An undefined comfort

The luxury SUV glided smoothly along the highway, cutting through the early morning mist. The air was cool, the scent of damp earth lingering after last night's rain. Inside the vehicle, the atmosphere was anything but calm.

Ranvijay and Myra sat in the back seat, an unspoken tension crackling between them. The space between them felt both too much and not enough.

Myra kept her hands folded in her lap, staring out the window, trying to pretend he wasn't there. But she could feel him—his steady presence, his unwavering gaze.

She hated it. Hated the way he made her feel watched, as if he could see past the walls she had built around herself.

"You're quiet," Ranvijay finally said.

She didn't answer.

His jaw ticked. "Ignoring me won't change anything."

Myra clenched her fists, her nails pressing into her palms. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

She let out a sharp breath, turning to face him. "The truth? Fine. I hate this. I hate being dragged away like a prisoner. I hate that you think you have the right to decide my life for me."

Ranvijay's gaze darkened. "I'm keeping you safe."

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Safe? You mean locked away again? Just like before?"

His expression hardened. "That's not the same, and you know it."

She shook her head, looking away. She refused to argue with him. It was pointless. He would never understand what it felt like—to be caged for so long that freedom felt foreign.

Ranvijay exhaled sharply, leaning back. "You think you were free before? You weren't. You were a prisoner in that house, Myra. And if I hadn't taken you, you'd still be living in that hell."

Myra's throat tightened. "Maybe that was my choice to make."

His grip tightened on his knee, his patience fraying. "No, it wasn't."

Before she could snap back, the car suddenly jerked.

The driver cursed, gripping the wheel as the SUV swerved.

"What the—" Ranvijay's body tensed as the vehicle skidded slightly before coming to a sharp stop.

A black Jeep blocked the road ahead, its tires screeching against the asphalt. Before Myra could process what was happening, the doors of the Jeep flung open, and three men stepped out—faces partially covered, eyes glinting with intent.

Ranvijay's entire demeanor shifted. Gone was the heated frustration—his expression turned unreadable, cold.

"Stay inside," he ordered, his voice like steel.

The driver swallowed hard. "Rajkumar, I—"

"Drive back," Ranvijay ordered.

But before the driver could shift gears, another vehicle appeared behind them, blocking their retreat.

A trap.

Myra's heartbeat thundered. "Who—"

Ranvijay pulled out a gun from beneath his vest, his movements precise, controlled. "Don't move," he murmured, his hand gripping the handle.

One of the masked men stepped forward, a smirk visible beneath his half-covered face. "Rajkumar Ranvijay," he drawled. "Going somewhere?"

Ranvijay didn't reply. He simply pushed Myra slightly behind him, shielding her without a word.

The man's gaze flickered to her. His smirk widened. "Ah. And the princess."

Myra stiffened.

Ranvijay's jaw flexed, his grip on the gun tightening. "You have five seconds to step away."

The man laughed. "Or what? You'll shoot?"

A pause. Then—

Bang.

The man barely had time to react before a bullet whizzed past his ear, embedding itself into the ground beside him. He flinched, his smirk vanishing.

Ranvijay's expression remained blank. "Four seconds."

Tension snapped through the air like a whip.

One of the other men reached for something—Ranvijay didn't wait. He moved in a blur, firing twice. One of them collapsed with a sharp cry.

Chaos erupted.

The driver ducked as bullets shattered the side mirror. Myra's breath caught as Ranvijay pushed her down, covering her body with his as the windshield cracked under impact.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. She had never seen this side of him—not this raw, ruthless precision.

He was deadly.

And he was protecting her.

"Stay down," he ordered, his voice rough as he lifted his gun again. Another shot fired. A second man went down.

The third hesitated. Then, realizing he was outmatched, he cursed under his breath, retreating toward the Jeep.

The moment the car doors slammed shut, the vehicle peeled away, disappearing into the distance.

The night air was thick with tension, the scent of gunpowder still lingering as the second man fell, a sharp cry escaping his lips before silence swallowed the road again.

For a moment, there was nothing but the distant rustling of trees and the slow, deliberate sound of Ranvijay lowering his gun.

Then, from the shadows, figures emerged.

Dressed entirely in black, the bodyguards moved with silent precision, surrounding Ranvijay and Myra. Their presence was commanding—trained, lethal. They hadn't interfered earlier, waiting for his command, but now they formed a wall, ensuring no further threat remained.

One of them stepped forward. "Rajkumar, we should leave. The area isn't secure."

Ranvijay didn't look at him. His gaze was on Myra.

She was trembling.

Her breaths came too fast, her fingers clutching the fabric of her dress with a grip so tight her knuckles turned white. Her eyes—wide, unfocused—darted between the fallen bodies and the gun in his hand.

"Rajkumar—"

"Get rid of them," Ranvijay ordered, his voice deadly calm, referring to the attackers' bodies. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the car, pulling the door open.

But Myra didn't move.

"Myra," his voice softened, but she remained frozen, her entire body stiff.

It was only when he touched her wrist that she gasped—flinched—as if waking from a nightmare.

"No—no, no," she whispered, shaking her head, pressing herself against the car seat, her breathing uneven.

Ranvijay cursed under his breath.

He had seen her break before, seen her flinch at her stepmother's presence, seen the scars—both the ones she wore and the ones she hid. But this—this was different.

She wasn't just afraid.

She was unraveling.

Violence. It triggered something in her.

A panic attack.

"Myra," he murmured, his voice deep but gentle, coaxing.

She didn't respond, her breaths shallow and erratic.

Damn it.

Without hesitation, he slid into the back seat beside her, pulling her close. She struggled weakly, her body still rigid, but he didn't let go.

"Myra," he whispered against her hair. "You're safe."

She didn't react.

He exhaled sharply, then shifted, his hands strong yet careful as he lifted her onto his lap.

She tensed. "No—"

"Shh," he murmured, one hand pressing against her back, the other sliding to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her soft curls. "Breathe, sweetheart."

Her body trembled against his, her chest rising and falling unevenly.

Ranvijay tightened his arms around her, his warmth cocooning her small frame. He tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against her temple, a soft, lingering touch meant to anchor her. "I've got you."

She let out a choked breath, her fists clutching his shirt now instead of her dress.

"That's it," he murmured. "Just hold on to me."

Slowly, her gasps turned into shaky breaths, her fingers loosening, her body no longer as tense.

Ranvijay continued murmuring against her skin, his voice low, reassuring. "Nothing can touch you, Myra. Not while you're with me."

Her lashes fluttered. "You—"

"I'm here," he promised. "Always."

A single tear slipped down her cheek, disappearing into his shirt.

She didn't fight him anymore.

Instead, she curled against him, her head resting in the crook of his neck, exhaustion weighing her down. His scent—earthy, warm, undeniably him—wrapped around her like a protective shield.

And finally, for the first time that night, Myra closed her eyes.

Ranvijay glanced down at her, watching as her breathing evened out, her body relaxing against his.

She had fallen asleep.

A slow exhale left his lips.

He wasn't letting go. Not now. Not ever.

As the car sped toward Rajgarh, Ranvijay tightened his hold on her, his fingers brushing against the kala dhaaga around her ankle.

She was his.

And he would destroy anyone who tried to take her away.