8

Anvika’s POV

If silence had a sound, it would be the way Rivansh Singh Rathore drove.

Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Just… final.

The car moved smoothly through the empty streets, streetlights blurring into long streaks of yellow against the window. The dashboard light cast sharp shadows across his face, carving his features into something almost unreal—like a statue built to intimidate rather than admire.

Too perfect.
Too composed.

My fingers dug into my palms as I stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him. My thoughts were chaos—anger folding into fear, fear hardening into resolve.

He was calm. Unsettlingly calm.

As if my life was already arranged in neat bullet points inside his head.

As if I was nothing more than a clause in a contract.

He doesn’t know me, I reminded myself.
*He doesn’t know how far I can go when cornered.*

The car slowed.

My stomach dropped.

The hospital parking lot came into view, and suddenly it felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs.

This place.

Where everything had begun.
Where my life had been flipped upside down with surgical precision.

The memories hit like a slap—bright lights, cold hands, panic clogging my throat as decisions were made for me. About me. Without me.

Rivansh parked the car.

“We’re here.”

Two words. Flat. Emotionless.

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

“This is where it all started,” I said quietly, my voice steadier than I felt. “And this is where it should have ended.”

He turned slightly, studying me like I was a puzzle he’d already solved.

Silence.

Then—
“My men will follow you until you reach home.”

I snapped around so fast my neck hurt. “*What?*”

He didn’t even blink.

“You’re serious?” I laughed bitterly. “Wow. You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“You think I’d let you walk home alone?” he said coolly. “Not after everything.”

“Main koi bacchi nahi hoon, Rivansh.”
*(I’m not a child, Rivansh.)*

“I know.”

“Then stop treating me like one.”

He leaned back slightly. “That’s not up for discussion.”

My fists clenched.

“So now you’re following me everywhere?” I snapped. “What’s next—CCTV in my bedroom?”

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes.

Annoyance?
Amusement?

“Don’t tempt me,” he said dryly.

I stared at him, stunned.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m careful.”

“No,” I said sharply. “You’re controlling.”

His jaw tightened. “You’ll understand one day.”

“Safe?” I scoffed. “You call this safe? You’re not protecting me, Rivansh. You’re trapping me.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he gestured to one of his men standing a few feet away. “Seven days, Anvika.”

My chest tightened.

“I’ll see you then.”

I slammed the car door and walked away before he could see how badly my hands were shaking.

Seven days.

Seven days to decide my fate.

Next day
Hospital Corridor — Late Afternoon

Anvika’s POV

By the time my shift ended, my feet hurt, my head throbbed, and my patience had officially expired.

All I wanted was silence.

Instead, I got Kriti.

She was perched on the nurses’ station chair like she owned the place, one leg crossed over the other, hospital ID swinging lazily around her neck. A half-empty paper cup of coffee sat beside her, and her phone was in her hand—thumb scrolling, eyes lighting up every few seconds.

She looked annoyingly alive for someone who’d been on duty just as long as me.

“Oi,” she called out the moment she spotted me. “You’re late.”

“I was saving lives,” I muttered, dumping my file on the counter.

She squinted at my face. Really squinted.

“…Why do you look like you just survived an emotional plane crash?”

I froze.

That was the thing about Kriti. She didn’t miss things. Ever. I could lie to patients, seniors, even myself—but not to her.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

She raised an eyebrow. “**Jhooth bolne se pehle soch toh leti.**”
(*You could at least think before lying.*)

I sighed and reached for my water bottle.

She leaned closer. “Okay, spill. Or I swear I’ll start assuming the worst.”

“The worst like what?”

“Like… you secretly got married. Or kidnapped. Or both.”

I choked. If only you knew.

Before I could stop myself, she continued cheerfully, “By the way, do you know who I saw yesterday?”

I stiffened.

“No,” I said quickly. “And I don’t want to.”

“Too bad,” she grinned. “RIVANSH SINGH RATHORE.”

My hand tightened around the bottle.

She didn’t notice. Yet.

“The Rivansh Singh Rathore,” she emphasized, eyes shining. “The billionaire. The eligible bachelor. The walking definition of ‘out of my league but I’ll still dream.’”

I closed my eyes.

She went on, unstoppable. “I mean, the man barely looked at anyone, but when he did? God. Aankhon se hi jaan le le.”
(*He could kill with just his eyes.*)

“Kriti,” I said softly.

She finally looked at me.

And stopped smiling.

Because my voice wasn’t annoyed.

It was tired.

“What?” she asked slowly.

I met her gaze.

And something inside me cracked.

“Stop talking about him,” I said.

The air shifted.

She set her phone down. “Anvika?”

I swallowed. “Please.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t joke. She just pulled the chair closer and sat properly this time, elbows resting on her knees.

“Okay,” she said gently. “Talk to me.”

I stared at the floor.

The words felt heavy. Tangled. Sharp.

“I saw him too,” I whispered.

Her brows knitted. “Obviously, he was here—”

“No,” I cut in. “I mean… I was with him.”

Silence.

Like, real silence.

She blinked once. “With him… how?”

I laughed weakly. “That’s a long story.”

She leaned back slowly. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

So I told her.

Not all at once.

Piece by piece.

The hospital night.
The signatures.
The ring.
The contract.
The guards.
The seven days.

She didn’t interrupt. Not once.

Her expressions changed as I spoke—shock, disbelief, anger, confusion—until by the time I finished, she looked like someone who’d just read the most unhinged plot twist of her life.

When I finally stopped talking, my throat burned.

Kriti stared at me.

Then—

“WHAT.”

I flinched.

“**WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE BASICALLY BOUGHT YOUR LIFE.**”

“Kriti, lower your voice!”

“I WILL NOT,” she hissed. “ANVIKA THIS IS—THIS IS—”

She stood up abruptly and paced a little, hands in her hair.

“This is straight out of a novel,” she said breathlessly. “No, scratch that. This is straight out of a problematic novel.”

I groaned. “Please don’t start.”

She turned to me. “No, listen. Rich, powerful man. Traumatized but strong girl. Forced agreement. Emotional blackmail. Yeh Wattpad ke comments mein log pagal ho jaate.”
(*People would go crazy in Wattpad comments.*)

“I am not a trope,” I snapped.

She stopped.

Then walked back to me.

“I know,” she said softly. “You’re a real person. That’s why I’m freaking out.”

My chest tightened.

“He followed you?” she asked quietly.

I nodded. “Still is.”

Her jaw clenched. “That’s not protection. That’s surveillance.”

“Exactly.”

She grabbed my hands suddenly. “Are you scared?”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Then nodded.

She pulled me into a hug so fast I barely had time to react.

“**Pagal hai kya tu? Akele sab kuch jhel rahi thi?**”
(*Are you crazy? You were handling all this alone?*)

My eyes burned.

“I didn’t know what to do.”

She pulled back just enough to look at me. “You come to me. Always.”

I exhaled shakily.

She wiped at the corner of my eye. “Also—small but important question.”

“What?”

“…Is he actually as good-looking up close?”

I laughed through my tears. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So he is.”

“Unfortunately.”

She sighed dramatically. “God really gives his toughest battles to the girls with hot villains.”

“Kriti!”

“Too soon?”

“Yes.”

She sobered again. “Anvika… promise me something.”

“What?”

“Whatever you decide in seven days—do it because you want to. Not because he scared you into it.”

I nodded.

She smiled, softer now. “And if you need backup?”

“You’ll—?”

“I’ll bring popcorn,” she said. “And emotional support. Possibly a taser.”

I laughed.

For the first time in two days, it felt like I could breathe.

Outside the glass doors, I spotted the familiar silhouettes waiting.

The cage was still there.

But now—

I wasn’t alone inside it.