This morning, I wake up with a dull, persistent ache in my stomach. It takes me a moment to register what it is, but then the realization hits me-I've got my periods. A wave of discomfort washes over me, making my body feel heavy and sluggish.
I slowly lift myself from the bed, the pain in my lower abdomen intensifying with each movement. I pause, trying to steady my breath, before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The room is quiet, eerily so. There's no sound except the faint hum of the air conditioning. The bed feels too warm now that I'm sitting on the edge, so I stand and make my way to the bathroom.
As I step across the cool floor, I feel the heaviness of the moment. It's like the world outside has stopped, and I'm trapped in this bubble of discomfort, but also, in some strange way, solitude.
The washroom door creaks slightly as I push it open. I flip the light switch, the soft glow illuminating the space around me. I glance at my reflection in the mirror-tired eyes, flushed skin, and that dull ache that refuses to fade. I gently touch my abdomen, trying to calm the cramping sensation that's spreading.
I move to the sink, splashing my face with cold water in an attempt to freshen up, but even the chill doesn't seem to lift the weight I feel. Everything feels heavier today-my body, my mind, the quiet in the room, all of it.
Taking a deep breath, I try to steady myself, hoping the discomfort will subside as I prepare for the day ahead. It's always like this, isn't it? A constant reminder of my own vulnerability, but also of how much I have to endure on my own.
After freshening up, I change into a traditional dress, the soft fabric draping over my body in a way that feels foreign, yet comforting. I can't help but notice how the fabric clings just a little too tightly today, perhaps because of the dull ache in my abdomen. But I push the discomfort aside and step into the hallway.
The mansion is unusually quiet, a silence that seems almost too heavy. My steps echo faintly against the marble floor as I make my way down the corridor, careful not to make any noise that would give away my presence.
As I approach the gym area, I hear his voice-low, controlled, but unmistakable. It's hard to make out the words, but it's clear he's talking to someone, maybe on the phone. His tone is sharp, authoritative, as always. I can't stop myself from wondering if it's one of his business calls or something more personal.
I halt for a moment, standing at the edge of the hallway, unsure whether to continue. But then the familiar sound of weights clanging, of movement, reaches my ears. Maybe he's in the gym, like he often is when he needs to clear his mind. His own personal sanctuary. I can already picture him-muscles taut, sweat gleaming on his skin, commanding attention even without words.
The thought of seeing him again makes my heart skip a beat, but I quickly remind myself of my resolve. I hate him. I hate the way he manipulates everything around him, the way he makes me feel like I'm just a part of his plan, a pawn in a game that I never agreed to play.
So, I keep walking, my pace slow and deliberate, making sure not to acknowledge his presence. I won't let him see me. Not today. Not when I'm feeling this weak. The ache in my body is a constant reminder of how small I feel in this moment, how much I want to retreat into myself and forget everything that's happened.
But even as I walk away, part of me wonders if he knows I'm here, if he can sense me just beyond his reach, as if he's always watching, always waiting. The thought makes my skin prickle, but I shake it off. I won't let him have that power over me.
As I step outside, my eyes unconsciously drift towards the gym, and there he is.
Shiv ji...
Ashtram. Shirtless. The sight of him makes my heart race, despite the dull ache in my lower abdomen. He's working out, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing with every movement. Sweat drips down his body, and his toned abs glisten under the light. His focus is sharp, and the way his body moves-effortless, powerful-has me frozen in place for a moment.
Haaye yai, mere patidev kamal toh hai!
Wait. What am I even thinking?
I slap my forehead, a rush of irritation washing over me. Chi chi... What is wrong with me? He's the last person I should be admiring right now. He's been controlling, distant, cold. Yet here I am, standing like an idiot, completely mesmerized by his muscular physique. My body is betraying me, just like always.
Aggghh! My hormones, it must be the damn periods!
I roll my eyes at myself, trying to shake off the overwhelming urge to appreciate his... perfection. But, no matter how much I try to look away, I can't stop my gaze from wandering back to him. That magnetic pull, I hate it.
I hate that he has this effect on me. And I hate that despite everything, part of me still finds myself wanting to care.
I quickly turn around, refusing to let myself get lost in thoughts of him any longer. What's done is done. He doesn't care about me. Not really.
But Shiv ji, when he looks like that, it's like my resolve is crumbling.
When I feel her presence, the unmistakable energy of my Angel filling the air, I immediately cut the call, not wanting anything else to distract me. I act like I'm fully engrossed in my workout, pushing weights as if I have no other thought in my mind.
But the truth? I know she's watching me. Oh, so my Jaan is eyeing her husband, huh? Not bad, baby. Let's make this act last a little longer.
I can practically feel her gaze on me, even without looking directly at her. It makes my pulse quicken. There's something exhilarating about knowing she's paying attention, even when she tries to hide it. The way she bites her lip, the faintest sigh escaping her... She can't resist me.
But then, I notice the slight movement. She turns, her intention clear: she's about to walk away.
That's when I speak, my voice low and commanding.
"Stop, Wifey."
Her body freezes. The shock in her eyes is clear even from the back.
Got her.
With a smirk playing on my lips, I walk towards her, my steps deliberate, my eyes locked onto hers. "Where are you going, hm? You were liking what you see, huh, Jaan?" I tease, my tone dripping with playful confidence.
She glares at me, clearly irritated. "Shut up," she snaps, her words sharp, but there's something about her that makes me chuckle softly, despite the tension.
But as I take in the sight of her, something's different today. Her face is pale, almost drained of color. A subtle flicker of concern passes through me.
My gaze softens as I step closer, closing the distance between us. Her discomfort hits me harder than I expect. No matter how much she might hate me, I can't stand to see her in pain, especially when she's hiding it so well.
I softly reach for her hand, my fingers brushing against her skin, careful, gentle. "My Jaan shouldn't have any discomfort," I murmur, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
I want her to be comfortable. Every second, every minute, no matter what happens between us. Even if she doesn't love me, even if she resents me, I need her to feel at ease. That's my promise to her.
She pulls her hand away from mine, her face set with a stubborn expression, and I feel the shift as she refuses me, taking a step back. "Don't come any closer," she mutters, her voice laced with anger and frustration. She turns away, her back to me, as if trying to escape the connection we just shared.
I watch her walk away, but something catches my attention. She's holding her lower abdomen with one hand, almost protectively.
Wait.
I glance at the calendar on my phone, my mind racing. The dates match up-she's due.
It's that time...
My heart clenches as I realize what's happening. My Queen, my Niranya, is in pain. Despite everything, despite how much she hates me, she's still mine. And I won't stand by and watch her suffer.
I turn around, my resolve strengthening.
No, I won't let you be in pain, Angel.
Without a second thought, I storm towards the kitchen, the servants' startled faces flashing as I pass by them. They freeze, unsure of what to do when I step inside. My voice is cold but direct.
"Out. Now."
Their eyes widen, but they don't question me. Within seconds, the kitchen is empty, leaving me with nothing but the space to work my plan. I pull open the cabinets, grabbing ingredients with precision. My focus is sharp-this time, I'm not just the Mafia King; I'm her husband, and I'll do whatever it takes to make her feel better.
She loves pizza. I know exactly how she likes it-fresh, cheesy, with just the right amount of toppings. But today, I'm not stopping there. Her favorite dark chocolate pastry. The one I've seen her devour without a second thought when she's happy, even if it's just a fleeting moment.
I'm not doing this to make her smile. I'm doing this because I need to make her feel cared for. Despite everything, despite the hate she carries in her heart for me, she's still my Queen, and no pain, no bitterness will change that.
With everything set, I move with purpose, the smell of fresh ingredients filling the air. My Jaan won't suffer today, not if I can help it.
I call one of the female maids over, my tone sharp and commanding.
"Take this hot bag to her room. And be quick about it."
The maid nods nervously and scurries off, while I continue my task, focusing on the pizza dough as if it's the only thing that matters. But in the back of my mind, I can't shake the image of Niranya, her face pale, her discomfort lingering in the air.
My thoughts are on her constantly now. Even though she may never admit it, I know her body language, her subtle cues. She's not fooling me-she's trying to ignore the pain, trying to stay distant, but I can feel it.
Once the pizza is in the oven and the pastry is cooling, I take a moment to breathe. My mind races. How can I help her feel better? How can I take away her pain, her anger, her resentment for me?
I glance toward the door, knowing she's in her room, maybe still trying to deal with her discomfort on her own. It's time to step up. My Jaan doesn't have to carry this burden alone. Not when I'm here.
I know if I take the plate to her myself, she'll likely get angry and refuse to eat it. She's stubborn, and right now, I don't want her to be angry.
So I make a decision.
I hand the plate of pizza and dark chocolate pastry to one of the female maids, my voice firm and commanding.
"Take this to her room, and make sure you don't tell her it's from me. Let her think it's from you or the other maids."
The maid nods obediently, not daring to question my instructions. I watch her leave the kitchen, carrying the plate carefully, as if it's the most precious thing in the world.
Now, I can only wait and hope that my Jaan eats it, that she allows herself to feel better, even if it means she doesn't acknowledge me in the process. I just want her to be at peace, to not suffer in silence. Whatever it takes, I'll make sure she's okay.
The maid enters the room, carefully holding the plate with the pizza and dark chocolate pastry. As she places it on the bedside table, Niranya's face lights up. The faintest smile curves her lips as her eyes fall on the food.
The maid, noticing her reaction, gently says, "We made this for you, ma'am. We hope you like it."
Niranya looks up at her, a touch of surprise in her expression but no words leaving her lips. She reaches for the plate and takes in the sight of the food, her fingers brushing the warm crust of the pizza, and the rich, tempting chocolate pastry. It's clear that despite her stubbornness, the thoughtfulness behind the gesture softens her heart just a little.
Unbeknownst to her, Ashtram is standing outside the room, just within earshot, his eyes locked on his wife's every move. From his hidden position, he watches her smile, even if it's brief, and feels a sense of relief wash over him. His Angel, his Jaan, is finally smiling, even if only for a moment. That smile is everything to him. It makes every sacrifice, every effort worth it.
Ashtram's heart swells with a sense of pride, even though she has no idea he's behind this small act of care. As he stands there, hidden from view, he whispers under his breath, "Eat, my love... I just want you to feel better."
He watches her, unable to stop himself from feeling the depth of his obsession, but it's not only obsession anymore. It's love. Unconditional, selfless love.
Ashtram's fingers tighten around his phone as he dials Vedant's number. His voice, usually calm and collected, carries a trace of determination as he speaks.
"Ved, cancel all my meetings today. I'm not going to the office," Ashtram orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.
He listens for a moment as Vedant acknowledges the command. A sense of satisfaction settles in his chest. His focus is entirely on Niranya today. Nothing-nothing-is more important than her comfort.
He ends the call and stands there, outside her door, still watching her. His heart races with a mix of concern and love, the overwhelming need to ensure she is taken care of consuming him.
Without a word, he again heads toward the kitchen, his footsteps soft but resolute. His hands move with familiar ease as he gathers the ingredients: fresh ginger, cinnamon sticks, and honey. He doesn't need to think about it; his mind already knows exactly what she needs. The calming warmth of the tea will be enough to soothe her aching body, if only for a while.
As the water heats on the stove, Ashtram lets his thoughts wander for a moment. He knows Niranya would never openly accept something from him right now. Her pride would never allow it. But this, this is different. It's not about her rejecting him. It's about her finding a sense of peace in the simplest of gestures, ones that require no explanation, no acknowledgment from her.
He cuts the ginger into delicate slices, the sharp scent filling the room as the water reaches a gentle boil. Ashtram watches, making sure the temperature is perfect. He's meticulous, as always. The cinnamon, the ginger, and the honey mix together in harmony, creating the perfect tea to calm her discomfort. This is something only he knows how to do for her.
With the tea prepared, Ashtram arranges the tray with careful attention to detail. He adds a small dish of dried fruit-something light and healthy for her to nibble on if she wishes. No heavy meals today. She'll need rest, not a feast. He places the tray on a small serving table and stands back for a moment, letting his eyes fall on the scene he's created.
The act feels strangely fulfilling, even though he's done all of it without any words exchanged, without her even knowing he's done it. He is the shadow she never knew she needed, silently weaving comfort into her world.
With the tray in hand, he exits the kitchen, quietly making his way down the hallway. Ashtram pauses outside her door for just a moment, feeling the weight of the silence. He knows this is what she needs now-no grand gestures, no heated confrontations. Just the quiet care of a man who knows her better than she realizes.
He turns and gives the tray to one of the maids, his voice low but firm. "Take this to her, and make sure she drinks it. Tell her it's for her well-being. Nothing more."
The maid nods, not asking questions, and disappears down the hall. Ashtram remains in the shadows, watching from a distance, allowing Niranya to receive his care in the way he knows she'll accept it-without confrontation, without resistance.
He watches as the maid enters Niranya's room, setting the tray down with gentle hands. Ashtram doesn't need to be seen to know that she'll drink the tea, that she'll feel the warmth and comfort of it. He doesn't need her thanks.
For now, all he can do is watch, wait, and ensure she feels the love he's silently giving her, even without her knowing it.
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