The next morning came with a strange stillness. The sun filtered softly through the blinds, but it felt wrong. Sanya's body burned beneath the covers, the fever creeping in like a silent thief. She hadn't been able to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard his voice—cold, accusing, tearing her down. It wasn't just the words; it was the hollow emptiness that followed, the weight of his indifference.
Her body betrayed her. The fever hit hard, making the world feel like it was spinning. Her head felt heavy, the walls of the room closing in. She rose, unsteady, trying to steady herself with shaky hands. She wanted to appear normal—normal enough to make it through a day without his cruelty.
But her body disagreed.
She stumbled as she made her way to the bathroom. The mirror caught her reflection—the eyes, red and swollen from the night's silent crying. She touched her cheek. The fever burned hot against her skin, a physical manifestation of the turmoil inside. But she didn't care. She had no choice but to keep moving forward.
But as soon as she stepped out of the bathroom, her legs betrayed her. The world tilted, and before she could grab the doorframe for support, she crumpled to the floor with a soft cry of pain.
She lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, fighting the overwhelming weakness that seemed to take over her every fiber. Her hands were trembling as she reached out, dragging herself toward the bed, trying to steady herself, but everything felt out of reach.
And that was when she heard his footsteps.
Aarush.
He had appeared in the doorway, his gaze not softening but locking onto her form on the floor. His brow furrowed in something akin to annoyance, yet there was an odd flicker of something else in his eyes. Sanya couldn't quite place it—did he care? Was he concerned?
But then the words came, cutting through the silence like a blade.
"You're pathetic."
His voice was cold—so detached, so harsh.
She winced. The words dug deeper into her than any physical pain. She tried to push herself up but collapsed back onto the floor, her feverish body refusing to obey her commands.
Aarush stood there, his back stiff, his eyes never leaving her. He didn't move. Didn't help.
"Get up," he ordered, as if she were nothing more than a problem to be solved.
But Sanya could barely lift her head. She was shivering now, her teeth chattering despite the heat coursing through her.
He looked at her for a moment longer. Something flickered in his eyes—a flash of something—but it was gone in an instant, replaced with indifference.
"You're wasting my time," he added, turning on his heel and walking away.
Her heart shattered with each step he took. She wanted to scream, to beg for something—anything—but all that came out was a soft sob, weak and broken.
He didn't even look back.
---
As the door clicked shut behind him, Sanya was left in the silence, the fever too much for her to handle alone. She laid there, too tired, too weak to move, her body aching, her heart in pieces.
Somehow, despite everything, the thought that kept haunting her was the sound of his footsteps walking away. It was as if every step he took further from her was a reminder that she would always be alone in this.
Her head spun. She tried to focus on anything to keep her from slipping into the darkness that felt so close. This can't be my life.
Suddenly, the door burst open again.
But it wasn't Aarush who stood there.
It was Kareena.
She looked down at Sanya with disdain, her sharp eyes scanning her up and down with thinly veiled disgust.
"I knew you were weak," Kareena sneered, walking toward the bed. "Always looking for a reason to be a nuisance."
Sanya barely had the strength to lift her head, but when she did, her gaze met Kareena's. The woman was a storm of calculated cruelty.
"Stay out of my way, or I'll make sure you regret it."
Sanya's eyes flickered, too exhausted to argue. But there was something in her that wouldn't let her die here—not like this.
"Just… leave me alone," Sanya whispered, barely audible, her voice cracking with the weight of her exhaustion.
Kareena chuckled, a low, mirthless sound. "We'll see about that."
Before Sanya could say another word, Kareena turned on her heel, exiting the room.
---
As the door slammed shut, the silence engulfed Sanya once more. Her vision swam in and out of focus. She needed help. She needed someone—but not him. Not Aarush.
She had no choice now.
The truth was, she had to leave. Leave before it killed her.
But the question lingered, the burning question that kept her awake in the quiet hours of the night.
Was it too late to escape?
The night thickened with silence. The storm outside had calmed, but inside the mansion, something else had begun to stir—heat creeping under her skin, chills settling in her spine.
Sanya lay on the edge of the bed, curled up with the blanket pulled high over her, her breath shallow and quick. Her skin burned. She didn't know when the fever had started, but she didn't dare call out. He hated her already—her voice might only trigger more contempt.
Downstairs, Aarush sat at his desk, drowning in reports and contracts. The meeting tomorrow with European investors had to go flawlessly, and yet, his mind wouldn't focus. His tie hung loose, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled—he looked powerful, but the strain around his eyes betrayed the weight he carried.
He had been cruel earlier. Crueler than usual.
But she had deserved it.
Hadn't she?
He shut his laptop, pacing for a moment. Something itched at the back of his mind.
That look on her face earlier. Something wasn't right.
He climbed the stairs slowly, the sound of rain now reduced to a gentle whisper on the windows. The room was dim, but he stopped at the door.
There—on the bed—she was trembling.
Her skin was pale, and from where he stood, he could see the sweat on her forehead. Her lips were parted, dry. She shivered again, curling tighter into herself like a frightened child.
His jaw tensed.
"She's burning," he muttered.
Without thinking, he stepped inside. Grabbed the thermometer. 103.4°F.
He stood still. Conflicted.
She moaned softly, trying to speak. "Water…"
He poured a glass, brought it to her lips. She barely sipped, her eyes fluttering open just enough to register his presence.
And she flinched.
That—hurt. For some reason he didn't want to name.
Aarush placed the glass aside, sat beside her, and pressed a cold towel to her head. She didn't speak again. Her fevered eyes were vacant. She was sinking, and he knew it.
Still, as he cared for her—mechanically, stiffly—his fingers slowed. He looked at her face, flushed and tired, with strands of hair stuck to her forehead.
So delicate. So… quiet.
He didn't even realize when his hand moved to brush the strands away.
Then she whispered something—
"…I'm sorry save me…"
His fingers froze.
And he pulled away like her skin had burned him.
Aarush stood abruptly, chest tight with emotions he didn't want to name. "You'll be fine," he said coldly, almost to himself.
And then he left the room.
He didn't look back.
But he didn't sleep that night.