The night blanketed the palace of Rajgarh as we finally returned, the grandeur of my ancestral home standing tall and timeless amidst the darkness. Yet, for the first time, its magnificence felt hollow. The weight of what had transpired clung to me like a shadow, but all I cared about was her. Niranya, My Angel.

I guided her upstairs to our room, her fragile form trembling under the burden of her grief. She had been silent for most of the journey back, her eyes distant, reflecting the storm raging within her. Gently, I made her sit on the edge of the bed, her delicate fingers clutching the saree draped around her as if it were her last shield. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line as tears threatened to spill from her reddened eyes.

“They’re gone because of me…” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her guilt. “If only I hadn’t—”

“No,” I interrupted, kneeling before her, my hands cupping her face. “Jaan, stop. None of this is your fault. Karan’s hatred and vengeance were his own, not something you caused.”

Her tears spilled over, running down her cheeks like a silent confession of pain. I wiped them away with trembling fingers, my own heart breaking at the sight of her suffering. She shook her head, unable to accept my words, lost in her guilt.

“I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve—”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for the actions of monsters,” I cut her off, my voice firm but filled with a tenderness I reserved only for her. “Your parents loved you, Angel. They would never want you to carry this guilt. They’d want you to live.”

Her sobs grew quieter, but the pain in her eyes didn’t diminish. I hated how powerless I felt. For someone who had spent centuries commanding armies, ruling empires, and striking fear into the hearts of men, I now felt utterly helpless in the face of her sorrow.

I sat beside her, brushing strands of hair from her tear-streaked face. Her jewels glimmered faintly in the dim light, remnants of our remarriage earlier that day—a union forged out of desperation, love, and an unspoken promise to protect her. The sight of them felt jarring against the grief she bore.

“Jaan,” I said softly, my voice a mere whisper. “Let me help you. Please.”

She looked at me, her teary eyes searching mine for something—comfort, absolution, maybe just a reason to keep breathing. After a long moment, she gave a small nod, a fragile sign of trust that made my heart ache.

Carefully, I reached for her jewelry, unclasping the necklace that had once adorned her with pride but now felt like a burden. My fingers worked gently, removing the earrings, the bangles, and the anklets that jingled faintly with every move. Each piece I took off felt like shedding a layer of her pain, a small step toward lightening the weight she carried.

When I was done, I hesitated. The saree she wore was stained with the day’s events, the memories of pain etched into its fabric. I looked into her eyes, silently seeking her permission.

“May I?” I asked, my voice gentle but steady.

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her trust in me evident despite the anguish clouding her features.

With utmost care, I untied the saree, my fingers brushing against her skin as I removed the delicate fabric. Her vulnerability struck me like a blow, but I forced myself to remain composed, to focus on her comfort rather than the turmoil in my chest. Once the saree was removed, I reached for a soft, comfortable dress I had placed nearby.

Sliding the dress over her, I ensured it fit loosely, offering her the comfort and ease she desperately needed. Once she was dressed, I tucked the blankets around her, cocooning her in warmth.

I sat beside her, my hand resting on hers as I whispered, “You’re safe now, Angel. I’ll protect you, always.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, her breathing uneven as sleep claimed her, but the frown on her face remained. I stayed there, watching her, silently vowing to take on every pain, every sorrow, every threat that dared to come her way. She had suffered enough. Now, it was my turn to bear the weight of her world.

Morning sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains of our room, casting a soft golden glow on the walls. My eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the warmth of the light, but the first thing I noticed was the emptiness beside me. Ashtram wasn’t there.

A pang of unease gripped my heart as I pushed myself up on the bed. My feet still throbbed from the burns, the memory of that night flashing through my mind like a cruel reminder of everything we had endured. I carefully swung my legs over the edge of the bed, trying to stand despite the sharp pain.

But before I could take a single step, his voice stopped me. “Jaan, what do you think you’re doing?”

My head snapped toward the door, and there he was—Ashtram, my husband, my everything—standing with a small bowl in his hands, a faint frown on his face. His blue eyes, dark and intense, softened as they met mine.

“don't move until your feet heal,” he said firmly, walking toward me.

“But—” I started, only to be cut off by the gentle but unyielding authority in his tone.

“No arguments, Jaan,” he said, setting the bowl down on the bedside table. He knelt before me, his gaze briefly dropping to my injured feet. The sight of him, my Mafia King, lowering himself so effortlessly, so naturally for me, made my throat tighten with emotion.

“Your feet are burned. You need to rest,” he murmured, reaching for the remedies he had brought. His touch was careful, reverent, as he began applying the soothing mixture to my skin.

I bit my lip, watching him in silence. My heart swelled with gratitude and love, but guilt crept in too. “Ash,” I whispered, “your feet are burned too. Why are you only worrying about me?”

He glanced up at me, his lips curving into a soft, almost teasing smile. “Because I’m your husband, and this is my devotion to you,” he said, his voice laced with tenderness.

“But you’re hurt,” I insisted, my eyes welling up.

“I’m a Mafia King, Jaan,” he replied, his tone steady and unshakable. “I’ve been through worse than this. Pain is nothing new to me. But this burn…” He paused, his gaze flickering to the faint marks on his feet. “This burn is my devotion to you, a small sacrifice for the love of my life. So don’t worry about me. Let me take care of you.”

His words, so simple yet so profound, left me speechless. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and I silently thanked Shiv Ji for blessing me with him. How did I get so lucky?

I watched as he worked with care, his hands steady, his expression soft yet focused. Despite everything—his power, his title, the darkness he carried—he always found a way to make me feel cherished, protected, and loved.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice trembling.

“For what?” he asked, glancing up at me with a knowing smile.

“For being you. For being my husband.”

He shook his head lightly, that smile still tugging at his lips as he finished tending to my burns. “You don’t need to thank me, Angel. It’s my duty, my privilege to love you.”

My heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, I forgot about the pain in my feet, the chaos of our lives, and the grief lingering in the corners of my mind. All I could see was him—my Ash, my husband, my protector.

Before I could say anything else, Ashtram leaned forward and gently scooped me up in his arms. His movements were effortless, as if I weighed nothing to him.

“What are you doing?” I asked softly, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

He smirked, that signature smirk that always made my heart race. “Taking you to the bathroom. You’re not walking until your feet heal, remember?”

I looked up at his face, admiring the sharp lines of his jaw, the softness in his eyes that only I got to see. He carried me as though I were the most precious thing in the world, his protective hold making me feel safe in ways words never could.

As he walked, the steady rhythm of his steps calming me, I couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t just his strength or his care—it was the way he always put me first, the way he loved me so deeply, so completely, despite all the darkness that surrounded us.

Without thinking, I tilted my head up and caught his gaze. His eyes briefly flickered down to me, curiosity and affection swirling in their depths. In that moment, overwhelmed by love, I did something I hadn’t planned.

I leaned up and pressed my lips to his, catching him off guard.

His steps faltered for just a moment, but his arms tightened around me, holding me closer. He responded almost instantly, his lips moving against mine with a passion that made my breath hitch. The world around us seemed to blur, and all I could feel was him—the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his kiss, and the overwhelming love that bound us together.

The moment her lips touched mine, my entire world shifted. Everything around me blurred into nothingness, and it was just her, just the softness of her mouth against mine, igniting a fire I didn’t know I still had inside me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—my senses were consumed by her.

She kissed me like it was the only thing that mattered, and for a fleeting second, it felt like it was. Her lips were delicate, yet there was an undeniable strength behind them, a silent message that said I’m here—with you, for you, always. The gentleness of her kiss quickly transformed, as if she, too, couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions she had kept buried for so long.

My heart raced, erratic, pounding in my chest, and I couldn’t stop myself from tightening my grip around her. I wanted to lose myself in this moment, to let it wash away every wound, every scar I had carried for two centuries. Niranya was the only one who had the power to do that—she had always been my salvation, the key to unlocking the broken parts of me.

Her hands slid up to my neck, pulling me deeper into the kiss, and I felt a surge of possessiveness like nothing I had ever felt before. This woman—my wife, my Niranya—was mine, and the thought of anyone else touching her, having a part of her, sent a wave of primal need through me.

The endless darkness that had followed me all these years, didn’t matter anymore. The world outside—my title, my power, my past—all of it was forgotten in the warmth of her touch. She is my light, my reason to fight against the curse that had bound me for centuries.

When we broke apart, gasping for air, I held her against me, my heart still beating erratically in my chest. Her breath was as uneven as mine, her eyes still closed as if she were lost in the same storm of emotions that had just swept through me.

“Jaan,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, my hand brushing the strands of hair from her face. “You’re dangerous sometimes.”

She opened her eyes then, a teasing glint in them, and I couldn’t help but smile, despite the storm still raging inside me. “Dangerous?” she whispered back, her lips curling into that soft smile I had come to crave. “How?”

I could only laugh softly, a breathless sound filled with wonder and affection. “You make me feel things I thought I had buried long ago. You make me feel alive in ways I don’t understand.”

Her smile deepened, and she pressed her forehead against mine, her warmth enveloping me. “Then, maybe it’s a good thing.”

I nodded, my hands tracing the curve of her back, pulling her even closer as though I could keep her within me forever. “I didn’t know I needed you like this. You... you are my strength, Angel. My heart. My everything.”

She wrapped her arms around my neck, as if the world didn’t exist beyond the two of us. “And you’re mine, Ash,” she whispered softly, and in that moment, I felt the truth of her words settle deep within me.

She is mine. And I am hers. Nothing else mattered.

I kissed her forehead gently, my thumb brushing over her cheek, savoring the softness of her skin. “You are my home, Jaan,” I murmured. “You always have been.”

And as I held her close, the world outside might as well have ceased to exist, because in this moment, all that mattered is us. Her and I—bound by love, by devotion, by something stronger than anything life or fate could throw at us.