The restaurant glowed in a hush of gold and shadow, the kind of quiet luxury where even the smallest sound seemed deliberate—the gentle clink of cutlery, the distant murmur of music, the soft tremor of candlelight flickering between them. It was a space designed for intimacy, for unspoken things to linger just beneath the surface.
Tara sat across from him, her fingers absently tracing the slender stem of her glass. There was a faint daze about her still, as though she had not entirely settled into the moment—the elegance of the setting, the careful attention, the quiet intensity of his presence. And yet, for a brief stretch of time, it felt almost ordinary. Comfortable, even.
Aaryan Rathore leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, his gaze steady upon her. There was a composure about him that felt grounding, as though nothing in the world could unsettle him. “So,” he said at last, his voice smooth and measured, “tell me about the rest of your day.”
Tara exhaled softly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders as she allowed herself to respond. “After… everything,” she began, a small, self-conscious smile touching her lips, “I went to find Aanya and Kabir.”
The change in him was nearly imperceptible.
His fingers, which had rested lightly against the table, stilled for the briefest moment.
“Hmm,” he murmured, as though the information carried no weight at all. “And?”
“They were just… being themselves,” Tara continued, a hint of warmth entering her voice. “Aanya tried to calm me down. Kabir made a few ridiculous jokes, but…” she let out a quiet breath of laughter, “it helped. A little.”
Aaryan’s jaw tightened, though the movement was so slight it might have gone unnoticed by anyone not watching closely. He reached for his glass and took a slow, deliberate sip—not out of necessity, but to steady the sharp, unwelcome edge that had surfaced within him.
“Ridiculous jokes,” he repeated lightly, setting the glass down with precise care. “That sounds like him.”
Tara, unaware of the undercurrent, nodded faintly. “They were just trying to make me feel better.”
A fleeting thought crossed his mind, swift and cold.
That is my place.
His gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly, though his expression remained composed. “And did it work?” he asked.
She hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the glass. “Not really,” she admitted after a moment. “It helped for a bit, I guess. But I still felt… off.”
Something within him settled at that.
He leaned forward just enough to draw her attention back to him, his voice lowering, carrying a quiet insistence. “That’s because distractions don’t solve anything, Tara.”
Her eyes lifted to meet his, uncertain, searching.
“They don’t understand what you need,” he continued, his tone soft but deliberate, each word placed with careful intent. “They react. They say whatever seems comforting in the moment.”
A brief pause followed, just long enough for the weight of his words to settle.
“I don’t do that.”
There was something in the way he said it—not merely a statement, but a quiet claim.
Tara’s grip on her glass tightened. “They care about me,” she said, her voice gentle, instinctive rather than defensive.
Aaryan held her gaze, his expression unreadable for a fraction too long. “I’m not questioning that,” he replied evenly. “I’m saying they don’t know you the way I do.”
The air between them shifted, subtle yet undeniable, as though something unseen had tilted the balance.
Tara lowered her gaze, her lashes casting faint shadows against her cheeks. “They’ve known me for years,” she said softly.
“And yet,” he returned smoothly, leaning back once more, “you still walked out of that exam feeling like everything was slipping through your fingers.”
The words were not harsh, but they landed with quiet precision.
“They weren’t there when it mattered,” he added, almost absently.
It was enough.
A flicker of doubt passed across her face—small, delicate, but unmistakable.
Aaryan noticed it instantly, and something dark within him stilled in quiet satisfaction.
Still, he allowed his tone to shift, lightening just enough to disguise the tension beneath it. “What exactly did Kabir say?” he asked, a faint trace of amusement in his voice. “I’m curious what passes for helpful, in his case.”
Despite herself, Tara smiled faintly. “He said I looked like I’d just walked out of a horror movie.”
Aaryan’s lips curved in response, though the expression did not reach his eyes. “I’m sure he found that very amusing.”
“He didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly.
“I’m sure he didn’t,” Aaryan echoed, his voice calm, though something beneath it had tightened. “People rarely intend the things they say.”
Tara frowned slightly, sensing the shift but unable to name it. “It wasn’t a big deal,” she said, attempting to brush it aside. “He was just trying to lighten the mood.”
Aaryan tilted his head, studying her with quiet intensity.
Then, more softly—
“You don’t need someone to lighten the mood, Tara.”
His voice had lowered again, intimate now, almost coaxing.
“You need someone who doesn’t let you fall into that state in the first place.”
The words lingered between them, heavy with implication—possessive, though veiled in concern.
Tara did not respond at once.
Because some fragile, exhausted part of her wanted to believe him.
Across the table, Aaryan observed her in silence, noting every hesitation, every flicker of uncertainty that crossed her expression. Kabir’s name still lingered faintly in his thoughts, but it no longer held the same weight.
What mattered was this moment.
This careful, deliberate unraveling.
He could already see it—the subtle narrowing of her world, the quiet redirection of her trust.
Exactly as he intended.
Back to him.
The moment lingered—heavy, delicate—until it was abruptly severed.
Aaryan’s phone vibrated against the table, the sharp, intrusive sound cutting cleanly through the soft hum of the restaurant. His gaze flickered downward, irritation flashing for the briefest second before it was replaced with something far more controlled.
He glanced at the screen.
And everything in him stilled.
Without a word, he rose from his chair, already answering the call as he stepped away from the table. “hold on,” he said quietly, his tone neutral, almost absent, as though it were nothing of consequence.
But Tara noticed the shift.
She watched him move across the room, his figure slipping into the dimmer edge of the restaurant, where the golden light faded into shadow. His posture had changed—subtly, but unmistakably. Straighter. Sharper. As though something beneath the surface had awakened.
She couldn’t hear everything.
Only fragments.
“…when?” His voice—low, clipped.
A pause.
“…how the hell did that happen?”
Tara’s fingers stilled around her glass.
There was something in his tone she had never heard before. Not calm. Not composed. Controlled anger. Across the room, Aaryan’s expression had hardened completely, the warmth stripped away as if it had never existed.
“The Serpent’s Poison Alliance?” he repeated, each word measured, but edged with something dangerous. “You’re telling me they got into our storage?”
Another pause, longer this time.
His jaw clenched.
“How much did we lose?”
The answer on the other end was not one he liked.
His grip on the phone tightened, knuckles paling slightly as his voice dropped even lower. “Rifles… grenades… explosives—” he cut himself off, exhaling sharply through his nose. “All of it?”
“Find out how it happened.”
A beat.
“And I want names.”
There was no hesitation or softness in his tone now, only command.
He ended the call without another word.
For a second, he stood there, motionless, the darkness of whatever world he had just stepped into still clinging to him like a shadow that refused to recede. Then, just as quickly—
It was gone.
By the time he turned back toward the table, his expression had smoothed over, every trace of that sharp, dangerous edge carefully concealed beneath the same calm composure he always wore.
But Tara had seen enough.
Or at least—
He thought she hadn’t.
She straightened slightly as he approached, her gaze searching his face. “Everything okay?” she asked, her voice tentative, but edged with something else now.
Suspicion.
Aaryan pulled out his chair and sat down as though nothing had happened, adjusting his cuff with quiet precision. “Just work,” he replied smoothly.
Tara didn’t look convinced.
“Work?” she repeated, her brows knitting faintly. “You sounded…” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, “…serious.”
Aaryan’s lips curved slightly, a faint, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I am serious about my work.”
“That didn’t sound like university work,” she said before she could stop herself.
The words hung between them.
For a fraction of a second, something in his gaze sharpened.
Then softened just as quickly.
“You’re overthinking,” he said lightly, leaning back in his chair, his tone effortless, dismissive in the most gentle way. “It’s just administrative issues. Budgets, inventory, staff incompetence—nothing that should concern you.”
She hadn’t heard everything clearly—but she had heard enough.
Her fingers curled slightly against the table. “It didn’t sound like that,” she said quietly.
Aaryan studied her for a moment, his gaze steady, calculating.
Then, slowly, he leaned forward, his voice lowering—not sharp, not harsh, but firm enough to anchor her attention.
“Tara.”
He said warningly.
“You don’t need to worry about things that don’t involve you,” he continued, his tone softening, almost soothing now. “It was just a tense call. That’s all.”
“Look at me.”
She did, reluctantly.
His gaze held hers, steady, unwavering, leaving little room for doubt.
“Do I look worried?” he asked.
She hesitated.
“No…”
“Exactly.” His voice gentled, the faintest hint of a smile returning. “So neither should you be.”
The tension in her shoulders eased—just slightly.
Not gone.
But dulled.
Aaryan leaned back again, effortlessly reclaiming the atmosphere, as though the interruption had never happened. “Now,” he said smoothly, picking up his glass, “where were we?”
The night had deepened by the time they stepped out of the restaurant, the air cooler now, quieter, the city lights stretching endlessly around them. For a moment, everything felt suspended—like the world had softened after the intensity of the evening.
Aaryan opened the car door for her without a word.
Tara slipped inside, still wrapped in a faint haze of confusion she couldn’t quite name. Something about the dinner lingered—something unsettling beneath the calm.
He got into the driver’s seat, the engine humming to life beneath his control, smooth and steady—just like him.
Or at least, that’s what it seemed.
The drive began in silence.
Streetlights blurred past in long golden streaks, the quiet inside the car broken only by the low rhythm of the engine and the distant hum of the city. Tara leaned slightly against the seat, her fingers loosely intertwined in her lap, her mind still circling everything that had happened—the call, his tone, the way he had dismissed it.
She glanced at him, he looked… normal, composed and focused.
And yet—
Something felt off.
Then—
A sharp screech tore through the night.
A violent impact slammed into the side of the car, metal crashing against metal with a force that jolted everything out of place. Tara gasped, her body lurching forward before the seatbelt snapped her back.
“Sir—!”
The car skidded slightly before he regained control, his hands tightening around the wheel, his expression darkening instantly—not with shock.
But with recognition.
His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror.
“Stay inside,” he said sharply, his voice no longer calm—no longer controlled in the way she knew.
It was colder and dangerous.
Before she could even respond, he had already stepped out of the car.
“Sir, wait—!”
But he didn’t.
The other vehicle had stopped a few meters behind them, its headlights cutting harshly through the darkness. The driver’s door swung open, and a man stepped out—his posture careless, almost taunting.
That was all it took.
Aaryan moved toward him with a speed and purpose that sent a chill straight down Tara’s spine.
There was no hesitation.
No restraint.
He unleashed.
His fist collided with the man’s jaw with a sickening crack, the sound too sharp, too real in the empty street. The man’s head snapped to the side, his body sagging—but Aaryan didn’t let him fall. His fingers twisted tighter into his shirt, dragging him upright only to slam him back against the car again, metal denting under the impact.
Another punch.
This one harder.
Deliberate.
Like he wanted him to feel it.
Blood spilled from the man’s lip, streaking down his chin as he choked on a breath that wouldn’t come properly. His hands weakly tried to push Aaryan away, but it was useless—like trying to move a wall.
“You think this is funny?” Aaryan’s voice was low, lethal, every word edged with fury.
The man barely had time to react before the first punch landed.
Brutal and unforgiving, Tara froze.
Her breath caught somewhere in her throat as she watched it unfold—watched Aaryan strike him again, and again, each blow harder than the last. There was no rhythm to it, no control.
Only possessive rage, raw and violent.
“Aaryan—stop!” she cried, pushing the car door open, panic flooding her voice as she stumbled out. “Aaryan, please—!”
He didn’t hear her.
Or worse—
He didn’t care.
The man tried to fight back, but it was useless. Aaryan overpowered him easily, driving him back against the hood, his grip merciless as he struck him again, his knuckles splitting against bone.
“You don’t get to hurt what’s mine,” he spat, his voice shaking with something far darker than anger.
Mine.
The word rang in Tara’s ears, her chest tightened.
“Aaryan, you’re hurting him—stop!” she shouted, her voice breaking now as she rushed toward him, grabbing his arm.
For a second—He stilled. But when he turned to look at her—She stepped back.
Because the man in front of her didn’t look like the Aaryan she knew.
His eyes were wild, dark, something unhinged flickering beneath the surface. There was no softness.Just something violent, something terrifying that made her stomach drop.
“Tara, get back in the car,” he growled in barely contained rage.
She shook her head, fear gripping her tightly. “Stop it… please…”
Behind her, the man groaned weakly, barely conscious.
But Aaryan wasn’t done.
He turned back toward him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and dragging him up again, his grip unforgiving.
“You think you can send a message through her?” he growled, his voice dangerously quiet. “You think I won’t respond?”
His fist smashes against the man's face again, this time with a sick cracking sound of his nose and blood oozing out.
Sharper.
Crueler.
Tara's hands trembled at her sides, her heart pounding violently against her chest. “Aaryan, please—this isn’t you…”
But it was.
That was the worst part—It was him. Fully. Unmasked.
He didn’t stop until the man collapsed completely, his body going limp against the ground.
Heavy and disturbing silence fell.
Aaryan stood there for a moment, his chest rising and falling steadily, his knuckles bruised and stained. Then, slowly, as though nothing had happened—
He straightened and composed himself, turned back toward her. Tara instinctively took a step back and the movement didn't go unnoticed.
For a brief second, something flickered across his face—not guilt. Something closer to… irritation. Or perhaps disappointment.
“Tara—”
“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling, her eyes wide with fear.
That stopped him. The distance between them felt enormous now.She looked at him like she didn’t recognise him anymore; like he was a monster or something.
Tara’s breath came in shallow, uneven pulls as she stared at him—really stared, as though trying to reconcile the man in front of her with the one who had been sitting across from her minutes ago, speaking softly, watching her like she was something fragile.
This man was not that man.
There was blood on his knuckles, sleeves. In his eyes. And it terrified her.
She took another step back, her hands trembling at her sides. “Aaryan… I—”
He moved before she could finish. His hand closed around her wrist, firm, unyielding, yanking her toward him with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice low—but it wasn’t calm. It wasn’t controlled. It was sharp, frayed at the edges, like something barely holding itself together. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Her heart pounded violently as she tried to pull her hand free, but his grip only tightened.
“You’re hurting me—”
“I just protected you.”
The words came out harsher than intended, almost a snap, his jaw clenching as he stepped closer, closing whatever space she had tried to create between them.
“That car didn’t hit us by accident,” he continued, his voice rising slightly now, agitation bleeding through. “That wasn’t some random idiot on the road, Tara.”
She shook her head, panic clouding her thoughts. “That doesn’t—this doesn’t—”
“It has everything to do with it,” he cut in sharply.
His other hand—stained of blood came up, gripping her jaw, anchoring her in place as his eyes locked onto hers—dark, intense, almost burning.
“I stepped out of that car knowing exactly what that was,” he said, each word deliberate, heavy. “And you think I was just going to stand there and let it go?”
She flinched at the force in his voice.
“I was scared,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You—Aaryan, you wouldn’t stop…”
Something in his expression snapped at that.
“Of course I didn’t stop,” he said, a sharp, almost disbelieving laugh escaping him. “Why would I?”
Her breath hitched.
“Do you even hear yourself?” he continued, his tone turning colder, more unhinged with every second. “He had the audacity to attack me whilst I was with you in the car and you’re standing here telling me I should have what? Let him walk away?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“But you’re looking at me like I did something wrong.”
The accusation landed hard.
His grip tightened further, not enough to injure—but enough to remind her she wasn’t going anywhere.
“I did that for you,” he said, his voice dropping again, quieter now—but far more dangerous. “Every single hit, every second I didn’t stop—I did that because he hurt you.”
Her stomach twisted.
“That’s not—” she struggled, shaking her head weakly, “that’s not protection, Sir… that was—”
“What?” he demanded, leaning closer, his face inches from hers now. “Say it.”
She couldn’t, because whatever word she was about to use—It would shatter something.
His eyes searched her face, wild, restless, as though daring her to say it—daring her to confirm the very thing he refused to acknowledge.
When she didn’t, his grip shifted, his hand sliding up to her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“Look at me,” he said, softer this time—but the softness was wrong. Twisted. Possessive.
She had no choice.
Tears blurred her vision as her gaze met his.
“I’m the one who makes sure nothing touches you,” he continued, his voice lowering, almost a whisper now, but every word carved with intensity. “I’m the one who deals with things before they reach you.”
A shaky breath left her lips.
“And this—” he gestured vaguely toward the man lying motionless on the ground, “—this is what that looks like.”
Her chest tightened painfully.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he added, his tone suddenly firm, absolute. “You’re safe because of me.”
But she didn’t feel safe, not anymore and he saw that flicker of fear, the hesitation that was directed at him,
Something dark twisted inside his chest. After everything he had just done—For her.
“You’re scared of me,” he said, not as a question, but as a realisation—and it did not sit well with him.
Tara swallowed hard, unable to answer.
That was enough.
Aaryan let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair, pacing back a step before turning to look at her again, his expression tightening.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath.
Then louder—
“I step in, I handle it, I make sure you’re untouched—and this is what I get?”
There was no softness left now.
Only irritation.
“You think anyone else would do that for you?” he continued, his voice edged, almost mocking. “Kabir, maybe?” The name slipped out with quiet disdain. “Would he get out of that car and break someone’s bones for you?”
Tara flinched.
“Or would he just stand there and crack another joke?”
“That’s not fair—” she tried, her voice weak.
“No,” Aaryan cut in coldly, “what’s not fair is you standing here judging me for doing exactly what needed to be done.”
Silence fell between them, heavy and suffocating.
He stepped closer again, slower this time, his gaze locking onto hers with a chilling intensity.
“You don’t get to be scared of me,” he said quietly yet demandingly.
“Not when I’m the reason you’re standing here unharmed.”
Tara’s breath caught in her throat because in that moment—It didn’t feel like protection anymore.
It felt like something else entirely.
Something she couldn’t name—But deeply, instinctively feared.
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