His Angel

Chapter - 89

When I opened my eyes, I found myself lying in Avi's arms. His breathing was slow and steady — like a man finally finding rest after years of chaos.

For a moment, I just looked at him... the calm on his face, the way a few strands of his hair brushed against his forehead.

I couldn't help but smile softly. Last night's memories came rushing back — how gentle he was, how he made sure I was never uncomfortable, how every touch spoke more love than words ever could.

And before I could stop myself, I blushed. My cheeks felt warm just thinking about it.

But then I noticed his eyelashes flicker. He was waking up.

My heart started beating faster. Oh God... how will I even look at him now? I quickly shut my eyes again, pretending to sleep. Maybe if I stay still, he won't notice.

But of course, he did.

Avi's voice came softly, brushing against my heart, "Good morning, my angel. I know you're not sleeping."

My eyes stayed closed, but I could feel his gaze — warm and full of affection. I panicked and immediately covered my face with the blanket.

He chuckled, that deep, warm laugh of his filling the room. "Why are you so adorable, baby?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just held the blanket tighter, hiding my face deeper.

Then I felt him trying to pull it away gently. "You don't have to be shy with me, jaan," he said, his voice soft, teasing. "Not after last night."

My heart skipped a beat. Slowly, I loosened my grip, letting him pull the blanket down. But even then, I couldn't open my eyes.

He kissed my forehead tenderly, whispering, "Look at me, angel... please."

I opened my eyes hesitantly, meeting his. He cupped my face in his hands, his thumb brushing my cheek lovingly.

"You don't have to hide from me. Never," he said. "I'm yours... just like you're mine."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. I wanted to say something, but all I could do was stare at him — my heart feeling too full to speak.

He looked at me carefully. "Do you feel any pain anywhere, baby?" he asked.

I shook my head softly. "No... just a little sore," I admitted in a whisper.

He nodded, pressing a light kiss on my temple before standing up. "Wait here," he said.

After a few minutes, he came back and picked me up in his arms. Warm steam filled the bathroom, carrying the scent of roses and lavender. He gently made me sit inside the bathtub.

"Just relax for a bit, angel," he said softly. "I'll be right back."

He turned on the shower, letting the water run over him for a few minutes.

I lowered my gaze, trying not to stare, but my heart betrayed me — every drop that touched him seemed to make him look even calmer, softer.

I watched quietly, my cheeks heating up as his broad shoulders glistened under the warm stream. But even then, there was nothing rushed or bold in his actions — everything about him felt calm, composed, and respectful.

When he was done, he wrapped a towel around his waist, then came back to me, kneeling beside the tub. His voice was gentle again as he poured warm water over my hands and shoulders. "It's okay, baby," he murmured, "just relax."

I watched him quietly — this man who could command the world but chose to handle me like I was something delicate.

He didn't rush a thing. He just made sure I was okay, wiping away every trace of tiredness from my face with so much love that my heart melted all over again.

When I was done, he wrapped me carefully in a towel and smiled. "All fresh now, hmm?"

I nodded, my face heating up again. He carried me back and helped me sit by the dressing table.

He quickly got ready, too — changing into a crisp white shirt and dark trousers. His hair was still a little damp, a few strands falling messily over his forehead, making him look effortlessly perfect.

Then he handed me a soft pink anarkali — one of my favorites — and said softly, "I chose this for you."

He helped me wear it — adjusting the dupatta on my shoulder, tying the back string carefully, his touch always gentle and patient.

His fingers brushed my skin for a brief second — enough to make my breath hitch.

He noticed but said nothing, only smiled faintly, as if he knew the effect he had on me.

Then he sat me in front of the mirror and began drying my hair.

I watched him through the reflection — the seriousness on his face, the way he handled everything so lovingly. My heart melted.

When he was done, he brushed my hair softly and placed a small bindi on my forehead. Then he kissed my head and said, "Perfect. Just like always."

Maybe love isn't always about big words or promises. Sometimes... it's about the little moments like this — where you're shy, blushing, but your heart feels completely safe.

We just sat there, looking at each other. The silence was warm and comforting... until his phone rang.

He picked it up, murmuring "Hmm," and I watched his face change as he listened. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a serious intensity I hadn't seen before.

"When did you find out?" he asked, sitting up straighter.

There was a pause. He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. "I'll be there in an hour," he said, ending the call.

I could feel it — something wasn't right.

"Avi?" I asked softly, my hand reaching out. "What happened?"

He looked at me for a long moment, and then exhaled slowly. "It's nothing, angel. Just... something at the office."

But I could feel it in him — his jaw was tight, his hands slightly shaking. This was not nothing.

Before I could ask more, someone knocked on the door. He moved quickly, opened it, took the food tray, and closed the door.

He put the tray on the table and said, "Sit."

I looked at him, confused. "Why here? What will everyone think of us? Last night too... you took me away before the party even ended. What will people think about us?"

He smirked a little, brushing a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. "They'll think we love each other so much... that we need a little privacy."

I blinked at him. How could he say that so casually, without even thinking?

He leaned closer and whispered, "Relax, angel. I told them you weren't feeling well because of yesterday, roaming around all day. No one will think about what we did last night... or maybe..."

I cut him off, embarrassed and flustered. "Shut up, Avi. Just eat your food."

We ate quietly, the soft clinking of the cutlery filling the room. It felt comforting — just the two of us, a little world apart from everyone else.

When we finished, he cupped my face gently. "If it wasn't urgent, I wouldn't go. But I have to, and I might be late tonight. Don't wait for me—eat your dinner on time. And spend the day with your bhai, bhabhi, and Anaya too."

I nodded silently, my heart aching. Even when something serious called him away, he still found time to take care of me.

He kissed my forehead once more, then stood and left, leaving me staring at the door... wishing I could keep him here forever.

The moment I stepped into my cabin, Rohan followed me in. One look at me, and he understood I wasn't in the mood for pleasantries.

"Sir, I'm sorry," he began quickly. "I thought I shouldn't disturb you yesterday."

"Come to the point," I said flatly, sitting down in my chair.

Rohan swallowed, then said, "Sir... I think R-9 is Rawat."

My jaw tightened. "Rawat?"

"Yes, sir. Mr.Vikram Rawat, R for Rawat... or maybe Rajvansh. Whatever name he used, there's a clear pattern. Every important deal, every signature, every major purchase—it all happens on the 9th. Every single one."

I didn't speak for a moment, only tapped my fingers lightly on the desk. The pattern fit. Too perfectly.

If R-9 was Vikram Rawat, then this wasn't something I could ignore. But why would he kill his own sister or her family? What could he possibly gain from it?

Before I could voice the thought, Rohan spoke again.

"Sir, there's one more thing... Vikram left everything that belonged to the Rajvansh group, except one company still active under his name.

It's registered as part of Rajvansh Group, and under the will of Mr. Harish Rajvansh, it legally belongs to Mrs. Priya Rajput. "

My fingers tapped again against the desk. "Find out everything about that company — its history, its purpose, and the reason he didn't let it go when he abandoned everything else under the Rajvansh name."

"Yes, sir," Rohan said, bowing slightly before leaving.

I leaned back, staring at the file on my desk. Mr. Rajvansh had never mentioned this company to me. What else was buried beneath their so-called family loyalty?

I picked up my phone and said coldly, "Call Mr. Rajvansh. Tell him I want to meet him today."

Once the call was done, I buried myself in work — though my mind wasn't at peace. Every thread I pulled from this mess led to something darker.

An hour later, Rohan entered again. "Sir, I found the policeman who made the report of that accident."

My eyes lifted from the papers. "And?"

"He's ready to meet, but he doesn't want to come publicly. He said his family's safety comes first, and he wants his identity to remain unknown."

I stood up. "Arrange everything for his safety — his and his family's. Tonight, we'll meet him. Tell someone to bring him to our safe location."

"Yes, sir," Rohan replied, and hurried out.

As evening approached, Mr. Rajvansh arrived. I didn't waste time.

"Why didn't you tell me about the company Vikram Rawat ran under the Rajvansh name?" I asked, my tone sharp, eyes fixed on him. "The one that now belongs to Mrs. Priya Rajput."

He looked startled, clearing his throat before speaking.

"Aarav, Vikram was the one who started that company.

He handled everything — management, finances, growth.

He also taught Priya about business. She was still in college, learning back then.

When Dad made the will, he wanted to give that company to Priya.

But she refused. She said Vikram had done all the hard work and deserved it more.

Vikram didn't object. And before Dad could change anything in the will. .. everything happened."

He sighed, shaking his head. "I thought that information wasn't important."

I stared at him, expression unreadable. "I see."

I didn't say a word. Not about Vikram. Not about R-9.

There was no point in revealing anything yet — not until I had the full truth.

"I'm just looking into the past," I said calmly. "That's why I asked."

He nodded, perhaps relieved that I didn't question further, and soon left.

When the door closed behind him, I stood near the window, staring out at the fading sky.

Vikram Rawat. R-9. A company still under his name. And a past everyone conveniently forgot.

Something wasn't adding up — and I was going to find out what.

Hours passed. The sky outside had turned dark when a knock sounded at my door.

Rohan entered. "Sir, everything is arranged. The officer and his family are safe. He's waiting at the location."

"Good," I said, pushing my chair back and standing up. "We'll leave now."

The drive was silent. My eyes stayed fixed ahead, my mind replaying every single detail — the accident, the wrong file entries, the will, and now this company.

If all of it was connected, then it wasn't coincidence. It was a plan — made years ago.

When we reached the safe house, Rohan opened the door for me. The place was dimly lit and heavily guarded. No cameras. No outsiders. No mistakes. Exactly how I wanted.

The officer stood as I walked in. His eyes lowered instantly. His hands were shaking. The man looked like fear itself had aged him.

Rohan shut the door behind us.

"Sit," I said. My voice was calm, but firm enough that he obeyed immediately.

"You made the report for the Rajput accident sixteen years ago," I said, my gaze fixed on him. "The fake one. Correct?"

He swallowed, nodding quickly. "Yes, sir."

"I want every detail," I said coldly. "And I want the truth — not what's written in the file."

He hesitated, glancing at Rohan, then back at me. "Sir, I... I made it. But what's in that report isn't the full truth. We were told to close the case as an accident."

"By whom?" I asked sharply.

He flinched. "A call came from higher officials... and then a letter — with the name R-9. It said the case had to be closed immediately. There was pressure from everywhere. I was just a small officer, sir. I couldn't—"

My voice cut through his words, low but furious. "How could you do it? How could you destroy the truth so easily?"

Tears formed in his eyes. "Sir, I didn't want to.

.. they kidnapped my six-year-old daughter.

They threatened to kill her if I didn't write what they wanted.

They made me file that a child also died in the car, but there was never a child.

Only a couple. Someone killed them first and then burned the car to make it look like an accident. "

For a moment, silence filled the room.

He lowered his head. "I just wanted to protect my daughter. But the guilt never left me, sir. I left the job... I moved far away. When your men approached me, I knew it was time to tell the truth. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything then."

I studied him quietly. My anger was still there — but so was understanding. The man had lived with fear and guilt for sixteen years.

"Do you still have the original report?" I asked.

He nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. I have the real file and photos with me."

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"No, sir."

"Good," I said coldly. "I want those files by tomorrow morning. And your family will remain under our protection until I say otherwise."

Relief spread across his face. "Thank you, sir... thank you."

I gave a short nod. "You did what you had to back then. Now, do what's right."

He nodded again, his voice trembling. "Yes, sir."

As he left, I turned to Rohan. "Make sure he and his family are moved to a safer location tonight."

"Yes, sir," Rohan said.

"And," I added, my tone sharper now, "do a complete background check on Vikram Rawat. Every single detail. I want to know where he's been, who he's met, and what he's hiding. Leave nothing unchecked."

He nodded. "Understood, sir."

With that, I left.

The night outside was silent, heavy, and colder than usual. The kind of night that reminds you that peace doesn't come easy. But I knew where mine was — in her arms.

By the time I reached home, it was already past midnight. The lights in the living room were still on.

And there she was — my angel — curled up on the sofa, sleeping uncomfortably. Even in sleep, she looked fragile, like a part of me I could never afford to lose.

I walked closer and bent down slightly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She stirred softly, whispering something in her sleep, but didn't wake up.

A faint smile tugged at my lips. "You'll catch a cold like this, angel," I murmured under my breath.

Carefully, I slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her into my arms. She was light — almost too light — and she instinctively rested her head against my shoulder.

I carried her to our room and gently placed her on the bed. For a moment, I just stood there again — watching her breathe, her face peaceful, untouched by the chaos I was drowning in.

I went to the bathroom, took a quick shower, and changed. When I came back, the room was dim, quiet, and warm — nothing like the cold world outside.

The moment I lay down beside her, she moved closer — as if her heart already knew I was there. She rested her head on my chest, wrapping her arms around me like I was her home.

I placed my hand around her waist, pulling her closer. Her breathing was soft, calm — and for the first time that night, mine matched hers.

No words. No promises. Just silence — and peace.

Because in her arms, the man the world feared finally found his rest.