41. A Father's fury

Aryan's POV

I'm still holding her. My hand pressed against her back, feeling each shallow breath, waiting—begging—for her to come back to me.

I don't know how long I sit there. Time feels like it's stopped. Like the world paused just to watch this moment break me.

And then I hear the footsteps.

Heavy. Sharp. Unforgiving.

Ratan.

I don't even have time to stand before he's there, eyes locking onto us like a hawk.

"Aarohi," he breathes, storm swirling in his voice.

He strides forward, and I instinctively shift, shielding her with my arm.

"I wasn't going to hurt her," I say, steady but firm.

He doesn't answer me. Not at first. His eyes are only on her—then slowly, they move to me.

"You shouldn't be here," he says coldly.

"She needed me."

"She needs control, not you."

His words sting sharper than I expect. But I don't flinch.

"She had a breakdown," I say. "Not because of me—but because she's been bottling everything up. Pretending she's fine. You think you're protecting her by keeping her in a cage—but that cage is killing her."

His jaw tightens.

"Don't you dare speak like you know her pain."

"I don't," I say honestly. "But I want to."

Silence.

Then his voice lowers.

"She needs rest. Not another complication."

I look down at her. At how peaceful she looks now, even in unconsciousness—like whatever storm passed through her finally gave her a moment to breathe.

"I'm not a complication," I whisper. "I'm the one person who sees her. All of her."

He doesn't reply. But something in his expression shifts—just a little. Like he's seeing me for the first time… and not just as a threat.

Ratan steps forward, kneels, and lifts her into his arms like she's made of glass.

"You want to be part of her world?" he says, voice low and dangerous. "Then be ready to burn with it."

He walks away, carrying her like she's both a burden and a blessing.

And I'm left there… wondering if I'm strong enough to do just that.

Ratan's POV

I hadn't planned to come.

Not tonight.

But something didn't sit right.

It started with a call from one of the guards—Aryan had entered the east wing without clearance.

He's been doing that more often lately. Slipping through shadows just to get to her. Like I wouldn't notice. Like I wouldn't care.

But I do.

Too much.

And then Meera's voice rang in my ear. Not frantic, but clipped. Tight.

"She looked… strange, sir. Distant. She wasn't talking."

That was all it took.

Because I've heard that before.

Not from Meera. But from the doctor. Fifteen years ago. After the night my father died.

"She just stood there. Distant. She wasn't talking."

I don't remember dropping the phone. I only remember the sound of my shoes on marble—echoing down every hallway I built to keep danger out.

And yet here she was.

Curled into herself.

In his arms.

Just like she had been that night—after the blood, after the silence. Small. Broken. Somewhere else entirely.

I almost lost it.

I wanted to tear her away from him, to snarl at Aryan for holding her like he had the right to.

But I didn't.

Because he wasn't the enemy in that moment.

The real enemy was already inside her.

The moment I saw the blankness in her eyes, the tension in her hands, I knew.

It was happening again.

The shift. The awakening.

God help me, she was slipping.

I tried to stay calm. For her.

But when Aryan looked up at me and said, "She needed me," like I didn't already know what she needed…

I nearly lost the control I've spent decades mastering.

He doesn't get it.

No one does.

She isn't like other daughters. This isn't just pain or trauma or some storybook illness. This is legacy. This is bloodline. This is the curse we were born into.

And now it's surfacing again.

Maybe worse than before.

I watched her face as I carried her—half-asleep, half-lost—and all I could think was: Not again. Not like last time.

Not when I've spent her entire life keeping that darkness buried.

But I saw it.

The flicker in her smile.

The same one my father wore when he decided to destroy everything.

And now I wonder…

Is she still my daughter?

Or has the Vale already claimed her?