Page 54 of Protect my Heart
She doesn't even pause.
“Is this okay?” I ask because even if it’s been weeks and I’ve carried her, fed her soup, and stayed up all night when she has nightmares—I still ask.
She nods, still painting. “It is. You are.”
That does something weird to my chest.
A few minutes pass, then she finally turns the sketchbook toward me. There’s a watercolor portrait—me, sitting on the couch, head tilted back, eyes closed like I’ve finally allowed myself to breathe.
“You drew me?”
She shrugs, suddenly shy. I stare at the portrait for a second too long. It’s not perfect—some lines are uneven, and colors are bleeding at the edges—but somehow, it’s exactly how I feel when I’m with her.
Safe. Wanted. Seen.
I squeeze her hand gently. “For the record, I don’t mind being your muse. As long as I get full credit and royalties.”
She laughs—really laughs—and that’s when I know. She’s still healing. But she’s still her. And I’ll be right here, every stubborn, messy, beautiful step of the way.
CHAPTER 34
AARAV
The room smells like rusted metal and old rage. I stand in front of him—Vikram. Pathetic, disgusting Vikram. The guy who used to shove me into lockers like it was a game. Who laughed when I bled? Who made it his mission to humiliate me just because I wasn’t loud enough or cruel enough in college? And now? Now he’s tied to a damn chair in my godown, wrists bound, ankles too, and for the first time in his miserable life, he can’t run his mouth and walk away like nothing ever happened.
"So, how do we begin?" I ask, voice low and sharp, satisfaction curling in my chest like smoke. I don’t try to hide the smile that spreads slowly across my face—cold, cruel, and completely unbothered. He flinches. That’s new. Back then, he never flinched. Back then, I was the quiet one. The easy target. Now? Now he looks at me like I’m a monster. Maybe I am. He hurt my wife. And that makes everything fair game.
His eyes flick around the room, searching for something—maybe a weapon, maybe an escape, maybe a shred of mercy. There’s nothing here for him. Just concrete, shadows, my men standing guard, and me. I can see the sweat dripping down the side of his face, soaking into the collar of his once-expensive shirt. His chest rises in quick, shallow breaths.
"You’ll regret this, Aarav," he spits, still trying to act like the same smug bastard he used to be. "You still have time. Let me go. Don’t make this mistake."
I laugh. Not a normal laugh—a short, dark, humorless sound that echoes off the walls and makes him flinch again.
"A mistake?" I glance at the small metal table beside me. The tools are all lined up like twisted little trophies—hammer, pliers, lighter, blade. Clean, sharp, silent. My fingers brush over them slowly, one by one, until they land on the hammer. I pick it up. Heavier than I remember.
"You think this is a mistake?" I tilt my head, watching him squirm.
"You’re doing this because of that girl," he says, trying to sound mocking, but his voice cracks at the end.
"That girl is my wife," I snap. The hammer feels solid in my hand—real. Anchoring.
"You left her at the mandap like she was trash. You sent her messages that made her cry herself to sleep. You humiliated her. Scarred her. And you have the audacity to sit here and act like you’ve done nothing wrong?"
“I didn’t throw the acid!” he screams suddenly, jerking against the ropes. “I never touched her! I swear—”
I slam the hammer down on the metal table beside him. The sound rings out, sharp and violent. He jumps. I lean closer.
“But you did enough, didn’t you?” My voice drops to a whisper. “You didn’t have to throw it. You made her a target. You dragged her name through the mud. You enjoyed it.”
His mouth opens again, but I’m done listening. The first hit lands on his knee. His scream is raw, animalistic. I feel it, but I don’t flinch. Instead, I lean in, letting the fire in my chest speak louder than logic.
“That’s for college,” I mutter.
Another hit.
“That’s for every time you shoved me into lockers, for every time you made me feel like I was nothing.”
Another. He cries out, curses, and begs. I barely hear it.
