The first thing Ranvijay felt wasn't pain.
It was warmth. Soft. Fragile. Alive.
A faint beam of morning sunlight filtered in through the curtains, touching his face like a hesitant blessing. He blinked once. Then again. The ceiling above slowly came into focus—the carved royal beams, the familiar golden accents of the room.
But none of it mattered.
Because beside him…
She was there.
Myra.
Her head rested near his shoulder, her cheek pressed against the mattress as she sat curled in the chair beside him. One hand was still on the bed—fingers brushing the edge of the blanket near his own.
She hadn't moved all night.
Her hair had come loose during sleep, strands falling like a dark veil over her face. Her lips were slightly parted, brows soft and relaxed for the first time in days. Even her breathing—calm.
She had stayed.
He didn't know how many hours had passed. But she hadn't left. Not even once.
His throat tightened.
Moving gently—so carefully, like one wrong breath might wake her—he lifted his hand and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. His fingers lingered. Just a second longer than necessary.
She looked so peaceful like this.
But he wasn't.
He was chaos wrapped in stillness. His body screamed in pain, but it was the ache in his chest that throbbed louder. The ache that had burned ever since she'd vanished from his arms…
…and now somehow returned.
He couldn't stop staring.
But the moment cracked—
She stirred.
Slowly, her lashes fluttered. Her eyes blinked open, foggy from sleep… until they focused.
On him.
And in the very next second—
They hardened.
Anger. Relief. Tears. All in one look.
"Ahmm…" she choked, sitting upright, wiping her face hastily, "You're awake."
He didn't say a word. Just watched her, expression unreadable.
She stood quickly, stepping back from the bed, face turned away.
"You should've told someone where you were going," she muttered, her voice low but trembling. "You think you're a king, so you'll just walk into death like it's your throne?"
He didn't flinch.
She finally turned toward him—eyes shining with unshed tears.
"You scared me," she said softly, fists clenched at her sides. "You—"
"Stop," he said hoarsely, voice dry from hours of unconsciousness.
She froze.
His gaze burned into hers. "Don't cry because of me."
"I'm not," she lied, turning away again.
He slowly sat up, wincing as the pain tore through his ribs, but refusing to show it. "You're crying. I see it."
She wiped her cheeks with a frustrated sigh, "Don't make everything about you."
He smirked darkly.
There he was.
The same possessive fire behind his eyes.
"Everything about you is about me," he said simply. "And everything about me… is you."
Myra looked at him like she wanted to scream and sob at the same time.
He reached out his hand, palm open between them. "Come here."
But she didn't move.
Just stood there.
Staring at him.
Angrily.
Tears lining her lashes, jaw clenched, her chest rising and falling with the weight of everything left unsaid.
For a moment, his heart sank—he thought she would walk away.
But the next moment—
she ran.
Ran to him like the storm had cracked her open.
And then—
She hugged him.
Not gently. Not shyly.
She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder, her fingers clutching around his bare neck. Her body collided with his chest, her sobs muffled against his skin.
And Ranvijay—
Froze.
His eyes widened.
His entire body stiffened beneath the weight of her trembling form.
It was the first time.
The first time she had touched him.
The first time she had come to him.
Her warmth.
Her scent.
Her tears soaking into his shoulder.
It was too much. Too much for a man who had only known possession, not this — this surrender. This raw, broken need.
He didn't breathe.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, small and soft and desperate. Her fingers clung to him like the world would vanish if she let go.
And she said…
nothing.
Not a single word.
She just cried. Silently. Against him. For everything she'd feared. For every moment she thought she'd never see him again. For the blood. The pain. The nightmare that had almost stolen them both.
Ranvijay's heart beat so loud it echoed in his ears.
His throat closed. His hands hovered above her waist—afraid to touch her, afraid if he did, she might disappear again.
And then, slowly, reverently, he wrapped his arms around her.
Held her tight.
As if she was something precious he'd never deserve.
As if this was a dream, and he'd burn alive before waking up.
No words passed between them.
But that moment—
it said everything.
She had come to him.
At last.
She was still sobbing in his arms, silent trembles shaking her body.
Ranvijay's hand slid up her back—slow, warm, protective—until it rested at the nape of her neck. His chin lowered to her shoulder, his breath fanning against her skin as he closed his eyes, anchoring himself in her scent, her presence, her heart finally beating against his bare chest.
And then—
he whispered.
Voice low, deep, like a vow sealed in blood and longing.
"If this is what I get for being shot…"
His lips brushed her ear as he spoke, and she froze.
"…then I'll take a bullet every damn day, Myra."
She stiffened slightly—then gripped him even tighter.
His next words were softer. Rougher. A raw smile laced through them.
"You touching me like this… wrapping those tiny arms around me…"
A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest.
"You don't even know what you've done to me."
She didn't reply.
She couldn't.
Her throat had closed up from all the emotions threatening to drown her.
But she didn't pull away either.
Her face remained buried in the crook of his neck, and her hold—if anything—grew tighter.
Ranvijay held her like she was everything he'd bled for.
Because she was.
And deep down, even if she didn't say it yet
This moment was hers too.
She was still clutching him—her sobs quieter now, but her fingers tangled in his hair, her cheek resting against the curve of his neck.
He could feel her breaths—shaky, uneven—as if her heart was still catching up to the madness that had just unfolded.
Then—
In the smallest, most broken voice, she whispered against his skin:
"I hate you…"
He stilled.
A pause.
And then—he smiled.
A dark, aching smile that reached deep into the hollowness he'd carried for years.
His hand slid up her back, tracing the line of her spine with aching devotion.
"Even I craved for this emotion too," he murmured near her temple, his lips barely brushing her skin.
"Because to hate me… you have to feel something for me, Myra."
She didn't respond. Her grip didn't loosen. Her heart betrayed her silence, thudding violently against his chest.
He held her tighter.
"Love me, hate me, curse me…"
He tilted his head just enough so their foreheads touched.
"…But never stop feeling. Never go numb on me. Because I can survive everything—except your indifference."
Her breath hitched.
And though she didn't reply, one more tear slipped from the corner of her eye and landed on his bare shoulder.
He caught it with his finger and kissed it away.
"You don't know it yet," he whispered, "but you're mine. Not because I claimed you... but because your soul walked into my ruins long before you knew my name."
And in the silence that followed, she didn't pull away.
She simply stayed.
Broken and tangled in the arms of the man she claimed to hate—but whose heartbeat now thundered as loudly as her own.