CHAPTER 43! HIS SIN #3
The lines around his mouth were tight, his dark eyes steady, but the stillness looked rehearsed.
He looked exactly like the man he was supposed to be.
But as he looked down at the bed, his gaze snagged on her sleeping form.
She looked small-painfully so-against the massive expanse of the mattress, her dark hair tangled across her face.
Even in her sleep, her fingers were curled tightly, unconsciously clutching the hem of the spare linen shirt he had wrapped her in before she drifted off.
Liability.
Error.
Aryav walked over, leaning down with mechanical precision.
He reached out, his hand hovering inches above her face. For a fraction of a second, his fingers softened, trembling slightly as he almost guessed at the warmth of her damp cheek.
He stopped.
The heat radiating from her skin felt dangerous.
He withdrew his hand instantly, his jaw clenching as his expression hardened into the very look that had destroyed boardrooms and buried rivals across the continent.
Meticulously, he pried her small, delicate fingers away from the fabric of his shirt, breaking the physical connection without waking her.
Cold. Merciless. Controlled.
The Aryav Rai Singhania the world knew had returned.
He stood perfectly still beside the bed. Thirty seconds passed.
Something refused to settle.
His jaw hardened.
Anger was simpler.
Anger obeyed.
He pulled the heavy duvet up over her bare shoulder, shielding her from the morning chill, but before the gesture could look like anything resembling affection, he pulled a thick white envelope from his inner jacket pocket.
He placed it deliberately on the nightstand beside a glass of water, a small tube of ointment for her chafed wrists, and her dry, neatly folded clothes.
Inside lay a thick stack of cash and his private business card.
The back of the card remained entirely blank.
In Aryav's world, every irreversible thing was followed by financial security. It wasn't enough.
It was the only language responsibility had ever spoken.
He walked to the heavy oak door, his hand resting on the handle. He stopped. For three seconds, his shoulders tensed, his head tilting back slightly as if he might turn around and look at her one last time.
Then he pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallway, the lock clicking behind him with finality.
The black sedan sat in the damp driveway, its exhaust throwing white plumes of steam into the crisp morning air. Aryav stepped into the rear seat, the leather cold beneath him.
The driver glanced at the rearview mirror, his voice hushed. "Office, sir?"
Aryav didn't answer.
He leaned back, his eyes fixed on the dense, whispering eucalyptus trees lining the farm property.
The silence in the cabin stretched for one minute. Two minutes. Three.
Quietly, almost accidentally, a single word slipped past his lips.
"Aadhira..."
The driver's eyes darted up to the rearview mirror, catching the fleeting fracture in his employer's expression.
Aryav safe-guarded his features instantly, his gaze hardening as he stared through the glass.
The driver quickly looked away, clearing his throat. "Should Mr. Shourya be informed?"
"No," Aryav said. The response was immediate, sharp enough to cut.
"...Sir?"
"Not yet."
Suddenly, a memory fractured through his logic-Shourya's voice from six months ago, echoing over crystal glasses of scotch in the study.
"If I ever leave her in your care..." Shourya had laughed then. "She's stubborn. Don't let the world hurt her."
Aryav had answered without hesitation. "It won't."
The weight of it hit him now, not as guilt, but as an error in calculation.
A catastrophic failure of his own absolute perimeter.
He wasn't protecting himself by keeping silent; he was protecting her from the fallout of what he had done.
Aryav closed his eyes, his voice dropping into a flat, dead frequency that made the driver's posture instantly stiffen.
"Instructions, sir?" the driver asked tentatively.
"Find Samarth."
The driver tensed, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. "...Alive?"
Aryav's eyes opened, cold and unblinking in the rearview mirror.
"Did I ask for a corpse?"
The driver swallowed hard, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.
"Find him," Aryav commanded.
"...Understood."
"Drive."
The sedan rolled forward, tires crunching over the wet gravel.
Shourya could never know.
Aadhira deserved a future untouched by scandal. The incident would be erased. Samarth would disappear.
Every witness would disappear.
The doctor would remain silent.
The farmhouse would be cleaned before sunset.
Everything would return to order.
Aryav had spent his entire life believing every problem had a solution.
For the first time, he knew he was wrong.
The farmhouse disappeared behind the rain.
Dawn had arrived.
The disaster had only begun.
___________________________________________
Is there anything you want to say?
Do you still care about Aryav?
Who do you blame more for what happened?
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