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With one final, steadying breath, he releases me, turning to restart the engine.

“We’re going home.”

He starts the engine and guides us back toward the city, his voice calm yet firm as he calls Abhay to check on Veer. I steal glances at his profile, noting the tension in his jaw and the worry lines around his eyes. This man—he can switch from fierce protector to gentle caregiver in seconds and can drive like a madman to keep me safe, yet touches me like I’m made of glass. He’s becoming more than just my son’s father. And that realisation, more than my injuries and the terror of the chase, is what truly shocks me.

****************

My heart pounds as Vishnu brings the car to a stop in our residential tower’s parking lot. Before I can even fumble with my seatbelt, he’s already at my door, opening it with practiced ease. My breath catches in my throat as he leans in, his one arm sliding beneath my knees, the other supporting my back. Without a word, he lifts me effortlessly into his arms as if I weigh nothing.

“Sir!” The guards rush toward us, their faces filled with concern. One of them quickly takes Vishnu’s keys to lock the car, while the other hurries ahead to the elevator, speaking rapidly into his cordless phone. “Have the first aid kit ready upstairs,” I hear him say.

Instinctively, my fingers grip Vishnu’s grey t-shirt, curling into the soft fabric as I cling to him. His body is solid against mine, all hard muscle and strength. The familiar scent of his cologne fills my senses, making my head spin—or maybe that’s from my injury. Either way, I find myself drawing closer, almost burrowing into his chest.

As the elevator doors slide shut, I’m aware of every breath, every heartbeat between us. Although Vishnu’s eyes remain fixed on the digital display showing our ascent, the space around us shrinks with each passing second, intensifying the connection that pulses between us. His jaw is clenched tight, worry lines creasing his forehead. His breathing, though controlled now, betrays his concern. I know I should probably look away, but I can’t. This side of him, the one that’s so openly focused onmypain, onme—it’s leaving me breathless.

Every small movement of his arms as he adjusts his hold on me sends tingles through my body. The guard in the elevator with us keeps shooting worried glances our way, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is how Vishnu’s muscles flex beneath his shirt as he holds me, his heartbeat thundering against my ear where I rest against his chest.

The elevator doors slide open, and Abhay stands there, waiting on the other side. He walks with us to my apartment while briefing Vishnu on the current status.

“The team is still in pursuit of the masked man.”

“Get him,” Vishnu’s voice comes out as a growl, low and dangerous. “Don’t let him escape. He hurt her. He’s going to regret it.” The raw emotion in his voice makes me shiver. I’ve never heard him sound so... lethal.

Claire appears as we enter my apartment, her face pale with worry.

“Oh my God, Simran! What happened? Are you alright?”

Before I can even muster a response, Vishnu cuts in, his voice brooking no argument.

“The first aid kit, Claire. Now.”

She nods quickly and hurries off while Vishnu carries me to my bedroom. The gentleness with which he lays me on the bed, it’s almost enough to make me forget the tension I can feel radiating from his body. Claire returns almost immediately with the kit.

“Where’s Veer?” Vishnu asks Claire, not taking his eyes off me.

“In his nursery, playing,” Claire responds, hovering uncertainly.

“Stay with him,” he commands softly, taking the kit from her. Claire gives me one last worried look before leaving us alone.

I want to say something—anything—but words seem impossible right now. My throat feels tight, my mind too scattered. Vishnu rolls up his sleeves, and I nearly whimper at the sight of his tanned and muscular forearms. He leans in close to examine the bruise on my forehead, his expression tight with concern. His proximity makes my breath hitch.

His fingers are surprisingly gentle as they probe the injury, his face so close that I can see every single line on it—the slight furrow between his brows, the determined set of his mouth, and the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks as he concentrates. His unique scent envelops me completely, and I fight the urge to lean in closer.

“This might sting a little,” he murmurs, his breath fanning across my face as he begins to clean the wound. I barely register the pain, too caught up in watching him work. His touch is precise but tender, his entire being focused solely on taking care of me.

I’ve never felt so cherished, so protected, ever in my life. My control is slipping away with every passing second, every gentle touch, and every worried glance he casts my way. I can barely breathe as he tends to my wounds. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“Are you okay?” He pauses, studying my face. “Is it hurting too much?”

When I don’t respond, can’t respond, his voice grows softer, more urgent.

“I know whatever happened today out there has shocked you, Simran. You don’t have to put on a brave face.” His fingers still against my skin as he pleads, “Just say something. Anything.”

The raw worry in his voice breaks something inside me—the impenetrable walls I’ve built around myself over the years.

“You are right,” I finally whisper, my voice trembling as I continue. “I am shocked. But not because of the incident.”

He watches me, a slight frown pulling at his brows.