The warmth of the rooftop lingered in Ranvijay's chest long after he left Myra's side. But as he stepped into the private war room on the east wing, the softness in his eyes vanished like mist in fire.
Here, he wasn't a husband.
He was a predator with a vendetta.
The war room was dim, with glowing monitors displaying maps of the city, surveillance feeds, and high-level encrypted systems. Shiv was already there, sleeves rolled up, scanning data on a large tablet.
He looked up the moment Ranvijay entered.
"You were gone longer than usual," Shiv said, voice quiet but not accusatory.
"She needed air," Ranvijay replied. "And I needed to breathe her in once before all this gets worse."
Shiv nodded. "It will get worse."
Ranvijay's jaw clenched. "Then we make sure it ends."
At that moment, Vikrant entered—tall, sharp-eyed, a military aura about him that never left even out of uniform. He didn't bother with pleasantries.
"We found him."
The air in the room shifted instantly.
"Where?" Ranvijay asked, voice cold as steel, walking toward him.
"City limits. South end. CCTV caught a vehicle registered under an alias used before—he was inside. We've triple-checked. It's him."
Shiv stepped closer. "Is he still there?"
"We don't know," Vikrant admitted. "But the vehicle stopped near an old textile warehouse—abandoned, no ownership records in years. It's a perfect hideout."
Ranvijay's fingers curled around the edge of the table. "Send a team."
"Already assembling," Vikrant replied. "But sir…" He hesitated.
"What?" he snapped.
Vikrant looked between the two brothers. "Aditya isn't hiding. Not like last time. He knows we're watching. He's leaving trails on purpose."
Shiv frowned. "Why?"
Ranvijay's eyes narrowed.
"He wants me to come to him," he said quietly.
Silence fell.
Shiv exhaled. "Then it's a trap."
Ranvijay turned toward the weapons locker, unlocked it, and pulled out his concealed firearm and a tactical vest. "Then let him set it. I'll walk in smiling."
Shiv stepped forward. "Bhai. No. Not without a plan."
Ranvijay looked up, his expression unshakable. "He touched what was mine. There's no plan anymore. There's only justice."
Vikrant exchanged a glance with Shiv. "We'll back you. But at least let us take lead on the ground. You won't be of help to Myra Mam if something happens."
Ranvijay's jaw ticked.
Then he exhaled and said, "No one moves without my word. We track him, we trap him, we end it."
Shiv added quietly, "This time, we don't let him slip."
Vikrant saluted briefly and walked out, leaving the two brothers in silence.
Shiv looked at Ranvijay carefully. "Bhai… what if he tries again?"
Ranvijay turned to him slowly, eyes dark.
"Then I won't stop at justice. I'll burn the city down."
The first light of dawn spilled into the palace like liquid gold, soft and slow, as if the world itself didn't want to wake her.
But Myra was already awake.
Her lashes fluttered against the pillow, breath shallow, still wrapped in the haze between sleep and consciousness. She reached toward the empty side of the bed—
Still warm.
She sat up slowly, careful with the pain in her shoulder. A pale nightgown clung to her skin. The silence around her was the kind that warned more than comforted.
And then she saw him.
Ranvijay stood by the tall mirror, dressed in black.
Black shirt, black jeans, sleeves rolled. A storm caged in flesh.
He hadn't noticed her yet. His head was bowed slightly as he adjusted his cuffs. The line of his jaw was sharp in the amber light. And though everything about him screamed control, Myra saw the tension in his shoulders.
He wasn't calm.
He was containing something.
Her voice didn't rise. She didn't call his name. But as if tethered to her, he turned.
Their eyes met.
Myra sat there, quiet and composed, yet there was something raw in her gaze. Something that made Ranvijay walk to her without a word.
He sat on the bed beside her.
She didn't move back.
His hand rose slowly and touched her cheek, fingers cool, gentle—his touch was always careful, like she might shatter. But this time, she didn't lean away. She didn't speak. She let him.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Myra…" he murmured.
Her eyes didn't leave his.
She didn't reach for him.
But she didn't stop him either.
He leaned closer, forehead brushing against hers, breath mingling with hers. "I want to stay bit longer with you . But something needs to be done."
She still didn't ask where he was going.
She knew he wouldn't answer.
But her heart ached.
"You'll come back?" she whispered, softer than air.
He smiled faintly. Not his usual smile. This one was slow. Quiet. The kind a man wears when he's walking into a place he might not return from.
"I'll always find my way to you."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then another to her temple.
She didn't stop him.
His lips hovered by her ear. "I know you won't say it. Not yet. But I feel it."
She swallowed hard.
He pulled away slightly to look at her. Her eyes were wide, the color of silence and storms.
"I'm not asking for anything, Myra," he said gently. "But don't push me away anymore."
Still, she said nothing.
But she didn't push.
And that was enough.
He stood.
She watched him walk to the door. Her hand clenched the sheets, but her lips didn't move.
And just before he left, he turned and said one last thing:
"I'll be back before your heartbeat misses mine."
The door clicked shut.
And Myra sat in the silence that followed—warm where his presence lingered, aching where he had gone.
The palace was still sleeping under the weight of dawn when two shadows moved through its silent corridors. Shiv adjusted the strap of the weapon case, his eyes scanning every corner like a hawk. Beside him, Ranvijay walked with a quiet storm simmering beneath his black shirt—jaw locked, gaze unblinking, as if each step was carved by vengeance itself. No words were exchanged between the two. They didn't need any. The mission was clear. The man who dared touch his queen had been tracked. This wasn't a visit. This was judgment.