CHAPTER 4 The Circle Within a Circle #3
For the first time in a year, the phantom pain in Rudra’s chest ceased.
The bleeding stopped. The icy void was filled with the warm, heavy reality of his family.
He rested his cheek against the top of her head, closing his eyes, inhaling the faint scent of jasmine that still lingered in her hair despite the sea breeze.
He pressed his lips to her crown in a lingering, reverent kiss.
I will never let you go, he vowed into the silence of the armored cabin, the words vibrating through his chest and into hers.
I don’t care what they threatened you with.
I don’t care what secrets they hold. I will give up the empire.
I will burn the company to ash. I will destroy everything they love.
Whatever it takes. You are mine. He is mine. And no one will ever touch you again.
***
The Maybach glided smoothly down the steep ramp into the private, subterranean garage of the penthouse building. As the car came to a gentle halt, the subtle shift in momentum pulled Mihika from the depths of her exhausted slumber.
She gasped, her eyes snapping open in sudden panic. For a disorienting second, she didn’t know where she was. She was enveloped in heat, surrounded by dark fabric, and held so tightly she could barely move.
Then, she realized her cheek was resting against the solid, muscular plane of Rudransh’s chest. His arm was wrapped securely around her waist, and the other was resting protectively over Aryan’s back.
Mihika was stunned. She scrambled backward, her heart leaping into her throat, deeply embarrassed and terrified that she had allowed her guard to drop so completely. “I... I’m sorry. I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to—”
“We have arrived, Mihika,” Rudra interrupted gently, his voice a low, soothing rumble in the quiet car. He didn’t try to pull her back, though his hands lingered on her arms for a second longer than necessary before retreating.
The chauffeur opened the door, letting in the cool, sterile air of the concrete garage.
Mihika scrambled awkwardly to get out, her legs stiff and her arms burning from holding Aryan’s dead weight. She managed to step out onto the pristine concrete floor, but she stumbled slightly.
Rudra was out of the car in a flash, standing beside her. “Let me take him, Mihika. We have to take the elevator up. You are exhausted.”
Before she could protest, Rudra reached over and gently slid his large hands under Aryan’s arms, attempting to lift the sleeping boy from her chest.
The transfer was smooth, but the moment Aryan’s subconscious registered the loss of Mihika’s heartbeat against his cheek, the boy woke up violently.
Aryan’s eyes flew open, wide, and filled with instant, blinding panic. The unfamiliar surroundings of the garage, combined with the sudden absence of his mother’s arms, triggered a visceral reaction.
“No! No!” Aryan immediately started crying, a loud, panicked wail that echoed off the concrete walls. He thrashed in Rudra’s strong grip, his arms reaching out desperately toward Mihika. “Mama! MAMA!”
“I’m here! Aryan, I’m right here!” Mihika panicked, dropping her small canvas bag onto the floor. She immediately stepped into Rudra’s space, wrapping her arms around the boy’s waist, practically pulling him out of his father’s grasp.
Aryan scrambled back into Mihika’s arms, burying his tear-streaked face into her neck, sobbing uncontrollably. “Don’t leave me! Don’t let him take you!”
“I have you,” Mihika soothed frantically, swaying back and forth, her own tears threatening to fall again. She pressed kisses to his temple. “It was just Papa carrying you. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere right now. I promise. I’m holding you.”
Slowly, the boy’s panicked cries reduced to wet, hiccupping sobs, his death grip on her shirt reestablishing itself.
Mihika looked up, expecting to see Rudransh annoyed, frustrated, or deeply offended by his son’s violent rejection. She expected the cold, stoic billionaire to be angered by the disruption.
Instead, Rudransh was standing perfectly still, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his slacks.
He was looking at her, and the expression on his striking face made Mihika’s breath completely stop.
There was no anger. There was no coldness.
Rudra was watching them with a look of warm, overwhelming endearment. A slow, breathtaking, and utterly genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He looked deeply amused by his son’s tyrannical possessiveness over the woman he loved.
But beneath the amusement was something deeper, something that made Mihika’s heart race with an unsettling hope.
It was the look of a man who had spent an entire year walking through a freezing, desolate purgatory, only to suddenly, miraculously, see the sun rise. His dark eyes were vibrant, alive, and swimming with an unapologetic love.
His soul, which had calcified into ice the day she left, was violently, beautifully awake.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Rudra said softly, his voice a warm caress that wrapped around her battered heart. He bent down, picked up her fallen canvas bag, and gestured toward the private elevator. “Welcome home, Mihika.”