I hadn't planned on sharing my apartment with anyone. Especially not her.
But there she was—wrapped in a blanket on my couch, laughing at White Chicks like the past week hadn't tried to kill her.

It was almost midnight when she finally got up, yawned, and padded toward her room, dragging her blanket and a stuffed toy Saanvi had left behind. She turned before entering her room, gave me a small, sleepy smile, and whispered, "Goodnight."

I nodded, waited until I heard the soft click of her door shutting, and then headed toward my office.

Now I sat behind my desk, the dim light of my lamp casting long shadows on the bookshelves. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline—glittering, pulsing, slowly dimming as night swallowed the last traces of movement.

But my mind wasn't here. It was rewinding—playing that morning on loop.

She had arrived slumped against Siddharth's arm, head bandaged, her usually fierce presence dimmed. Her face had gone pale, eyes barely open, her body limp like a puppet with its strings cut.

She hadn't spoken much. Just a soft wince when Rudra lifted her out of the car. That same silence echoed in my head now—louder than any scream.

And all I could think of... was her 20th birthday.

The way she'd walked into the hall that day—wearing that midnight blue dress, a crown of jasmine on her hair because the kids had insisted. Laughing. Spinning. Demanding cake first, and dinner later.

That day, she owned the room without even trying.

And now?

Now she looked like a ghost of the girl who once argued with me about pineapple on pizza.

My jaw clenched.

No one had the right to do this to her.

I hadn't planned on sharing my apartment with anyone. Especially not her.
But there she was—wrapped in a blanket on my couch, laughing at White Chicks like the past week hadn't tried to kill her.

It was almost midnight when she finally got up, yawned, and padded toward her room, dragging her blanket and a stuffed toy Saanvi had left behind. She turned before entering her room, gave me a small, sleepy smile, and whispered, "Goodnight."

I nodded, waited until I heard the soft click of her door shutting, and then headed toward my office.

Now I sat behind my desk, the dim light of my lamp casting long shadows on the bookshelves. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline—glittering, pulsing, slowly dimming as night swallowed the last traces of movement.

But my mind wasn't here. It was rewinding—playing that morning on loop.

She had arrived slumped against Siddharth's arm, head bandaged, her usually fierce presence dimmed. Her face had gone pale, eyes barely open, her body limp like a puppet with its strings cut.

She hadn't spoken much. Just a soft wince when Rudra lifted her out of the car. That same silence echoed in my head now—louder than any scream.

And all I could think of... was her 20th birthday.

The way she'd walked into the hall that day—wearing that midnight blue dress, a crown of jasmine on her hair because the kids had insisted. Laughing. Spinning. Demanding cake first, and dinner later.

That day, she owned the room without even trying.

And now?

Now she looked like a ghost of the girl who once argued with me about pineapple on pizza.

My jaw clenched.

No one had the right to do this to her.

My eyes stayed fixed on the glass pane, but all I could see was her.

That birthday was chaotic in the most beautiful way. Ahaan had brought home flowers—lilies, roses, a random cactus someone forgot to remove the tag from. Arav had filled the room with blue and silver balloons, claiming they were the "least annoying colors." And there she was in the middle of it all, rolling her eyes, arguing with her brothers, throwing popcorn at Rudra for playing cheesy 2000s songs.

She laughed so hard that night. The kind of laugh that made people pause mid-conversation just to look at her. I did.

I stood at the edge of the room that night—hands in my pockets, drink untouched, watching her.

The warmth of her voice, her eyes sparkling with mischief when she caught me staring, the way she swayed with little Sofia in her arms during the slow song the kids insisted on—like nothing could ever touch her.

And now...

Now I had to watch her sleep with the lights on. Flinch in her dreams. Pretend she's okay just so the people around her wouldn't worry.

My hand curled around the pen on my desk so tightly the cap snapped.

Whoever did this... whoever thought they could scare her, break her... they were wrong.

Because now, she's under my roof. Under my watch.

And I don't let go of what's mine.

I leaned back in the chair, my jaw tight.

No more hiding behind strategies and safety plans.

I'd already set the trackers. The security's been tripled. A car follows her if she so much as steps onto the balcony. But even that isn't enough—not for the pit in my chest that doesn't settle until I hear her laugh.

And that laugh?

I'll make sure she never loses it again.

I turned off the lamp and stood. But before I left the room, I looked out once more at the dying city lights.

They should be afraid.
Because I'm not just protecting her anymore.
I'm claiming her—whether she knows it or not.

_____________________________________________________________

It was around 2 a.m. when I finally went to bed. By 6, I was up again, the city still cloaked in silence as I headed to the gym attached to my apartment. The workout helped clear my head. After a shower, I slipped into a crisp business suit and made my way downstairs to the kitchen.

I prepared pancakes—fluffy and golden—drizzled them with honey, and added a few strawberries on the side. Two mugs of coffee steamed gently beside the plates, and I placed everything neatly on the table. My iPad, propped on the counter, played the morning political news, but I wasn't really listening.

Once everything looked perfect, I walked down the hall to the guest room at the end—Adhira's room. My bedroom was upstairs, along with my office, a large library, and a private movie theater. The lower level had the living area, kitchen, gym, and three guest rooms. The space had always felt more functional than warm... until now.

I knocked on her door three times.

"Coming!" she called from inside.

When she opened the door, I forgot how to breathe for a second. She was wearing black flared pants and an off-shoulder top that clung to her in all the right ways. Her hair was damp, a towel in her hand as she continued drying it. Her face was bare—no makeup, just that soft, post-shower glow. A light blush bloomed on her cheeks, her lips naturally tinted pink.

She smiled at me, raising a brow when she caught me staring. I cleared my throat quickly.

"Breakfast is ready," I said.

"Okay," she replied, tossing the towel onto the bed and following me out.

She walked ahead of me toward the dining area, her eyes casually scanning the space. "You know... your apartment is really spacious. I like it."

I stepped ahead and gently pulled out her chair. "Do you know what else is spacious?"

She looked at me with curiosity. "What?"

"My patience every time you test it."

She laughed softly, taking a seat. "Was that supposed to be a compliment or a threat?"

"Depends on how many pancakes you eat," I said with a smirk, pouring her coffee.

She took a bite, eyes widening immediately. "Lorenzo... this is amazing. Did you really make these?"

I tilted my head dramatically. "Of course. I'm a man of many talents."

"Hmm. I'm not sure whether to be impressed or suspicious," she teased, pointing her fork at me.

I chuckled. "Both is fine."

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes before she spoke again, her voice a little softer this time. "It's nice. This... normal morning thing. It almost feels like we're not hiding out from people trying to kill me."

I looked at her, my smile fading just a little. "I'd give anything to make sure you only ever have mornings like this."

She looked down at her plate, a faint flush returning to her cheeks—not from the coffee or the food this time. "You already do more than enough. Just don't burn out being my bodyguard, personal chef, and landlord all at once."

"I don't burn out," I said quietly. "I burn through."

She met my eyes then, and something unspoken passed between us. Something dangerous. Something tender.

She blinked, looked away, and reached for a strawberry. "Well, Mr. Multifunctional... thank you for breakfast."

"You're welcome, Miss Disaster Magnet."

She laughed again, and the sound settled in the space between us like sunlight filtering through the windows.

And I knew then—I wasn't just protecting her anymore.

I was falling.

After we finished breakfast, I leaned back in my chair and studied her face for a moment. Her eyes still held a shadow of the past week—like she was trying to stay afloat but barely clinging on.

"We're going shopping," I said suddenly.

She looked up from her coffee, surprised. "Shopping?"

I nodded. "Yeah. You need more clothes, and... maybe a little distraction too."

Her brows drew together, confused. "You don't have work today?"

I smirked. "The owner can take a little time off. Perks of being the boss."

She looked like she wanted to argue, so I cut her off gently, "Adhira, I know you. You overthink when you're idle. Your mind doesn't stop replaying things—the accident, your family, all of it. Let's step out for a while. Just breathe."

She hesitated, then gave me a small, grateful nod.

"Get ready by ten. I'll come get you," I said, rising from my seat. "Until then, I'll be upstairs in my office."

As I headed back up, I pulled out my phone and called Ron, my assistant. "Cancel all my meetings for today."

"But sir, there's a crucial—"

"Ron," I said, my tone firm, "Cancel it. I'm not coming in."

A pause. Then a reluctant, "Understood."

I ended the call and sat down at my desk, skimming through a few reports, signing some documents just to make it seem like I wasn't entirely abandoning work. But my eyes kept flicking to the clock.

At exactly ten, I made my way downstairs and knocked on her door.

"Five minutes!" she called from inside.

I smiled and went to sit on the sofa, checking a few emails on my phone. Just as I was replying to one, I heard the soft click of heels—her black sandals against the floor.

I looked up.

She was wearing the same flared black pants and off-shoulder top from earlier, but something was different. Her hair was loosely curled now, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. There was a light flush on her cheeks and a pink tint on her lips. Effortlessly beautiful.

"Ready?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yep."

We walked toward the elevator, the silence between us comfortable now. As we stood inside, I glanced at her again.

"You look beautiful," I said quietly, sincerely.

Her eyes flicked to mine in surprise before she looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you," she murmured, almost too softly.

I smiled, a warm kind of smile that I hadn't used in a long time.

Outside, I walked around to open the passenger door for her. She slid in and looked at me with mild surprise. "You're driving?"

"Of course," I said, getting behind the wheel. "I like driving. Keeps me grounded."

We pulled out of the apartment parking, and I merged into the flow of Seattle traffic. The streets were busy but not chaotic, the morning sun casting a golden hue over the buildings as we made our way toward the shopping district.

She looked out the window, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her top.

"Thank you... for this," she said softly, after a few moments.

I glanced at her. "For what?"

"For caring. For not treating me like I'm broken."

I didn't answer right away. Instead, I reached out and gently placed my hand over hers, just for a second before returning it to the wheel.

"You're not broken, Adhira. Just... healing. And I'm not going anywhere."

She didn't reply, but I saw the way her shoulders relaxed just a little, her lips curving into the smallest smile.

And for now, that was enough."

____________________________________________________________

There goes chapter 10.

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