A Night of Reckoning

Within moments, Devansh's pristine night suit, worth a fortune, was ruined—soaked in Anesha's vomit.

He shifted his gaze from Anesha's face to his now stained attire, his expression unreadable.

For Anesha, however, that exclusive, handcrafted night suit had become nothing more than a luxurious dustbin, where she emptied herself without restraint.

With surprising gentleness, Devansh gathered her disheveled hair, holding it back from her delicate neck. It was as if he wasn't just allowing her to use him as her disposal but was helping her do it with ease.

When she had expelled everything—every morsel consumed during the day—Anesha finally settled down.

Yet, she didn't wake. Unfazed by the mess she had created, she slept as soundly as a child, completely unbothered by the lingering stench of vomit.

Devansh observed her swollen face, its puffiness a result of her relentless heaving. Strangely, it only made her small, delicate features appear more enchanting.

He was no stranger to this side of her. He'd seen her like this countless times and was perhaps the only person capable of handling her in such a state.

Once intoxicated, Anesha was a force beyond anyone's control—except his.

As his cold eyes swept over the ruined night suit, the soiled floor, and the king-size bed now bearing the marks of her chaos, there wasn't a flicker of disgust on his face.

Instead of frustration or irritation, his demeanor remained composed. He seemed as though he were quietly bracing himself for the next inevitable episode.

And as if on cue, Anesha suddenly stirred, sitting upright with an abruptness that caught him off guard. Before he could react, another torrent escaped her lips, drenching his handsome face and neck in its entirety.

This time, Devansh was prepared. He covered his mouth with one hand and shut his eyes tightly, weathering her assault with stoic patience.

In that moment, he resembled a loyal, albeit reluctant guardian—one bound by his own unspoken vows to protect her, no matter how undignified the circumstances.

As Anesha collapsed back onto the bed, the sound of her soft, unconscious murmurs reached his ears.

Slowly, Devansh opened his eyes, wiping his face clean with the back of his hand. His expression remained impassive, unmarred by any trace of anger.

His concern was evident—not for himself, but for the fragile woman before him.

Gently, he lifted her into his arms, cradling her like something precious and fragile.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "Are you okay?"

"Mmh... yes... no... I don't know," she slurred, her words barely audible as sleep and intoxication dulled her senses.

Realizing she was still far from coherent, he didn't press further. There was no point in reasoning with her now.

Carrying her into the bathroom, Devansh set about cleaning her with meticulous care. He washed away every trace of the night's chaos, his hands moving with a tenderness that belied his otherwise unyielding persona.

Once he had settled her into a tub of warm water, ensuring she was comfortable, he turned his attention to himself.

The cool water from the shower cascaded over him, cleansing him of the mess. But as he leaned against the transparent glass wall, his gaze lingered on Anesha's sleeping form.

She looked utterly vulnerable, her face serene despite the turmoil she had caused.

A sudden wave of regret surged through him, piercing the wall of ice he had built around his emotions.

"Why did I ever let this girl go?"

The question echoed in his mind, each word striking a nerve.

His jaw tightened as he exhaled sharply, his fists clenching against the glass.

A dangerous glint appeared in his eyes as he whispered to himself, "Ronit Mehta... what you did to my sweetheart wasn't just wrong. You'll pay for it—dearly."

After dressing himself in a fresh, black silk night suit and wrapping Anesha in a soft bathrobe, he carried her back to the bedroom.

By the time they returned, the room was spotless. The faint aroma of a soothing room freshener lingered, masking any remnants of the earlier chaos.

After ensuring Anesha was fed and comfortably tucked into bed, Devansh stepped out onto the balcony.

The night air was cool, and a faint mist hovered over the city.

Placing a thick, dark cigar between his lips, he lit it with practiced ease. Leaning against the railing, he took a deep drag, his sharp features framed by the glow of the ember.

His gaze drifted back to the woman sleeping soundly in his bed. His cold, enigmatic eyes, always veiling countless secrets, softened momentarily.

The smoke curled around him, adding to the air of mystery that seemed to define him.

After finishing the cigar, Devansh extinguished it beneath his foot and returned to the room.

He lay down beside Anesha, pulling her close as sleep finally claimed him.

The next morning—

Golden sunlight filtered into the room, casting warm hues over its luxurious interior.

Anesha stirred, her brows furrowing as the light kissed her face.

She instinctively reached for a cushion, burying her face into its softness to shield herself from the intrusive brightness.

A deep, familiar voice broke the silence. "Good morning, Sweetheart."

She froze, her mind slowly processing the words before peeking out from behind the cushion.

Her half-asleep gaze met Devansh's masked face, and a soft smile curved her lips.

Reaching out, she brushed her fingertips against the mask, her voice still tinged with sleep. "Very good morning, Dev."

With that, she nestled back into the cushion, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing within herself.

But in the next moment, realization struck her like lightning.

Sitting bolt upright, she stared at Devansh with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"D-Dev?!"

Her stammering voice, the flutter of her lashes, and the shock written across her face made it clear—she had just begun to comprehend the gravity of her situation.

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What will happen next?

To know…

To be continued...