Chapter 48 Ivikaa, Above All
The pain came before the memory.
Iva opened her eyes with effort-slow, stung by invisible smoke. Her lashes fluttered as she tried to anchor herself. This wasn't her room. The air smelled too cold. The silence, too foreign. And the ceiling-chandeliered in gold and grief.
She sat up slowly.
The bed was far too grand for comfort. The sheets smelled of rose and antiseptic. She moved her fingers slightly, as if confirming she was still her, still whole.
"Iva," a voice rushed to her.
Her father.
Viren was beside her in seconds, gripping her hands like he could turn back time with just his palms. His face was older than she remembered. More hollow.
"Iva beta... you're okay?" His voice cracked like dry earth.
She nodded faintly but didn't respond. She was still collecting the ghosts.
And then, without looking, her eyes drifted toward the tall figure standing by the window-arms folded, posture calm, spine like steel.
Adwait.
Backlit by Saint Petersburg's pale grey light, he looked like someone out of time. Still, but never passive. Silent, but never soft.
He didn't turn. But he felt her awake.
She knew it.
Her pulse tightened-not out of fear this time, but memory. The weight of his arms.
He had held her like the only prayer he ever learned.
"Where is Raha?" Iva's voice was hoarse but steady.
"With her parents," Viren replied, brushing her hair away like he could father her all over again.
Just then, the door creaked open and Martin entered, pushing a gleaming silver trolley with clinical flair and zero urgency.
"Breakfast," Martin said, wheeling in the trolley. He didn't meet Adwait's eyes. Not today. "For the princess," he added, softer than usual. Then he gave a slight nod and stepped back without another word.
Iva blinked. Of course it was Martin.
"Where are we?" she asked, more to the walls than the people.
"We're at the safe house," Viren said, his voice lower now. He hesitated before adding, "Still in Russia."
The words hung like frostbite.
Russia.
The weight of that place knotted in her stomach again.
And then-like opening a scar with memory-everything came flooding back: Nikolai. The knife. The blood. The burn of revenge as her heel dug into his chest. Her name etched into his skin like a signature from hell.
She remembered stabbing him. And then... black.
But no ropes this time. No shackles. No cold floor or cages.
No, this time she woke up on satin sheets with sunlight and roses.
It wasn't mercy.
It was protection.
Jay.
Mrutyunjay.
Adwait.
Her mind swirled with the puzzle of him-the way Maya had said it: If anyone touches Raha, Jay will kill them. As if those words were law. As if fear itself bowed to him.
Martin placed a plate before her. Warm porridge. Toast. Chopped fruit arranged like a minimalist painting.
"First eat, princess," he said, tone softer than usual.
Viren's phone rang again. It was insistent.
"Twins," he said with a grimace. "They know something's wrong."
He stood, pressing a kiss to Iva's forehead, then looked at Martin. "Stay with her." left the room.
Her eyes drifted back to the window.
Adwait was still. His silhouette framed against the tall Russian windows, back straight, hands behind. Watching the world like he could stop it from turning if he just wanted to.
"Martin," he said, calm as ever.
Martin didn't argue. He gave a half-bow, the kind laced with understanding and sincerity in equal parts, then stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Adwait turned. He didn't say a word as he walked toward her bed.
He picked up the plate Martin had prepared and sat beside her. His fingers wrapped around the spoon with the kind of careful control soldiers use when handling triggers.
Without a word, he held the spoon out to her lips.
Iva raised a brow. "First food, right?" she said, voice layered with sarcasm and something softer beneath.
He looked at her, gaze unreadable.
She took the bite.
He set the spoon down, wiped the corner of her lip with the edge of a napkin like it was instinct.
He fed her, but she didn't look at him. Not once.
Her gaze remained fixed on the food, though she barely swallowed.
He assumed she needed space-silence to untangle the chaos still sitting inside her chest. So he stood, quietly turning away.
But her hand found his wrist.
"Don't go," she whispered.
He froze.
She leaned gently against his hand, and for the first time since waking, she let her vulnerability breathe. "I'll keep the plate aside," he murmured.
He set the plate down and handed her a glass of water. She sipped slowly, eyes glassy, hands slightly trembling. Then she leaned into him. This time fully. Her body curled beside him, her head resting in his lap like it was the only ground that felt safe.
His fingers found her hair-lightly, tenderly. The rhythm of his caress was silent comfort, no heroics, just presence.
She spoke. Not loud, not sharp. Just... real.
"Who am I with right now? Adwait... or Mrutyunjay?"
Her voice was heavy. No sarcasm. Just pain.
He exhaled deeply. "Aapko kaun chahiye?"
[Whom do you want?]
She closed her eyes.
"Mujhe mera Adwait chahiye," she whispered, like an ache pulled straight from her heart.
[I want my Adwait.]
Tears slipped down her temples as she turned and hugged him tightly around the waist, anchoring herself to the one person who had carried her through the fire.
"I know it's overwhelming," he whispered, resting his hand on her shoulder, "but before thinking anything... talk to your father. Please."
He knew how silence could be misread-as coldness, as abandonment. He couldn't afford that risk. Not with her.
Just then, footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Viren.
Iva slowly pulled away from Adwait's lap, not wanting him to go-but knowing what came next.
"Please talk to him," Adwait whispered. He adjusted her pillow gently, then left the room, disappearing before the door even fully opened.
Her father entered and sat on the nearby sofa-heavier than usual, like the truth itself was breaking his spine.
"Iva... I don't want to burden you," he began, his voice unsure, brittle.
"I'm not fragile, Papa." Her voice didn't shake. "I want the truth. Only the truth."
Viren hesitated. He looked at her-this girl who had grown into a storm-and tried to gather the courage to speak.
"Let's go to India first," he said weakly. "Then we can-"
"No," she cut him off. "No more running. No more stories, Papa. I've already made up too many versions in my head. I want the truth-not a fantasy."
He looked down at his hands. "I just hope you can forgive me after this," he said.
She didn't respond. Her silence demanded answers.
"Your mother... Christina... was an American spy."
The words sliced through the air like a blade.
"She came to India during diplomatic missions," he continued. "Back then, India had strong relations with Russia. My father was close to their foreign ministers, and I-well, I had everything lined up. Business, political favor, family legacy."
His voice began to tremble.
"I met your mother at one of those political gatherings. At first, I didn't care. I was too ambitious, too focused. But she... she was impossible to ignore. She knew how to play every room, every heart. And somehow... she started falling for me. And I..."
He smiled, but it was distant and haunted.
"I fell too. In love. Fully. Stupidly. She was supposed to be on a mission-but she forgot all of it.
Forgot her loyalties. Forgot her country.
She became ours. Mine. She wore sarees.
Celebrated Diwali. She lived like she belonged here.
And when my mother saw how much we were together, she got us married.
We became a family. She wasn't pretending anymore. She had truly... chosen us."
Iva listened in stunned silence. Her mind tried to picture her mother-not as the woman in the fading photographs, but as the person behind all the smoke and mirrors.
"The Russians believed she was a double agent.
That she was working for them and the Americans both.
The truth? She never worked for the Russians.
She manipulated them into thinking she did.
She helped them here and there-but always to protect us.
She was never a traitor. Never sold US or India. "
He swallowed.
"With her support, I rose through politics. Became a minister. But when the Russians learned she'd married an Indian minister and cut ties with them-they didn't take it well. They tried to harm her, many times. But I had her covered. My security... my people... they protected her."
"Then... you were born," he said, softer now. "And for a while, life was... perfect. My parents adored you. I had power. She had peace. But shadows always return, Iva. Especially in our world. The Russians... tied up with the Italian mafia. They weren't done."
He looked at her directly.
"Your mother wanted to end it, once and for all. We worked together. We exposed the mafia's deals to US intelligence. Your mother gave them everything. She wanted freedom for you. For all of us."
"Nikolai's father was their leader. And when he fell-he blamed us. He blamed you."
Viren stopped. His hands were shaking now.
"Did they kill my mumma?" Iva asked suddenly, her voice fragile but firm. "Tell me the truth."
He shook his head.
"No. She died... giving birth to Kiaan."
Iva stared at him. Her breath held.
"After you, we had the twins-Vayu and Virya. My parents left everything to you three. And we were so happy. Until... she got pregnant again. I didn't want the child. I was scared. The doctors said it was too risky."
His voice broke.
"But she said... It was our love. She couldn't kill it. So she kept the baby. And when Kiaan was born... she died."
Iva's eyes filled, but she didn't look away.
"I fell apart. I disappeared into grief. I left him-Kiaan-with you and my parents. For ten years... you raised him like he was your own son."
Her throat closed with emotion. But she didn't speak.
"I thought losing Christina was the end of the danger. But it wasn't. Nikolai came back. He wanted revenge. Not money. Not power. Blood. I tried everything. Every favor. Every rupee. But it was never enough."
He closed his eyes, pain etched into his wrinkles.
"Then one day, he came to me. Said, 'Give me one of your children.' He wanted someone young. Malleable. Someone he could train. Shape. Own."
His voice barely left his mouth.
"I should've killed him. I wanted to. But I knew if I refused, he'd come after all of you. You. The twins. Everyone."
Iva already knew what he'd say next.
"So you gave him Kiaan," she whispered. "And you told us he died in an accident. And sent me away to Paris."
He didn't deny it. Couldn't.
Her lips trembled as her voice barely made it past her throat.
"You let me believe... My baby died. You let me mourn him like a real mother," she whispered.
Her arms hung at her sides, fists clenched, heart crumbling under the truth she never asked for-but always deserved.
Viren looked like someone who had been holding his breath for ten years.
His lips parted, but words cracked before they fully formed. He fell to his knees in front of her-not out of guilt, not for forgiveness-but because the weight of it all had finally broken him.
"Please... forgive me, Iva," he said, his voice soaked in years of quiet agony. "I had no other option. You think I would ever give away Christina's love?"
Her eyes welled again at the mention of her mother.
"She gave her life... for Kiaan," he continued. "And you think I would willingly let anyone take that away?"
His hands trembled. His breath caught in his chest like fire lodged between ribs.
"From the moment I gave him away... to this very moment-I've lived with pain you cannot name." His voice cracked. "Every time I looked at you, or the twins, it burned me inside that I couldn't see my fourth one."
His lips quivered.
"He was just... ten, Iva. Ten."
Silence dropped in the room like snowfall-soft but smothering.
She stood there, frozen, her tears finally spilling freely. The little boy she remembered-the one she rocked to sleep, the one she taught to tie his shoelaces, the one whose laughter echoed in the hallways of her childhood-
He wasn't gone.
He had just been taken.
And she had been mourning a ghost that was never dead.
Her knees gave slightly, and she walked to her father-not with fury, but with the weight of ten years of mourning crashing down in waves.
She wrapped her arms around him, tightly.
Viren didn't move at first-he was too stunned by her forgiveness.
Then he broke.
A sob escaped him, and he clutched her as if he could go back in time and hold everything together.
There were no more words.
Just grief. Just love. Just the aching silence of things lost-and maybe, just maybe-things found again.
After what felt like hours wrapped in the silence of old grief and shared redemption, both father and daughter finally breathed a little easier.
The air in the room had shifted-less heavy, though still fragile.
Iva sat beside him now, their shoulders almost touching. Her voice was gentler when she finally broke the quiet.
"Did you know Kiaan was with Mrutyunjay?" A pause. "I mean... Adwait?"
Viren turned his face toward her slowly, as if the question itself added another weight to his soul.
He shook his head.
"I had no idea," he said honestly. "I didn't even know Adwait was Mrutyunjay."
His voice dropped lower, more strained. "I'd only heard the name in whispers. No face. No files. No photograph. Just fear and awe... the man everyone feared to anger but dared not praise too loudly."
He looked away, eyes glassy with disbelief.
"I never saw him personally. Never knew he was the one who-" he stopped, shook his head again. "I have no idea how Kiaan ended up with him."
He tried to smile, to bring some lightness into the moment-but the muscles around his mouth betrayed him. The guilt was still too fresh. Too deep.
"Maybe..." he said after a beat, "Maybe God gave him a protector when I failed to be one."
Iva had a small smile.
"Did you know he was Mrutyunjay?" her father asked, still stunned, still trying to make sense of it all.
Iva let out a half-breath, half-laugh-more tired than amused.
"Nope," she said softly, shaking her head.
"He's a master of strategy... illusion..
.
I just knew he's just Adwait." Her voice grew steadier.
Warmer. "The boy who supposedly failed 10th grade, who lives in the west wing of the Agnivanshi palace, eats home-cooked Indian food, does aarti every morning.
.. and makes sure I never forget to eat. "
She smiled faintly, eyes shining with both irony and affection.
"He kept me in the dark too," Viren said quietly, the weight of guilt thick in his voice. "That day... I insulted him-right to his face. And he just stood there. Didn't utter a single word."
"Yahi toh baat hai na, papa..."Iva's voice broke gently, laced with both a half-smile and half-bitterness. "Woh bolta hi nahi. Kabhi kuchh bolta hi nahi."
["That's the thing, isn't it, Papa..." Iva's voice broke gently, laced with both a half-smile and half-bitterness. "He just doesn't speak. He never says anything at all."]
She looked down at her hands, her thumb tracing circles into her palm-trying to steady something within.
°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°??
Later that day, Maya entered the room with soft steps, holding a folded silk shawl in her arms. Her usual poise was sharper today-shoulders squared, eyes scanning everything as if danger might crawl out of the corners.
"We're leaving for India soon," she said simply.
"Maya," Iva's voice cut through the quiet like a thread pulled tight.
Maya paused at the doorframe, her back straightening just slightly. She knew that tone. That wasn't a request. That was the calm before a confrontation.
She shut the door gently behind her, turned around, and walked in without her usual guarded smile. There was no performance now. Only truth.
She stood before Iva-eye to eye. Woman to woman. Shadow to light.
"It's time," Iva said softly, "You've watched, stayed quiet, protected... even warned me. But now you speak. All of it. Why did you say Jay would burn the world if Raha was touched? Why are you loyal to him like that?"
Maya let out a slow breath and sat on the edge of the velvet chair.
"Because I've seen him burn it once," she said.
Iva didn't interrupt.
Maya continued, her voice quiet, but soaked in steel.
"You see the man who prays. Who feeds you with patience.
Who stands between you and your nightmares.
But I've seen the man who dragged himself out of hell without screaming once.
I've seen him lose everything, and still kneel to protect one child's breath. "
"You don't understand what kind of power he is, Iva," Maya said, voice steady but lowered, as though saying it too loudly might wake something untamed.
"You think you do. But the truth is... he's fire.
Not the kind that rages without reason-but the kind that chooses.
What to protect. What to scorch. What to reduce to ash. "
Iva didn't blink.
"So you knew Adwait was Mrutyunjay?" she asked, slowly.
Maya let out a faint breath of irony. "I only ever knew Mrutyunjay, Iva.
The kingpin. The ghost. The man who walked without shadows.
I didn't even know his real Agnivanshi face.
" Her voice thinned to something almost disbelieving.
"When I met him in Agnivanshi Palace as Adwait.
.. I was as shocked as you are now seeing him as Mrutyunjay. "
Iva's brows furrowed. "Then how did you end up working for my father?"
Maya's lips curled in the barest, tired smile. "Your father doesn't know Mrutyunjay is my boss."
A pause. "So Adwait made him believe you're just... my father's weapon?" Iva asked slowly, trying to connect the impossible dots.
Maya looked her dead in the eyes, her voice dropping to a whisper, a secret layered in reverence and warning.
"Adwait ki Maya, sirf Adwait hi samajh sakta hai." She paused, as if something sacred had just passed between them. "Iva, I need you to believe him. Even when he doesn't explain. Especially then."
Iva stared at her for a long moment-mind storming, heart steadying.
And then she simply nodded.
Maya turned to leave, her hand already on the doorknob, when Iva's voice stopped her.
"Thank you for protecting me, Maya."
The words were simple, but they struck deep.
Maya froze.
Then slowly, she turned around. For a second, something unguarded flickered in her eyes-something soft, almost breakable.
She crossed the room in three long strides and pulled Iva into a hug, fierce and full. Not like a soldier. Not like a weapon. Like a woman who had finally stopped holding her breath.
A tremble of relief escaped her as she whispered, "Anything for you, Iva. Anything."
She pulled back, cupping Iva's face gently. "You're the only person who matters to me. Mrutyunjay might be my boss-but you, darling... you're above all. Even above my life."
Then she gave a mock-grand salute, eyes glinting with rare mischief. "Agent Maya. Loyal to the Crown Princess."
Iva let out a laugh-small, but real. A laugh that made Maya's shoulders drop, as if a weight she'd been carrying forever had finally lifted.
And with that, Maya turned, opened the door, and left.
The world hadn't stopped spinning-but at least now, she wasn't blindfolded.
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