Chapter 11 #2
He reached out, his large hands hovering over her shoulders for a split second before firmly gripping her upper arms.
"Hey. Look at me," Siddhant commanded. His voice was not cold, it was incredibly deep, rough, and laced with absolute, raw panic. "Look at me, Poorvanshi."
She couldn't. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her body shaking violently as she struggled to pull oxygen into her paralyzed lungs. The sound of her ragged, desperate gasping tore straight through Siddhant’s chest.
"You are having a panic attack," Siddhant said, his voice lowering, forcing a steady, grounding calmness into his tone even as his own heart raced wildly. "You need to breathe with me. Poorvanshi, open your eyes. Focus on me."
He slid his hands down her arms, grabbing her cold, trembling hands and holding them tightly in his warm, massive grip. He brought one of her hands up and pressed it flat against the center of his broad chest.
"Feel that?" Siddhant murmured, his dark eyes locked onto her face. "Feel my heart. It is steady. I am right here. Now match my breathing. In... and out."
He took a slow, deep, exaggerated breath, letting his chest expand beneath her palm, and then exhaled slowly.
Poorvanshi’s eyes fluttered open. Her vision was blurred with tears, but through the hazy bokeh effect of her crying, she saw his face.
His sharp, perfectly symmetrical features were drawn tight with deep, genuine concern.
His dark eyes were not empty, they were filled with a fierce, desperate need to protect her.
"I... I can't," she choked out, a sob tearing from her throat. "It hurts. Everything... it's all a lie."
"Don't talk," Siddhant instructed gently. He shifted closer, moving into her space, becoming the only solid thing in her rapidly spinning world. "Just breathe. One second at a time. In... and out. Focus on my voice."
The sharp, clean scent of his cedarwood and black pepper cologne cut through the heavy, humid smell of the greenhouse. It was familiar. It was safe.
She focused on the steady, rhythmic beating of his heart under her hand. She focused on the absolute, unyielding strength of his grip holding her together.
Slowly, agonizingly, her lungs began to unlock. She followed his deep breathing, forcing herself to inhale the cedarwood scent and exhale the suffocating panic.
They sat on the floor of the greenhouse for ten long minutes. Siddhant did not rush her. He did not ask her what had happened. He simply stayed on his knees, holding her hands, anchoring her to the ground with his overwhelming, protective presence.
As her breathing finally returned to a normal, albeit shaky, rhythm, the sheer exhaustion of the panic attack completely drained the remaining strength from her body.
Without thinking, without a single ounce of her usual pride or stubborn independence, Poorvanshi let her head fall forward.
She slumped against him, burying her face directly into the crook of his neck, leaning her entire weight against his solid chest.
Siddhant didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second.
He immediately let go of her hands and wrapped his massive, powerful arms entirely around her. He pulled her flush against his body, holding her incredibly tight. He rested his chin on the top of her dark hair, closing his eyes as a massive wave of relief washed over him.
The position was entirely natural. They fit together like two puzzle pieces that had finally found their match. The magnetic, electric tension that usually sparked between them had transformed into something profoundly deep and comforting.
"I've got you," Siddhant whispered roughly, his breath stirring the loose hair at the back of her neck. His large hand slowly, gently stroked up and down her back in a soothing rhythm. "You are safe, Poorvanshi. I've got you."
Poorvanshi closed her eyes, letting the tears fall silently against his crisp white shirt.
She had just discovered that her entire marriage was a cruel, calculated crime orchestrated by the very family she was currently living with. She was surrounded by enemies, liars, and manipulators.
But as she lay in Siddhant’s arms, feeling the absolute, unbreakable strength of his embrace, she realized something incredibly important.
Siddhant was not like them.
He had not known about the embezzlement.
He had not known about the fake wedding distraction.
He was just as much a victim of his family's toxic, poisonous lies as she was.
He had spent his entire life trying to control his environment, trying to build an empire to protect himself from the pain of their betrayals, completely unaware that they were still stabbing him in the back.
"Siddhant," Poorvanshi whispered, her voice weak, muffled against his chest.
"Shh," he murmured, his fingers gently tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. "You don't have to explain anything right now. Just rest."
"No," she insisted softly, pulling her head back just enough to look up at his face.
The sunlight streaming through the glass roof of the greenhouse cast a cinematic, golden glow across his features. He looked so incredibly strong, yet so deeply tired. He spent his life protecting everyone, his company, the orphans at Aashray, and now, her.
But who was protecting him?
Poorvanshi realized that if she told him the truth right now, if she told him that his own father had stolen millions from his company to save Aryan, and that his parents had happily sacrificed her family to do it, it would completely, irreparably break him.
It would destroy the final, fragile threads of his sanity and unleash a level of violence that would burn the entire Chaturvedi empire to the ground.
He had told her he would destroy anyone who hurt her. If he knew what his parents had done, he would send his own father to prison without a second thought.
The scandal would be apocalyptic.
Poorvanshi looked deeply into his dark, worried eyes. She felt the heavy diamond ring on her left hand pressing against his back.
She loved him. She loved him enough to want to protect him from the devastating blow of his family's ultimate betrayal until she could figure out exactly how to handle it.
She needed proof. She needed Kabir to find the offshore accounts so that when the bomb dropped, Siddhant would have all the logical evidence he needed to survive the emotional fallout.
"What is it, Poorvanshi?" Siddhant asked gently, his thumb lightly wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "Tell me who did this to you, and I will tear them apart."
Poorvanshi swallowed the massive, heavy secret down, hiding it deep in her chest.
"It just... hit me," Poorvanshi lied softly, leaning her forehead back against his chest, refusing to let him see the deception in her eyes. "The reality of everything. The wedding, Aryan, the media. It all just caught up to me at once. I felt like I couldn't breathe."
Siddhant’s arms tightened around her protectively. He believed her completely. It was entirely logical that the trauma of the past few weeks would eventually cause a breaking point.
"You don't have to carry it alone anymore," Siddhant promised, his voice a low, vibrating vow against her ear. "I am here. I will handle the media. I will handle my brother when I find him. You just have to trust me."
"I do trust you, Siddhant," Poorvanshi whispered, holding him tighter. And it was the absolute truth. She trusted him with her life.
She just didn't trust his family.
Siddhant smoothly shifted his weight, and without a single warning, he stood up, effortlessly lifting Poorvanshi entirely off the damp stone floor into his arms.
She gasped softly at the sudden movement, instinctively wrapping her arms around his strong neck for balance. "Siddhant, you don't have to carry me. I can walk."
"You can barely stand," Siddhant corrected her smoothly, adjusting his grip so that she was securely cradled against his broad chest. "And I prefer knowing exactly where you are."
He carried her out of the humid greenhouse and back into the cool, polished corridors of the mansion. The staff members they passed quickly averted their eyes, terrified of the dark, protective fury radiating from their boss, but Poorvanshi didn't care.
She rested her head against his shoulder, listening to the steady, rhythmic beating of his heart.
As he carried her up the grand staircase towards her suite, Poorvanshi made a silent, unbreakable promise to herself.
Raghav and Nandini had thought they could use her as a weak, disposable pawn in their twisted corporate games.
They thought they could manipulate the Devil of Delhi without consequences.
They were wrong.
The abandoned bride was no longer a victim. She was an architect. And she was going to systematically, ruthlessly tear down the corrupt foundation of Raghav Chaturvedi's lies before it could ever hurt the man she loved.
The secrets behind closed doors were finally out, and the real war for the Chaturvedi empire had just begun.