Chapter 28
Aditya
What were the odds of finding Sana here?
At my farmhouse, of all places? If someone had told me this morning, as I stormed out of my office needing a break from the constant noise in my head, that she would be the one to shatter that silence, I would have laughed at the thought.
Not in a million years did I think Sana would show up at my door.
I was convinced the whole damn world, including her, was working against me when it came to us.
Winning her felt like a battle I had to fight on my own.
But now? It’s like the universe’s finally chosen a side—mine—and it’s hell-bent on keeping her in my orbit.
I look down at her and grin. She loves to drive me to the edge—pushing, pulling, making me crave her, making me burn.
But soon, she won’t be fighting me for long…
she’ll be confessing the love she’s been trying so damn hard to hide.
Because fate doesn’t play fair. It drags you exactly where you’re meant to be, whether you like it or not.
Just like this. Just like her in my arms. Unconscious, her body slack against mine, completely vulnerable.
I let out a slow breath as I tighten my grip, holding her closer.
Making her surrender to her feelings can wait.
Right now, I need to take care of her. And just like that, a storm of questions hits me.
What the hell is she doing here alone at this hour?
How did she even get here? Where’s her car?
Did she even know this was my farmhouse?
And most importantly—how the hell did she pass out?
It can’t be just from the shock of seeing me.
God, this woman’s gonna drive me bald one day, no doubt.
Carrying her into the house, I move past the living room and take her straight up to my room. Entering, I don’t bother to turn on the lights. The faint glow of moonlight from the open curtains spills in, casting soft shadows over the space.
Moving to the massive king-size bed in the center, I lower her down gently. My hands hesitate, unwilling to let go. For a moment, I just watch her—at the way she fits against my sheets, like this is exactly where she belongs. But eventually, I pull my hands away.
The second her body touches the mattress, her eyes fly open.
She jerks upright, her breath hitching as her wide eyes land on me and then darts around the unfamiliar room. Panic flashes across her face in an instant. Her fingers clutch at the sheets as realisation dawns, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Before I can say a word… before I can put her at ease, Sana does what she always does best—she shuts down. Her expression hardens, her eyes narrowing, masking the storm inside her with a carefully crafted shield.
But I see through it. I always do.
“What are you doing here?” she demands, arms crossed as if that will somehow make her look intimidating.
I arch a brow, folding my arms over my chest with far more ease than I feel. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line, given that this is my farmhouse?”
She groans and covers her face with her palms. “Of all places… I landed in your farmhouse. Just my bad luck.”
I smirk, enjoying this way too much. “Not your bad luck—my bad luck. I came here for some peace, but no… you had to show up and mess it all up.”
Her head snaps up, fire flashing in her eyes. “Well, lucky me for ruining your so-called peace, considering you’re the reason I ended up here. I came to this stupid place to avoid you… yet here you are.”
We glare at each other for I don’t know how long until I see the corner of her lips twitch and I realize mine probably are too.
Just as I’m about to tease her more, she moves to stand, but the second her foot touches the floor, she winces, sucking in a sharp breath as she collapses back on the bed, clutching her foot.
My smirk vanishes, and I drop to my knees beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“I fell,” she murmurs, exhaling sharply before looking back at me. “But that’s not as bad as the real tragedy of me landing in your farmhouse.”
I shake my head. “Dramatic as ever.”
“Annoying as ever,” she shoots back.
At her words, I fight the urge to smile.
God, with her around, there’s never a dull moment.
No wonder I’m not backing down, even with her trying to crush everything I feel.
Because you don’t just walk away from something that feels like it’s yours.
And you definitely don’t just let go of something like this—someone like her.
I gently run a hand over her ankle, checking for swelling. Her breath catches. Ignoring her reaction, I level her with a look. “Your ankle is sprained. Stay put. I’ll get you something for the pain.”
Without waiting for her to argue—because I know she absolutely will—I rise to my feet and turn away, needing to find something to ease her pain, because seeing her like this, hurting, twists something inside me in ways I don’t know how to handle.
And what’s even heavier on my chest? Having her here. In my space. In my room. On my bed. It’s testing every ounce of self-control I have. Every single shred of restraint.
I push open the bathroom door and grab the pain relief spray from the cabinet, forcing in a deep breath before heading back.
“Give me your leg,” I say, kneeling in front of her.
She hesitates, clearly debating whether to argue, but eventually stretches her leg out towards me.
“Drama queen,” I murmur, lifting her foot gently.
“I heard that,” she huffs, crossing her arms.
Grinning, I shake the can, spraying the cooling mist onto her ankle, my fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary.
She shivers, our eyes lock for a brief second, a moment where we both mirror the heat, but then I release her foot and step back quickly.
I don’t want to do something reckless, something I can’t take back, something that’ll make her run.
“There. You’ll survive.”
She scoffs. “Thank you for your incredible politeness.”
I smirk. “You’re welcome.”
She rolls her eyes. “Can I have your phone? I need to make a call so I can get out of your hair.”
My body tenses instantly at her words. She wants to leave?
Of course, she does. I know damn well she doesn’t want to be stuck with me especially when her whole damn motto in life is to avoid me at all costs. But she needs to deal with it. Because whether she likes it or not, I’m not letting this go.
I school my expression, keeping my voice casual. “Why the sudden rush?”
“I’m here to deliver an order for the conference tomorrow. It has to be at the event hall by noon, and I can’t mess it up. I need to call the hotel and arrange for a pickup. The order is in my car. It’ll spoil if I don’t handle it now,” she rambles.
“Give me the details. I’ll take care of it.”
She shakes her head, that familiar stubborn streak flashing in her eyes. “No, I can do it. Just give me the—”
“Sana.” I lower myself onto the bed beside her. “Your leg is sprained. You can’t run around handling deliveries right now. Please, let me do this for you.”
Her lips part, and for a second, I think she’s going to refuse just for the sake of it. I can see the fight in her eyes—that internal tug-of-war she always puts herself through when it comes to me.
“You always fight me,” I say, calling out exactly what’s on her mind.
She stiffens, her lips parting, but no words come. Because she knows I’m right.
I exhale. “Please… don’t fight me on this.” For once. Just once. Let me in. The last bit, I want to say aloud, but I don’t.
She eyes me warily. I can see her debating with herself. But she finally lets out a quiet sigh. “Fine.”
Victory surges through me, but I don’t show it. Instead, I just give her a nod. “Good. Now, tell me everything I need to know.”
“My car is parked about ten minutes away, and I’m supposed to hand over the order to the hotel, but now…” She gestures vaguely at her sprained ankle, frustration flashing in her eyes.
“What’s the name of the hotel?”
“The Grand Crest,” she says, then looks at me like she expects me to mess up. “You sure you’ve got this?”
I smirk. “Sana, I’ve handled multi-million-dollar projects single-handedly. I think I can manage to get your order delivered.”
She exhales sharply. “Fine. Just… don’t screw it up.”
“Have a little faith,” I say with a wink.
She mutters something under her breath, probably an insult, but I don’t say a word as I gently guide her back onto the bed. She tenses at first, but I don’t give her room to protest. My hands are firm yet careful as I adjust the pillows behind her, making sure she’s comfortable.
“Relax,” I murmur, more to myself than to her.
She exhales, her body sinking into the mattress, finally letting down her guard—if only just a little. But the moment my gaze drops to her ankle, my jaw tightens. Damn it. The swelling is worse than I thought. A pained expression crosses my face.
She must see it on my face because her voice comes out softer, almost hesitant. “I’m fine.”
My eyes snap to hers. Even in pain, she’s trying to reassure me. Trying to downplay it, to act like it’s nothing—like she isn’t the one sitting here, injured.
I swallow hard and nod, forcing myself to keep it together. Without a word, I lift her foot carefully and place it on a pillow to elevate it. She flinches slightly, and my jaw clenches.
“Rest,” I say, my voice low, controlled. “I’ll make the call and then get you some ice for the pain.”
She watches me, but I don’t wait for her to say anything. I turn and head out, needing a second to breathe.
The moment I enter the kitchen, I slam both hands on the counter, head hanging low between my shoulders as I force myself to breathe.
I can feel my pulse hammering—wild and erratic.
I hate it. Hate how seeing her in pain messes with my head.
Hate how the urge to pull her into my arms and make it all go away is so damn strong.
I squeeze my eyes shut, exhaling sharply. Get a grip.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and make a call, arranging for her car to be picked up and making sure her order gets delivered without a hitch.
I ensure that every detail is handled, every possible issue taken care of.
Because if I can’t fix her ankle, the least I can do is handle the one thing she’s panicking over.
Once everything is set, I end the call and slide the phone back into my pocket. Then, I move to the fridge, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. My fingers curl around the ice pack, gripping it a little too tightly. I shut the fridge and turn back. Time to take care of her.
As I step back into the room, I stop in my tracks.
She’s asleep. The tension in her face has melted away, her breathing slow and steady.
And damn it—my heart stumbles at the sight of her.
Because for the first time tonight, she looks at peace.
And all I can think is—God, I want to be the reason she always feels that way.
I swallow hard, forcing down the tightness in my chest as I quietly make my way to her.
Placing the ice pack on the nightstand, I lower myself onto the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb her.
But I can’t help myself. Can’t stop my fingers from reaching out.
With the lightest touch, I brush a stray strand of hair from her face.
She has no idea what she does to me. How much space she takes up in my mind, in my damn chest, and in my fucking life. She doesn’t know how badly I wish she’d stop running from me.
I lean in slightly, my voice barely a whisper. “You drive me insane.”
She stirs, but doesn’t wake.
“You fight me at every turn,” I murmur, my gaze locked on her peaceful face. “But I’ll keep fighting for you, no matter how far you run.”
My throat tightens as I pull my hand back and grab the ice pack before gently pressing it to her ankle, watching for any sign of discomfort. She shifts slightly but remains asleep. A few minutes later, I place the ice pack back on the nightstand.
I should leave. I should go to the guestroom. But I don’t. Instead, I do the one thing I know I shouldn’t. I move to the other side of the bed. Slowly, carefully, I slide in beside her, making sure not to wake her.
Sana doesn’t stir. Her breathing stays soft, steady, completely clueless about the fire her intensity is lighting inside me.
God, control’s so overrated when it comes to her.
I hesitate for a second before reaching for her gently, pulling her into my arms. She fits against me so perfectly.
Her warmth seeps into my skin. Her scent—something soft, something undeniably her—wraps around me, unraveling the last bit of control I have left.
My arm tightens around her waist, securing her against me. She murmurs something incoherent in her sleep, her face nuzzling into my chest, and I swear my heart nearly gives out.
I press my lips to her hair, my voice nothing more than a breath. “You’re mine, Sana.”
She shifts slightly, but still doesn’t wake. And as I close my eyes, holding her close, I let myself have this moment.