Chapter Thirty Seven.
Ira checked her reflection in the full-length mirror for the... nth time? Honestly, she had lost count. Her fingers hovered nervously over the dress.
For years, she had lived in flowy, floor-length Anarkalis that hid everything, but tonight, Kunal was taking her to a high-profile event, and she wanted to try something different.
"Ira, what is taking so-" Ritika's voice cut off the moment she swung the bedroom door open. Her eyes bulged, her jaw practically hitting the floor.
"What? Is it too much?" Ira asked, her voice hitching with nerves. "Ritika, stop staring, you're making me feel like I have two heads. Is it that bad?"
Ritika blinked rapidly, finally snapping out of her trance.
"Ira... are you sure you want to wear... that? I mean, I've never seen you in anything that wasn't a suit, Anarkali or a lehenga."
Ira's face fell, her hands instinctively trying to pull the fabric lower.
"Do I look that terrible? Maybe I should just put on my blue Anarkali..."
"Terrible? Girl, you look like a goddamn fire hazard!" Ritika shrieked, moving closer. "I swear, those traditional clothes you wear should be a crime for hiding this! Holy shit, Ira..."
She began to circle Ira like a shark, her eyes wide as she took in the transformation.
"Do you want Kunal to lose his mind tonight? Because he will."
Ira's cheeks flared with a deep red. "Be serious, Ritika... I've never worn a body-con dress in my life. I feel... exposed."
"I am being deadly serious. You have a killer figure..the curves, that slim waist, those legs..." Ritika listed them off, studying the way the dress hugged Ira's body.
"Are you trying to kill Kunal? Because between the heat of the event and you in this, his heart won't stand a chance."
Ira blinked, her heart racing. "What? No! Why on earth would I want to kill him?"
"Listen to me," Ritika said, stopping in front of her. "Tonight, only two things are going to happen: either Kunal is going to be insanely jealous of every man at the party looking at you, or..he isn't going to be able to keep his hands off you for a single second."
The blush deepened, spreading down Ira's neck. She looked back at her reflection, at the woman who looked so bold..
"Do... do I really look good?" Ira whispered, her voice laced with the vulnerability of someone stepping out of their comfort zone.
"Do you think Kunal will actually like me in this? This might be his first time seeing me like this.."
Ritika smiled softly, "Like it? Ira, he's going to love it!"
"But my question is," Ritika said, her voice softening with genuine care. "Do you actually feel comfortable in this?"
Ira looked down at the unfamiliar fabric clinging to her curves and let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Every time I go to one of these events with Kunal, I look around and see all these women in elegant Western gowns and designer dresses. I'm always the one out of place in my traditional suits.." Ira admitted, her shoulders sagging.
"Sometimes, I feel like I don't deserve to be standing beside him. Like I'm... I don't know, too traditional? Too plain?"
"Okay, stop right there," Ritika said, her expression hardening as she moved closer.
"First of all, you are never out of place.
That uniqueness, those morals you carry, that's what makes you who you are.
Wait..." Ritika's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Did Kunal tell you to wear Western clothes?
or make you feel little anytime you guys are out in those events?
Is that why you're doing this? Because if he forced you, I swear-"
"What? No! No, trust me, it's not that," Ira said quickly, her eyes wide. "If anything, Kunal tells me he loves me exactly how I am. He loves my traditional style. I just... I wanted to change things up for once. He'll be in a suit... I thought it would be nice to match his energy for a change."
Ritika's face broke into a knowing, mischievous grin.
"Kunal is a lucky man, Ira. And I'm not just talking about your brilliant mind..." She let her gaze wander slowly over Ira's silhouette. "I'm talking about...this."
Ira giggled, the tension in her chest finally starting to ease.
"Well then, if you're serious about this transformation, let's go.." Ritika said, heading toward the bedroom door. "We're going shopping."
"Shopping? Why?" Ira asked, trailing after her. "I thought this dress was enough?"
"Honey, if you want to turn heads and make your fiancé have a massive boner for you, we need to get you all sexy-up...Shoes and a better dress.." Ritika called back over her shoulder, giggling.
Ira froze, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "Huh? A... a what? What's a boner?"
Ritika stopped in her tracks, a wicked smirk playing on her lips as she looked back at her friend.
She let out a peal of laughter that echoed through the room.
"Oh, you poor, sweet, innocent child.." she laughed, shaking her head as she disappeared out of the room.
"Change fast! I'm waiting in the kitchen..your mom has a magic hand when it comes to food, and I'm starving!" Ritika's voice rang out, fading as she headed down the hall.
Ira stood alone in the silence of her room, still genuinely puzzled.
"Innocent child?" she muttered to herself, furrowing her brows.
She shook her head and turned back to the mirror, a small smile spreading across her lips.
She looked so different. Bold. Modern. For a moment, the girl who had always hidden behind layers of silk and cotton felt like a woman who could truly stand by a man like Kunal.
Her gaze dropped to her hand, catching the spark of the diamond ring on her finger.
She lifted her hand, watching the light dance off the stone.
Kunal had slipped it onto her finger three weeks ago. He had told her, with a half-serious, half-possessive glint in his eye, that it was a shield..a way to make sure every man who looked at her knew she was already claimed.
She let out a soft giggle at the memory. Kunal was so different his jealousy wasn't a cage, it was a comfort.
It was cute how much he wanted the world to know she was his.
But then, the air in the room seemed to turn ice-cold.
"IRA!!!"
The name tore through her mind, loud and violent, echoing with the same raw, agonizing hunger she had heard in the mansion that night.
Ira flinched violently, her breath hitching in her throat as her heart began to hammer against her ribs.
For a second, she was back in that dark hallway, hearing the heavy thud of someone limping toward her.
"He is not here," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. She gripped the edge of the dresser until her knuckles turned white.
"He is far away. He can't reach me. He's gone."
She chanted the words like a prayer until the phantom voice faded back into the shadows of her memory.
She opened her eyes, her chest still heaving, and took a deep, steadying breath.
"I better get ready," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
~??~
The only sound in the glass-walled gym was the relentless whirr of the treadmill.
Devraj was drenched in sweat that glistened like oil over his tensed muscles, he pushed himself at a punishing pace.
He wore only his dark joggers, his bare chest heaving with every lung-burning breath.
Despite the biting chill of the air conditioner, steam seemed to rise from his skin.
But it was his eyes that were truly haunting. The amber had been replaced by a hollow void.
He wasn't running to stay fit..he was running away from the silence, or perhaps, running toward a ghost.
"Sir... please, you need to stop."
That was Ira's voice.
The voice was so clear, so gentle, that Devraj's heart nearly stopped.
His body jolted, and he almost lost his footing on the moving belt. He snapped his head toward the corner of the gym, his eyes wide and frantic.
Empty.
"You will hurt yourself, Sir..." the whisper echoed again, vibrating in the marrow of his bones.
Devraj slammed his palm against the emergency stop. The machine groaned to a halt. He stood there, chest heaving, the sweat dripping from his chin onto the floor.
"Ira?" he called out, his voice a raw and desperate rasp.
"Ira!"
He turned in a full circle, his hands clawing at the air as if he could pull her out of the shadows.
Silence.
Only the sound of his own jagged breathing answered him.. He gripped his head between his palms, his nails digging into his scalp.
The heavy gym doors creaked open. Vivaan stepped inside, stopping dead at the sight of his brother.
A wave of profound sadness washed over him. For the last month, Devraj hadn't been a man; he had been a machine. He had locked himself away, obsessively punishing his body, forcing his injured legs to mend through agonizing willpower.
He hadn't asked for a doctor. He hadn't asked for a maid. And he certainly hadn't asked for a another caregiver...
"Bhai?" Vivaan called softly.
Devraj stiffened. For five long seconds, he remained perfectly still, his back to his brother. Then, he took a slow, agonizingly deep breath that sounded like a snarl.
When he finally turned, Vivaan instinctively stepped back. Devraj's face was a mask of cold, dead stone.
He didn't look like a brother; he looked like a predator that had finally finished its training.
Devraj began to walk. His gait was smooth..unnervingly perfect.
The limp was gone, erased by a month of self-inflicted torture.
He didn't speak. He didn't even acknowledge Vivaan's presence. He simply walked past him, the heat radiating off his body like a furnace, and disappeared through the door.
~??~
Devraj entered his bedroom, the door clicking shut.
Before he could even reach for a towel, his phone vibrated on the nightstand. He stalked toward it, his eyes narrowing as he checked the caller ID.
He picked up, his voice a low, dangerous hum. "Speak."
"S... Sir... she just left the house. She's with her friend now, Ms. Ritika." the voice on the other end stammered, thin with fear.
Devraj's fist clenched so hard the muscles in his forearm corded.
"Keep following her." he commanded, He hung up before the scout could even breathe a reply.
His gaze drifted to the center of his massive, empty bed.
There, draped like a sacred relic, was a dupatta.
Ira's dupatta.
It was one of many...pieces of her life he had quietly, methodically stolen during her time in the mansion.
Pieces she likely thought she had simply misplaced.
He sat on the edge of the mattress, the springs barely groaning under his weight.
With a slow, reverent movement, he reached out and snatched the fabric, his grip tightening until the delicate threads strained. He brought the cloth to his face, burying his nose in the material.
He took a long, deep drag, his lungs filling with the fading scent of jasmine and her own unique sweetness.
A slow, haunting smile spread across his lips..the first sign of life his face had shown in weeks.
"Ira..." he whispered into the silk, his voice a caress. He inhaled again, his eyes fluttering shut.
He had kept every item he'd taken...her handkerchiefs, her hairpins, her scarves, even one pieces of her earrings..sealed in a box to preserve her essence. He was living in a shrine of her making.
The phone rang again, shattering the silence.
Devraj snapped his eyes open. He checked the screen...
He answered, pressing the phone to his ear without a word.
"Hey, Raj," Advik's voice crackled through the line. "Check your email. There's a mandatory gala tonight..every major company owner is expected to be there. I know you usually loathe these events, so I was thinking I'd go as the face of the firm-"
Devraj didn't stop caressing the dupatta. His thumb traced the intricate embroidery as if it were Ira's skin.
"I'm going with you," Devraj interrupted, his voice cutting through Advik's sentence. "Tell my PA to have my suit sent over immediately."
"Yes! Finally! I'm so glad you're actually showing up to one of these.." Advik exclaimed, his voice buzzing with genuine relief.
"No problem at all...I'll have the suit sent down to you immediately."
Devraj found the cheerfulness in Advik's voice irritating. it grated against the dark, quiet sanctuary of his obsession.
He didn't offer a goodbye..he simply ended the call.
The room fell into a heavy silence once more. Devraj's fingers tightened on the silk.
"I can't wait to see you again.." he whispered into the empty air, his voice thick with a promise.
"My Ira."
He brought the dupatta back to his face, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss against the fabric..
~??~
Meanwhile...
"Ummm... no, Riri. Absolutely not. I am not wearing that," Ira said, her eyes nearly popping out of her head as she stared at the gown Ritika was holding up.
"Huh? Why not? Ira, this is perfect! It's high fashion, it's-"
"It's missing a back, Ritika!" Ira countered, her face flushing. "My skin would be exposed all the way down to my waist. I can't... I just can't."
Ritika let out a dramatic groan, semi-glaring at her friend. "Ira, this is the eighth dress you've turned down. The eighth!"
"Maybe show me something a little less... revealing?" Ira offered with a sheepish, hopeful grin.
Ritika rolled her eyes, but she didn't give up. She began to sift through the racks with focus until her hand stopped on a piece of fabric that seemed to shimmer under the boutique lights.
It was a deep, breathtaking red...elegant, sophisticated, and unmistakably sexy.
"Okay, now this is a masterpiece," Ritika whispered.
she pulled the dress out and held it up. It was a body-con silhouette that promised to hug every curve, but it was modest...no plunging backs or daring cut-outs.
Ira's eyes lit up. "Wow... it's beautiful." She reached out, her fingers brushing the fabric.
"Good. Now quit talking and go put it on.." Ritika commanded with a triumphant grin.
Ira smiled and hurried into the private dressing booth.
The heavy velvet curtain fell shut, sealing her in. She carefully stepped out of her clothes and eased into the gown.
The fabric slid over her skin like a second layer of soul.
When she finally turned to face the full-length mirror, the breath left her lungs in a audible gasp.
"Ira? Are you still alive in there?" Ritika called out.
The velvet curtain swept aside, and Ira stepped out.
Ritika's eyes went wide, her mouth falling open as she took in the sight.
The dress fit Ira like it had been spun directly onto her skin..elegant, dangerously feminine, and absolutely breathtaking.
"Okay," Ritika breathed, her voice full of awe. "We found the one. Stay right there! Don't move!"
Before Ira could protest, Ritika whipped out Ira's phone and snapped a photo. The flash made Ira blink and pull a face.
"Why did you do that? I look like a deer in headlights!" Ira complained, frowning.
"Oh, you'll see," Ritika grinned, "Now, go. Take it off so we can pay for this masterpiece. We have to move..we still need to find you some killer heels."
"Wait... heels?" Ira blinked, her heart sinking slightly. "Ritika, I was thinking maybe-"
"Don't even finish that sentence," Ritika interrupted, raising an eyebrow in a perfectly bored, judgmental arch.
"What? You were going to suggest wearing sandals with a dress like that?"
Ira gave a sheepish, guilty little grin. "Well... they're comfortable. It's not like it would be that bad, right?"
Ritika gave her a deadpan look that could have withered a cactus.
"Ira. Listen to me. In the entire history of fashion, which woman wears flat sandals with a sexy body-con dress to a high-society event? You'd be a walking crime scene."
"What about wedges?" Ira tried, hopeful. "They have height, but they're stable!"
Ritika didn't even answer; she just glared until Ira felt the heat in her cheeks.
"Heels it is," Ira muttered, gulping as she retreated back into the private booth.
She carefully slipped out of the gown, her mind already worrying about how she was going to walk without breaking an ankle.
When she emerged in her regular clothes, she found Ritika leaning against a display case, staring at Ira's phone and giggling like a schoolgirl.
"Why are you with my phone, giggling like that?" Ira asked, suspicious.
Ritika's grin was wide and mischievous. "Oh, nothing... nothing at all. Here."
She tossed the phone back to Ira, a singsong hum under her breath as she practically skipped toward the billing counter to pay.
Ira stood there staring at her screen, a deep sense of confusion.
"What is wrong with her?"