Dhruv's POV

Consciousness returned to me in slow, hazy waves.

Usually, I woke up with a jolt, my muscles tense, ready for a fight. But this morning... this morning was different.

I was warm.

I was resting against something soft. My face was buried in the curve of a neck that smelled of vanilla and sleep. It was intoxicating. Instinct took over before my brain could catch up.

I nuzzled closer, seeking more of that warmth. My lips grazed the sensitive skin just below her ear.

I kissed her.

It wasn't a conscious decision. It was a biological need, like breathing. My lips pressed against her pulse point, lingering there, tasting the salt and the sweetness of her skin.

She stirred, humming a low, contented sound, her head tilting to give me better access.

My eyes snapped open.

I froze.

I wasn't in my bed. I was in the bar. And I wasn't hugging a pillow.

I was practically draped over Katha.

She was asleep in the armchair she had pulled next to mine, her head resting on top of mine, her arms wrapped loosely around my shoulders as if shielding me from the dark.

I pulled back slowly, my heart hammering a rhythm that had nothing to do with a hangover.

I looked at her. Her hair was a chaotic mess, spilling over her face. Her mouth was slightly open. She looked uncomfortable, cramped in that chair, but she hadn't moved. She had stayed.

Then, I felt the stiffness in my right hand.

I looked down.

My hand—the one I had used to shatter the glass—was clean. The blood was gone. It was wrapped neatly in layers of white gauze, taped with precision.

I stared at the bandage, a lump forming in my throat.

Stupid, I thought, shaking my head. Stupid, stupid girl.

I clenched my jaw, looking back at her sleeping face.

Why did you do this?

I had wanted the pain. The sting of the glass was the only thing that felt real, the only thing that distracted me from the hollow ache in my chest. But she... she had taken it away.

You want to steal my pain too? I asked her silently. You want to fix everything? Even the things that are broken beyond repair?

I should be angry. I should wake her up and tell her to stop playing nurse.

But as I looked at her—at the dark circles under her eyes that mirrored mine—the anger dissolved. It washed away, leaving something terrified and tender in its wake.

"But you are kind, Katha," I whispered into the silence of the dawn. "Too kind for a man like me."

I reached out with my uninjured hand, my fingers hovering over her cheek.

"He doesn't even respect you," I murmured, the guilt gnawing at me. "He throws money at you. He yells at you. And you bandage his hand while he sleeps?"

Why, Katha? Why?

I can never understand this.

I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. 5:05 AM.

The house was dead silent.

I couldn't leave her here. Her neck was bent at an awkward angle; she would wake up in agony.

I stood up slowly, testing my balance. My head throbbed slightly, but the dizziness was gone.

I leaned down and slid my left arm under her knees and my bandaged right arm carefully around her back.

I lifted her.

She was light. Feather-light.

Katha didn't wake up. She sighed, her body instinctively curling into mine. Her head fell onto my chest, her nose burying itself in my shirt. Her hand came up to clutch my collar, holding on tight.

A smile—unbidden, unwanted, and uncontrollable—broke onto my face.

I looked down at her in my arms. The morning light filtering through the curtains caught her lashes.

My beautiful wife, the thought crossed my mind, sweet and possessive.

I froze mid-step.

No. No, no.

I shook my head, correcting the thought instantly.

She’s not. She is a contract. She is temporary.

But as I walked out of the bar and into the hallway, holding her against my heart, the correction felt like a lie.

Location: Master Bedroom Time: 5:15 AM

The walk to the bedroom was the most peaceful journey I had ever taken in this house.

I kicked the bedroom door open gently and walked to the bed. The sheets were still messy from my outburst earlier.

I lowered her onto the mattress with a gentleness I didn't know I possessed. I treated her like she was made of the same glass I had broken—fragile, precious.

I went to pull away, to cover her with the duvet and leave.

But her hand was still gripping my collar.

She tugged.

I lost my balance and braced myself on the mattress with my left hand, hovering just inches above her.

Katha shifted, her face scrunching up in sleep. She didn't let go. She murmured something unintelligible and nuzzled closer to where I was hovering.

I stayed there, suspended over her, just breathing her in.

She looked angelic. The fire from the office was gone. The tears from the argument were dried. She looked... soft.

I am doing too much to her, I realized, a heavy weight settling in my stomach. I scared her. I hurt her. And she still came for me.

I needed to apologize. When she woke up, I would tell her... I would tell her I was sorry. I would tell her she didn't deserve the monster I became last night.

But for now...

I couldn't help myself.

I leaned down.

I pressed my lips to her forehead.

It wasn't a kiss of passion. It wasn't a kiss to prove a point. It was a seal. A silent promise.

I let my lips linger there against her warm skin, closing my eyes. I had no control over this. I didn't want to buy this moment. I didn't want to own it.

I just wanted to feel it.

And God help me, I liked it.

I pulled back slowly, my heart full in a way that scared the hell out of me.

I gently pried her fingers from my collar, tucking her hand under the duvet. I pulled the blanket up to her chin.

"Sleep well, Katha," I whispered.

I straightened up, clutching my bandaged hand to my chest.

I was in deep trouble. I knew it.

But as I watched her sleep, for the first time in twenty years, the silence in the room didn't feel lonely.

It felt like home.

Katha's POV

I woke up to the smell of burnt toast and expensive coffee.

My eyes fluttered open, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains. I stretched, my body sinking into the plush mattress.

Wait.

I sat up with a start. The mattress?

The last thing I remembered was the smell of whiskey, the dark bar, and Dhruv’s head on my shoulder. I had fallen asleep in a chair. How was I in bed? And more importantly...

"You're awake."

I spun my head toward the voice.

Dhruv was sitting in the armchair near the window—not reading a file, not on a call, but just... watching me.

He was wearing fresh clothes—a soft grey t-shirt that hugged his arms and black sweatpants. It was such a domestic, casual look that it took my brain a second to recognize the CEO.

But it was what was on his lap that made my jaw drop.

A wooden tray.

On it sat a plate of slightly charred toast, a bowl of cut fruits (that looked suspiciously uneven), and two steaming mugs of coffee.

He stood up, balancing the tray awkwardly with his left hand, his right hand—the bandaged one—held carefully against his chest.

"Dhruv?" I rubbed my eyes, sure I was hallucinating. "What are you doing?"

He walked to the bed, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. He looked like he was defusing a bomb, not serving breakfast.

"I brought food," he stated, setting the tray down on the mattress near my legs with a clatter. The coffee sloshed a little. He winced.

"Careful!" I reached out to steady the mugs. "Your hand! You shouldn't be carrying things."

"It's fine," he muttered, flexing his bandaged fingers stiffly. "It's just a scratch."

"It was a glass shard, Dhruv," I scolded gently, but my eyes were glued to the tray.

I looked at the toast. It was definitely burnt on the edges. The butter was spread in thick, clumsy clumps.

I looked up at him. "Did... did you make this?"

Dhruv looked away, scratching the back of his neck. A faint, rare blush crept up his neck.

" The staff was busy," he lied. Terribly.

"The staff?" I raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. "The staff of twenty people in a five-star mansion was too busy to toast bread? So the CEO had to do it?"

He glared at me, but there was no heat in it. "Just eat it, Katha. Before it gets cold."

I picked up a piece of toast. It was hard as a rock.

I took a bite. It tasted like charcoal and victory.

"It's delicious," I said, chewing loudly.

Dhruv watched me, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He sat down on the edge of the bed—not far away, not with a pillow wall, but close. Close enough that I could feel his body heat.

He picked up his coffee mug with his left hand, taking a sip. He looked nervous. The Shark looked nervous.

"Katha," he started, staring into his coffee.

"Hmm?"

"About last night..."

He trailed off. He put the mug down. He looked at his bandaged hand, then at the floor. He took a deep breath, as if he were about to dive off a cliff.

"I..." He cleared his throat. "I behaved... poorly."

I stopped chewing. I put my toast down.

"I was angry," he continued, his voice low and rough. "And I took it out on you. I said things... about buying you... about you being a liability..."

He finally looked up. His dark eyes were wide, open, and filled with a raw sincerity that made my heart do a somersault.

"I didn't mean them," he whispered.

My breath hitched.

"I was scared," he admitted, the words clearly painful for him to say. "You saw me... you saw the truth. And instead of thanking you, I tried to hurt you. Because that's what I do. I push people before they can leave."

He reached out with his uninjured hand. He hesitated for a second, then covered my hand resting on the duvet. His thumb brushed my knuckles—a hesitant, shy touch.

"I am sorry, Katha."

The words hung in the air, heavy and sweet.

I stared at him. This man—who commanded armies of lawyers, who destroyed rivals with a signature—was sitting on my bed, feeding me burnt toast, and apologizing with the vulnerability of a boy.

I felt a warmth spread through my chest, so intense it almost hurt.

"You're an idiot," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

Dhruv flinched, looking ready to pull away.

I turned my hand over and laced my fingers with his, holding him tight.

"But you're my idiot," I smiled, squeezing his hand. "Apology accepted."

Dhruv let out a breath he seemed to have been holding since last night. The ghost of a smile—real, small, and devastatingly handsome—touched his lips.

"Eat your fruit," he mumbled, trying to regain his composure. "I cut the apples. I think I almost lost another finger doing it."

I laughed. "I can tell. They look like geometric abstract art."

He rolled his eyes, but he didn't let go of my hand.

"Dhruv?"

"Yeah?"

"How did I get here? I remember falling asleep in the bar."

Dhruv looked at me. His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes. His thumb started tracing lazy circles on my skin again.

"I carried you," he said simply.

"You carried me?" I teased. "With a wounded hand? Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"You were uncomfortable," he shrugged. "And... you looked heavy."

"Hey!" I slapped his arm lightly.

"I'm kidding," he chuckled—a low, rumbling sound that I felt in my toes. "You were light. Like a feather."

He leaned in a little closer. The air shifted. The playfulness melted into something softer, heavier.

"You wouldn't let go of my collar," he whispered, his eyes searching mine. "Even in your sleep, you were holding onto me."

I felt my cheeks heat up. "I... I was?"

"Yeah," he breathed.

He lifted his hand—the one holding mine—and brought it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Thank you," he murmured against my skin. "For not leaving."

My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked at the burnt toast, the messy fruit, and the bandaged hand of the man who was trying so hard to be human for me.

I'm in trouble, I thought, feeling the butterflies riot in my stomach. I am so deeply, hopelessly in trouble.

"I told you," I whispered, leaning forward until our foreheads brushed. "I'm not going anywhere."

Dhruv seemed to realize suddenly just how close we were. The intimacy of the moment—the hand-holding, the soft whispers, the morning sun—seemed to catch up with his logical brain.

He stiffened. He slowly pulled his hand away from mine, clearing his throat loudly. The tips of his ears were turning a suspicious shade of pink.

He stood up from the bed, putting a safe distance between us, crossing his arms over his chest to rebuild his invisible wall.

"Listen, Katha," he said, his voice trying to regain its usual cold, corporate edge but failing miserably. "I am doing this... the breakfast, the apology... but that doesn't mean that I care about you."

I took a bite of the burnt toast to hide my smile. "Of course not."

"It's just that..." He shifted his weight, looking anywhere but at me. "Dhruv Rathore doesn't keep anyone's help. You bandaged my hand last night. You helped me. So this..." He gestured vaguely at the tray of unevenly cut apples. "...was just settling the score. A transaction. I don't like debts."

He looked at me sternly, trying to look intimidating in his grey t-shirt.

"Don't get the wrong idea," he warned, pointing a finger at me. "I am still your husband... I mean, boss."

He froze.

His eyes widened slightly. He had slipped.

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to laugh out loud. He looked like a little boy who had been caught stealing cookies. The great "Shark" was flustered because he couldn't decide if he wanted to rule me or love me.

I picked up my coffee mug, looking at him over the rim with shining, amused eyes.

"As you say, Mr. Husband," I chirped.

Dhruv opened his mouth to correct me, to say 'Boss', but he stopped. He looked at my smile. He looked at the way I was looking at him.

He sighed, defeated, and ran a hand through his messy hair.

"Just... eat your toast," he grumbled, turning around to hide the small, helpless smile fighting its way onto his own lips.

He walked toward the bathroom, muttering something about "insubordinate employees," but I saw the bounce in his step.

I leaned back against the headboard, taking a sip of the perfect coffee he had made.

Yeah, I thought, watching him go. Definitely my idiot.