a crack and a maid stepped inside, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.
"S-sir," she stammered, "dinner is ready."
"Get out."
Afraid she might provoke him further, she nodded immediately and retreated, shutting the door behind her.
Silence returned.
Devraj let the dupatta slip from his fingers, watching it fall onto the bed, his fingers lingering as they brushed the fabric once...slowly.
"I'm wrong for you," he whispered to the empty room. "I know."
His fingers curled.
"But I want you," he continued softly, dangerously. "Every cell in me does."
He reached for his crutches.
Metal scraped softly against the floor as he pushed himself up.
Pain flaring briefly through his legs with each steps...but he welcomed it, as always. It grounded him. Reminded him he was still in control.
He stepped toward the door.
???
Downstairs...
Ira moved quietly around the dining table, helping the maids place the dishes she and Mrs. Rathore had prepared.
Plates clinked softly, the smell of spices and warm food filled the air, but her chest felt oddly tight.
She forced a smile, then sneaked a glance at her phone.
7:00 p.m.
She sighed inwardly.
"Ira?"
She turned to see Vivaan walking toward her, brows drawn together in confusion as his eyes flicked over the table... the setup... her.
"You're still... here?" he asked.
She smiled, a little sheepish.
"Well, yeah."
"She is, Vivaan," Mrs. Rathore answered before Ira could say more, stepping into the dining room with a proud smile.
"Just look at you..you're not sneezing anymore, no fever, nothing.
God knows what magic she used to make you drink that soup.
" She laughed softly. "I'm just grateful she helped.
So I invited her to have dinner with us. "
Mrs. Rathore walked away.
Vivaan nodded slowly, then looked back at Ira, his lips curving into a knowing smile.
"My mother forced you, huh?"
Ira blinked, then let out a small chuckle.
"Well..." she shrugged lightly. "I couldn't exactly say no. So here I am."
He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. "You know, you can tell her you're not feeling well. She'll let you leave."
Ira exhaled slowly, staring at the table.
"I've already stayed four hours.." she said quietly. "Might as well eat."
Vivaan laughed softly. "Fair enough."
She went back to arranging the dishes.
Vivaan helped her, passing plates, stealing glances at her now and then like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
~????~
A few minutes slipped by.
Vivaan laughed again, a full sound, easy and careless, the kind that didn't think twice before existing.
Ira rolled her eyes, folding her arms.
"I don't find it funny though."
"Okay, okay," he chuckled, lifting his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. But seriously-you? Getting scammed like that? I thought you were the sharp one."
She scoffed, glaring at him.
"I was overjoyed, okay? And Ritika hyped me up too. The fabric was beautiful. Soft. And that stupid discount-" she shook her head, annoyed at herself. "It made me greedy. I should've known better. He inflated the price from the start."
Vivaan laughed again. "That's actually hilarious."
She shot him a warning look. "Did you finish laughing?"
He tried-and failed-to stop smiling. "Did you at least get your money back?"
"No." Ira exhaled, shoulders sagging slightly. "The man swore he'd never seen me or my best friend in his life. And of course, we didn't collect the receipt the first time."
"That's rough."
"If you really wanted it back.." Vivaan said lightly, leaning closer, "I could help."
She raised a brow, unimpressed.
"Nah. It's done. Also, I don't hold grudges anyway." A pause.. "I've learned something though. Humans are greedy. Selfish. Every single one."
"Hey!" Vivaan protested, placing a hand on his chest. "I'm not one of them."
She rolled her eyes, lips twitching.
"Sure you're not."
Vivaan laughed hard..
She was about to say more when-
"Ira!?"
She and Vivaan turned.
Devraj stood a few feet away.
Vivaan's laughter died instantly. He swallowed, straightened, and instinctively took a step back-away from her.
Devraj took one step forward.
His gaze flicked briefly to Vivaan.
Just once.
It was enough, Vivaan stiffened.
Then Devraj looked back at her, eyes darker now, swallowing her whole.
"You're still here?" Devraj breathed out.
"Yes, sir," Ira replied softly. "Your mother invited me to stay for dinner."
Before Devraj could say anything else-
"Oh good, everyone is here."
Mrs. Rathore's cheerful voice cut in as she descended the stairs, Mr. Rathore beside her.
Ira's stomach dipped.
Mr. Rathore looked exactly the same-sharp eyes, rigid posture, an air that demanded respect without asking for it.
Ira swallowed.
Being in the same room with both of them-father and son-felt like standing before judgment itself. One wrong move, one wrong word, and she'd be crushed beneath their silent scrutiny.
"Sit, sit.." Mrs. Rathore urged warmly.
Ira instinctively took a step back, eyes searching for an empty chair farther away-
"Ira.." She looked at him. "Sit here," he said.
He pointed to the chair beside his.
Ira swallowed, nodding before she even realized she'd agreed. Her legs felt strangely heavy as she moved, every step aware of his gaze following her.
She sat.
Devraj took his seat at the head of the table-and then deliberately dragged his chair closer.
The sound scraped softly against the floor.
Too close.
Her fingers curled in her lap.
The maids began serving the food.
"Well.." Mr. Rathore said at last, his stern gaze settling on Ira, "it seems we have an important guest tonight."
Ira forced a polite smile, her shoulders stiff.
"Of course.." Mrs. Rathore said warmly. "I invited Ira to join us for dinner."
Devraj didn't look at his father.
He didn't look at the table.
He looked at Ira.
At the way she smiled at his mother, the ease in her expression.
"I hope you enjoy your meal, Ira." Mr. Rathore said.
"Yes, sir." she replied gently.
"Also," Mrs. Rathore added cheerfully, "Ira helped with most of these meals."
Devraj's gaze snapped to her.
So she made this.
The realization slid into him slowly, dangerously-her hands in the kitchen, her presence lingering in every scent curling through the dining room.
"No wonder it smells so good," Vivaan said casually, lifting his head. He smiled at Ira and, without thinking, gave her a quick wink.
Devraj saw it.
Every second of it.
The heat rose instantly, suffocating-his blood boiling as his grip on the table tightened. His chest felt too tight, breath shallow.
"I even got the recipe for the soup she made for you," Mrs. Rathore continued happily. "Look at you now-no fever, no sneezing. You're so much better."
Devraj swallowed hard.
Across the table, Mr. Rathore ate in silence, he watched in silence, eyes moving slowly... observing... from Ira to Devraj.
"Maa," Vivaan said with a sigh, clearly bored as he scooped food onto his spoon, "can we not talk about this again?"
Ira laughed softly.
The sound did something to Devraj.
His throat tightened. He hadn't realized how badly he wanted that sound-to be the reason for it-until it wasn't.
"Why didn't you call a doctor?" Devraj asked suddenly, his voice stern.
Mrs. Rathore blinked. "You know Vivaan. He hates hospitals. He refuses medicine every time."
"So you decided to make soup." Devraj said flatly.
"Yes.." she nodded. "And Ira helped-"
Devraj didn't relax.
"Why..." he asked, "Why..did she have to take care of him?" His eyes never leaving Ira.
The words were calm.
But the tension beneath them cracked the air, Mrs. Rathore frowned slightly.
Across the table, Mr. Rathore paused mid-bite, silence settled.
Ira's fingers curled against her lap.
Devraj's jealousy burned quietly now-contained, controlled-but it was there.
"She just prepared the soup to give him."
"She touched him." Devraj gritted out the words before he could stop himself.
His jaw tightened so hard it ached. Every muscle in his body coiled.
Ira's eyes widened at what he said..
Touched him?
"Huh?" Mrs. Rathore frowned, confused.
"No, no, I... I didn't," Ira hurried to explain, her voice careful. "Like I said, Sir, I just checked Vivaan's temperature on his neck."
Mrs. Rathore's lips curved in a warm smile. "Oh, Devraj, that's just normal."
Normal?
The word tore through him. Normal? Normal? She could touch him like that-check his temperature, lean close, her hands brushing his skin-and it was nothing?. It was fine?
"Very normal. I do that for my brother whenever he gets sick." Ira added casually, her tone bright, oblivious, completely unknowing of the storm she'd just unleashed. Mrs. Rathore's smile didn't falter.
Devraj's eyes burned hotter than fire, but he continued to eat.
Controlled-but barely. Every bite tasted like ash. Every second she laughed and not to him, it felt like a knife against his ribs.
Then Mr. Rathore's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Do you have a man, Ira?"
Ira's head snapped up.
"What?" she asked, a little caught off guard.
"Do you have a man in your life?" he repeated, voice firm, eyes locking with hers.
The stern weight of it made her swallow hard.
"Yes, sir." she said, calm and polite.
Devraj froze mid-bite. Every fiber of his body went rigid. His hand shook slightly as it held the fork.
Mr. Rathore's eyes flicked toward him, a knowing glint there, while Mrs. Rathore teased, soft and amused.
"Oh my, really?? That's beautiful. I hope he's really good looking."
Ira felt her cheeks heat up, a shy smile curling her lips.
Devraj didn't feel heat. He felt molten fury.
He wanted to snatch her up and crush the world between them. He wanted to burn the very thought of Kunal from her mind.
His fingers dug into the table, leaving crescent-shaped marks.
He wanted to snap. He wanted to scream. He wanted to claim her before anyone even knew he existed like this.
He forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to eat. Controlled the storm that was clawing its way out of his chest.
But inside, Devraj was breaking, and every moment with her there, talking about Kunal, was fuel to the fire that no one else could see.
"What's his name?" Mr. Rathore asked, calm but curious.
"Kunal.." Ira replied, a soft smile lifting her lips.
"From which family?" he pressed gently, eyes narrowing slightly.
"The Mehra. Kunal Meh... Kunal Mehra.." she said, clear and confident.
Devraj's hand trembled almost imperceptibly as he reached for his glass of water. His knuckles whitened around the crystal rim.
A maid hurried over, her hands steadying it, but he barely saw her.
"Oh... wow. The Mehra family. The first son there. I've heard good things about him. And he's from a responsible family. You have... good eye.." Mr. Rathore said, nodding approvingly.
Ira's heart fluttered-wow... he just complimented both her and Kunal.
"Thank you, Mr. Rathore." she murmured, cheeks warming.
"Do you love him?" His tone was casual, but each word landed like a hammer.
"Of course I-"
Slam!
The sound made everyone flinch. Devraj's hand had slammed down with terrifying force, the glass rattling violently.
Ira gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. She froze, staring at him.
His eyes... empty. His chest rose and fell, shoulders tense, fingers trembling.
"Devraj! What happened?" Mrs. Rathore jumped up, startled, her hand instinctively reaching toward him.
He didn't answer.
Mr. Rathore smirked faintly, calmly returning to his meal.
"That always cracks them open.." he murmured under his breath, eyes twinkling with amusement.
Ira's pulse raced.. Her stomach twisted, her chest tight.
What's his problem? Why is he always angry?
"Can't someone eat in peace?...This is the dining area. Enough questioning. It's irritating me. If it's not irritating you... I'm done here. And you..."
His finger snapped toward Ira. She flinched instinctively, heart hammering.
"Leave."
Mrs. Rathore gasped.
"What? She can't just-"
"It's late, Maa!" Devraj's voice erupted.
The walls themselves seemed to shrink from his fury. Every eye was on him, including the maids. Every breath in the house felt like it caught in the tension.
He looked... furious. Not just annoyed. Furious. Every muscle coiled, every vein throbbing.
Ira's stomach churned. What must have gotten him so upset? she wondered, a cold bead of fear running down her spine.
"O... okay... but it's dark, and she-" Mrs. Rathore began, worried.
"I will drive her, Maa.." Vivaan offered quickly, stepping forward.
Devraj's eyes snapped to him.
"Get close to her.." he hissed, voice low but deadly, "and I will make your life a living hell."
Vivaan froze, the color draining from his face.
"D... Devraj? Are you okay? W... why are you so angry?" Mrs. Rathore's voice trembled.
Devraj's gaze dropped to Ira. She looked terrified, clutching her bag like it could shield her.
"It's all your fault.." he said, quiet but heavy, words dripping with obsession and blame.
Ira's eyes widened, confusion and fear knotting in her chest.
"Follow me.." he commanded.
She hesitated only a fraction of a second before following him as his crutches scraped against the floor
Ira's heart raced. My fault? Did I offend him again? But I wasn't even talking to him. she panicked silently, glancing back once, catching Vivaan's worried eyes.
"Did you offend him Vivaan?" Mrs. Rathore asked.
"No, Maa... I... I didn't.." Vivaan stammered, voice tight with unease.
The door closed behind them with a soft click, but the storm Devraj carried with him seemed to swallow the entire house.
Ira's hands shook slightly on her bag strap. Her pulse was loud in her ears.
And Devraj... Devraj's mind was ablaze. Every thought consumed by her. Every nerve screaming, she is mine, she is mine, she is mine.