CHAPTER 45! SINISTER #3
"Blood pressure is stable. Fetal growth remains within normal parameters," Dr. Mehta noted, his stylus hovering over his tablet.
He didn't look up. To him, the rhythm was another clinical baseline. "Mr. Singhania will receive the report within the hour. Nurse, draw the samples. Remember, strict dietary protocol-no fried foods, no unapproved stimulants."
He requested the metrics.
Not her comfort.
Not her mind.
Just the data of the vessel carrying his lineage.
"Does he..." Aadhira cleared her throat, the words dry.
"Does he ever ask about me?"
Dr. Mehta paused. A brief flash of something resembling pity crossed his eyes before it was instantly locked away behind professional indifference.
"Mr. Rai Singhania reviews every report personally," he said, his stylus tapping against the screen.
"Your care is comprehensive."
He didn't answer her question.
The silence returned when they left, measured only by the steady ticks of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
Aadhira stood up, walking toward the kitchen to pour a glass of water.
On the counter sat a crystal bowl filled with fresh, perfectly ripe mangoes.
She froze.
She hadn't bought them.
The security team didn't handle groceries.
Only last night, alone in the dark kitchen, she had muttered a passing wish for them to the empty air.
There was no card.
No message.
The world simply rearranged itself around her unspoken thoughts.
The private elevator chime cut through the stillness.
Aadhira's posture went rigid, her heart hammering against her ribs.
But when the doors slid open, it wasn't the towering silhouette of Aryav.
A young woman stepped out, balancing a heavy silver tray. Instead of the doctor's approved menu, the scent of hot spices instantly cut through the sterile air.
She carried two paper cups of cutting chai and a small plate with two golden samosas.
"Blink twice if you're being held hostage by interior designers," she said, her voice a sharp, lively contrast to the room.
She set the tray down on the pristine kitchen island and looked around the cavernous apartment.
"Does every billionaire decorate with the personality of a refrigerator? I've seen prison cells with more character."
Aadhira stepped back from the counter, her guard instantly going up.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Kashvi," the woman replied easily, pulling out a stool and sliding a small plate forward. "The new live-in help. I was told to keep the place tidy and ensure you don't starve."
Aadhira stared at the fried food, then at Kashvi's uniform. "The doctor just said no fried food. It's on the chart."
Kashvi shrugged, sliding half a samosa closer to her anyway.
"Then don't tell him."
Aadhira didn't touch it.
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her hoodie, her gaze flicking instinctively toward the ceiling, tracing the shadow where the wall met the crown molding.
Something small and black caught the light just above the heavy oak bookshelf.
"Eat while it's hot," Kashvi murmured, noticing the hesitation.
"He'll know," Aadhira said, her voice barely audible.
Kashvi let out a quiet, dismissive laugh, leaning against the counter. "He's in Singapore. Relax."
The phone on the marble counter vibrated.
The sound was sharp, sudden, and violent in the quiet room.
Aadhira didn't move.
Kashvi's smile slowly faltered as her eyes dropped to the glowing screen.
There was no greeting.
No signature.
Eat it.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Kashvi looked from the phone back up to Aadhira, the easygoing warmth entirely draining from her face.
"Don't worry. I'll block the camera for five minutes."
The reality of the penthouse seemed to settle into her posture, heavy and cold.
Aadhira looked away from the screen, keeping her voice flat, guarded, and distant. "He pays your salary."
Kashvi was quiet for a long moment, studying the pale, tense girl sitting across from her.
When she spoke, the playful tone was gone, replaced by something subdued but steady. "He does." She paused, her voice dropping.
"That doesn't mean he owns my conscience."
Aadhira didn't answer.
She couldn't afford to believe her.
"Why are you doing this for me?"
"Because everyone else here is paid to keep you alive," Kashvi added softly, gathering the untouched tea cups. "Someone should care whether you're living."
The distraction was temporary. After Kashvi retreated to the staff quarters, the penthouse reclaimed its frozen stillness.
Aadhira stood by the glass windows, watching the sun dip below the city skyline, when the phone on the counter vibrated against the marble a second time.
She picked it up.
Iron. Tonight.
A final message appeared before she could breathe.
Miss another dose and the doctor changes the prescription.
No emotion. No explanation. Pure, effortless control.
Slowly, Aadhira lifted her eyes to the dark corner above the bookshelf.
The glossy dome camera reflected her own pale face in the fading afternoon light.
She couldn't tell whether she was looking at it-or it was looking at her.