Everyone had finally left. The mansion, which a few hours ago was breathing with music, whispers, clinking glasses, and too many eyes, now rested in a rare silence. Corridors dimmed. Curtains stilled. Even the chandeliers seemed tired of shining.
Anaya slipped into her room quietly, like she didn't want to wake the walls. She changed into comfortable clothes, soft cotton, hair loosened from the heavy pins of the evening. The mirror reflected a version of her that only existed after midnight. No guests. No pretending. Just her.
She reached for her diary.
Nothing.
She checked the bedside drawer once. Then twice. Her bag. The dressing table. The chair near the window. Her brows pulled together slowly, panic creeping in like a slow burn.
"Yahin rakhti hoon main," she muttered under her breath, more to calm herself than anything else.
She turned, about to check under the bed, when the bookshelf shifted.
Not loudly. Just enough.
Her breath caught.
Rudra stepped out from behind the concealed door of his private library, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled, expression unreadable. He stopped mid-step the moment he saw her standing there, frozen.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then his voice cut through the quiet, deep and familiar.
"Haan bolo… velvet?"
The nickname still did strange things to her heartbeat.
Anaya hesitated. She wasn't sure why asking him suddenly felt like stepping onto thin ice. But she walked toward him anyway, stopping just a little too close. Rudra was tall, easily over six feet. She had to tilt her face up, eyes meeting his.
"Did… did you see my red diary?" she asked softly. "Main hamesha bedside drawer mein rakhti hoon."
Rudra didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped forward.
One step. Then another.
Her breath hitched without permission.
"Red…" he murmured, eyes lowering to her lips before returning to her eyes. "Oh. Woh red wali."
His voice dropped lower with every word, like he knew exactly what it was doing to her.
Before she could process it, his arm slid around her waist, pulling her in effortlessly. Her hands instinctively landed on his chest, fingers curling into fabric.
"I saw it," he said quietly. "Actually…"
"Actually?" she repeated, barely above a whisper.
He leaned in slightly, close enough that she could feel his breath.
"Yeah," he continued calmly, almost teasing. "I saw it. I read it."
Her eyes widened. "You read—"
"And you mean this?" he finished, stepping back just enough to reach behind him. He pulled out the diary from near the couch pillow, exactly where he'd left it the night before, and held it up like a prize.
For a heartbeat, she just stared.
Then she snatched it from his hand.
Disappointment flashed across her face before she could hide it.
Rudra noticed.
Of course he did.
He stepped back fully now, a slow smirk forming as a quiet chuckle escaped him. Anaya stood there, diary clutched to her chest, completely still.
He turned to leave.
"What… what was that?" she blurted out.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Umm. Just helping you find your diary. I think."
That did it.
Anaya narrowed her eyes.
She placed the diary aside very deliberately, picked up the nearest pillow, and launched it straight at him.
"Rudra Singhaniya!"
The pillow hit his shoulder. He blinked, surprised, frozen for exactly two seconds.
Then he grabbed a pillow of his own.
And chaos broke loose.
She ran toward the bed, laughing under her breath as she dodged his first attack. Pillows flew. Feathers escaped. The room filled with soft thuds and suppressed giggles.
"Velvet," he said between attacks, a rare full smile on his face, "tum disappointed toh nahi hui?"
She ducked, spun around, and hit him again. "Nahi. Bilkul nahi. Zara idhar aao… phir batati hoon."
He laughed. Actually laughed.
"Oh," he teased, stepping closer, "toh mujhe kiss karna tha kya?"
She scoffed, circling the bed. "Nahi nahi. Aaj kal aap bahut hi badal rahe ho."
They tumbled onto the bed at some point, pillows forgotten, laughter softer now, breaths heavier. Rudra caught her wrist gently, pulling her closer until she was half sprawled against him.
"Oh achha," he said, voice quieter now. "Toh batao… kab se?"
She looked at him then. Really looked.
This man, who once wore silence like armor. Who spoke only when necessary. Who hid emotions behind discipline and control. Tonight, he was different. Open. Warm. Real.
"Jab se," she said slowly, "aapne chhupana chhod diya."
Something shifted in his eyes.
He cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheek. "Tumhare saamne chhupana mushkil ho jata hai."
She swallowed.
They weren't running anymore. The room felt smaller now, like the walls had leaned in to listen.
"Rudra," she whispered.
"Haan."
"Aap pehle aise nahi the."
"I know."
"Aur ab—"
"Ab main thak gaya hoon," he said honestly. "Stone ban ke rehne se."
His forehead rested against hers. "Tum se baat karte hue… saans lena easy lagta hai."
Her fingers tightened in his shirt.
"This girl," he continued softly, "jo kabhi mujhse baat karne se darti thi… aaj mere saath lad rahi hai. Has rahi hai."
She smiled. "Aur aap… jo kabhi feel nahi dikhate the… aaj diary chura ke tease kar rahe ho."
He chuckled quietly.
They lay there for a while, tangled in sheets, legs brushing, breaths syncing. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just close.
This was their second first moment. Not fire. Not frenzy. Something deeper. Something safe.
Rudra kissed her forehead, lingering. "Velvet."
"Hm?"
"Yeh ghar… jaldi khushiyon se bhar jayega."
She smiled against his chest.
Outside, the mansion slept. Inside that room, two hearts stayed awake, learning each other in silence, in laughter, in stolen glances.
And for once, the night didn't feel heavy.
It felt like a promise.
✧･ﾟ: *༓☽༺༻☾༓*:･ﾟ✧༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶✧･ﾟ: *༓☽༺༻☾༓*:･ﾟ✧
Next morning arrived without permission, the kind that doesn't care about last night's softness or unfinished laughter. The Singhaniya mansion woke up slow, but the city outside was already running, hungry and impatient.
Anaya was late.
She knew it the moment she glanced at the clock, hair still damp, phone buzzing with unread notifications. Janvi had already left with Aarav. No safety net today. No shared ride. Just her.
She grabbed her car keys and hurried out.
The cherry-red Mercedes stood in the driveway, polished, gleaming arrogantly under the sun, like it had all the time in the world. Anaya slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, and eased the car forward toward the gate.
Just as the gate opened, she saw another car entering.
She braked instantly.
Mrs. Singhaniya stepped out, sari pleats perfect as ever, expression calm, eyes sharp with years of quiet authority. She had just returned from outside.
Anaya rolled down the window. "Mumma? Aap bahar thi?"
Mrs. Singhaniya turned, surprised, then smiled softly. "Haan beta."
Anaya glanced at the time again, panic flickering across her face. "Mumma, eleven baj rahe hain. Mujhe office ke liye late ho raha hai. Aaj ek important file submit karni hai. Main shaam ko aake baat karti hoon, haan?"
Mrs. Singhaniya studied her for a moment, the way mothers do, reading stress before words. "Theek hai. Par late mat hona. Aur drive safely."
Anaya nodded. "Aap bhi apna dhyaan rakhiye. Evening me milte hain mumma."
She smiles warmly with happiness and drove off.
Mrs. Singhaniya watched the red car disappear beyond the gate. Her smile faded into something quieter, heavier.
"Okay beta," she murmured to herself. "Ghar safely aana."
The city swallowed Anaya whole.
She sped up slightly, weaving through traffic, mentally rehearsing her presentation. Signals blurred. Horns screamed. Time slipped.
Elsewhere, in the corporate glass-and-steel building that housed Singhaniya Enterprises, Aarav wasn't working.
He was hovering.
Janvi's department floor buzzed with controlled chaos. She stood with a few colleagues, explaining something on a tablet, professional, composed. Aarav leaned against a pillar, pretending to check his phone, very obviously not fooling anyone.
His phone vibrated.
A message from Rudra.
Aarav read it, his expression tightening. His gaze lifted instantly, locking onto Janvi.
He pushed himself off the wall and walked straight toward her.
"Excuse me," he said to the men around her, voice polite but firm. "I need to talk to Ms. Sharma for a minute."
They nodded, stepping away without protest.
As soon as they were alone, Aarav leaned closer, lowering his voice. "It's 12:30."
Janvi frowned. "Haan toh?"
He glanced around quickly, checking for eavesdroppers, then whispered, "Bhabhi kahaan hai? Woh late hai. Usne kuch bataya?"
Janvi's fingers froze on her phone. She scrolled rapidly.
There. A message from Anaya, timestamped 10:02 a.m.
I'm coming but I'll be late. Please handle HR.
Janvi's stomach tightened.
"She messaged me hours ago," Janvi said slowly. "Par ab tak office nahi aayi. Shayad kahin stuck ho gayi ho."
Aarav exhaled sharply. "Meri galti hai. Tum mere saath aa gayi. Agar bhabhi akeli—"
His phone rang.
Rudra.
Aarav answered instantly. "Bhai."
On the other end, Rudra's voice was clipped, controlled, too controlled. "Did you find her?"
"Bhai," Aarav replied, tension seeping in, "Anaya bhabhi 11 baje ghar se nikli thi office ke liye. Ab tak yahan nahi pahuchi."
Janvi leaned closer, calling Anaya again. She shook her head. "Phone off aa raha hai."
Rudra went silent for half a second. Then, "What?"
"Bhai, unka phone band bata raha hai."
Another pause. Dangerous this time.
"Okay," Rudra said finally. "Main khud dhoondhne jaa raha hoon. Tum meeting cancel karo. I don't care."
The call cut.
Janvi's face had gone pale. "Aarav… kya hua?"
Aarav forced a reassuring tone. "Tum yahin raho. Phone try karti raho. Agar woh office aaye, mujhe call karna."
"And you?"
"I'm going with bhai."
He was already dialing numbers as he walked away, barking instructions to his most trusted people, men who knew the city's blind spots, cameras, routes.
The world, meanwhile, tilted.
In Rudra's cabin, the silence shattered.
Files lay abandoned on the desk. The glass walls reflected a man who had no patience left for professionalism. Rudra grabbed his jacket, already moving.
He called Ravi.
Ravi answered mid-drive. "Haan?"
"Ravi," Rudra said without preamble, "Anaya missing hai. Office ke liye nikli thi, par pahuchi nahi."
Ravi slammed the brakes instinctively, tyres screeching. His heart dropped.
"Main ghar jaa raha tha," Ravi said sharply, eyes scanning the road. "Par uski car driveway mein nahi thi."
Rudra was already out of his cabin, striding fast. "Main city ke cameras activate karwa raha hoon."
"Main west line ki taraf jaa raha hoon," Ravi replied. "Wahin zyada traffic merge hota hai."
"If you find anything," Rudra said, voice low, lethal, "tell me immediately."
The call ended.
Ravi gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white.
"Aakhir kisi ko mere apno se kya problem hai!" he yelled into the empty car, rage cracking through his restraint.
Back on the road Anaya had taken, the city didn't notice her absence.
Signals turned green and red without her. Cars passed. People crossed streets. Somewhere between a turn she didn't remember and a stretch of road without cameras, the day broke.
And Rudra Singhaniya was no longer a CEO rushing to meetings.
He was a husband hunting shadows.
Rudra didn't walk to his car.
Hestormed.
• ────── ✾ ────── •₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. 𖥔 ݁˖ • ────── ✾ ────── •
The black G-Wagon roared alive under his grip, engine snarling like it felt what he felt. Fury. Fear. That raw, clawing panic chewing through his ribs. He slammed the door shut, tyres screaming as the car shot out of the Singhaniya premises like a bullet that had lost its target.
His phone rang.
Aarav.
"Bhai," Aarav's voice came rushed, breathless, "Anaya bhabhi ka phone last location dikha raha hai… District Nai Sarak Road."
Rudra didn't reply.
He yanked the steering wheel, accelerator pressed harder. The city blurred. Red lights meant nothing. Horns meant nothing. The only thing that existed was that one stretch of road.
District Nai Sarak.
The road where everything was about to shatter.
As he got closer, his chest tightened, like something invisible had wrapped around his lungs and started squeezing. His phone was already in his hand.
He called Ravi.
Ravi answered instantly. "Rudra, kuch lead mili?"
"District Nai Sarak," Rudra said, voice hoarse, almost breaking. "Abhi. Uska last location yahin ka hai."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end.
"Main aa raha hoon," Ravi said. "Abhi turn le raha hoon."
They didn't say anything else.
They didn't need to.
Rudra reached first.
And the world… stopped.
A crowd.
Too big. Too noisy. Too wrong.
People were standing in clusters, murmuring, pointing. Smoke curled into the sky, thick and black, carrying the sharp, metallic smell of burning rubber and fuel.
Rudra slammed the brakes.
His eyes scanned frantically.
Then he saw it.
Fire.
A car engulfed in flames, metal twisted, glass shattered, front end crushed like paper. The fire crackled, vicious, hungry.
Cherry red.
No.
No.
No no no no—
He was out of the car before he realized he'd opened the door.
"What happened here?" he demanded, grabbing a man by the shoulder.
The man startled. "Sir… woh red Mercedes ka accident hua hai. Bahut kharab accident tha. Gaadi poori jal gayi."
Rudra's ears rang.
"Red… Mercedes?" His voice came out as a whisper.
His legs moved on their own.
He pushed through the crowd.
"Move!" he shouted. "Hatt jao! Let me see!"
People stumbled aside, startled by the rage in his voice, the madness in his eyes. His heart pounded so violently it felt like it might rip free from his chest.
Then he saw it properly.
The car.
Burning.
The exact shade of cherry red.
The same sleek curves. The same shattered windshield. The driver's door warped by heat.
The car he had gifted her.
Her birthday.
She'd smiled so wide that day, eyes shining.
"It's too much, i love this....Rudra."
"You deserve more,"he'd said.
His vision blurred.
He staggered forward.
Hands grabbed his arms.
"Sir, mat jaiye!" a woman cried. "Abhi bhi aag jal rahi hai, dangerous hai!"
"Iss gaadi mein… ek ladki thi," Rudra said, panic finally tearing through his voice. "Woh kahaan hai? Batao mujhe, woh kahaan hai?"
People exchanged confused looks.
"Hum jab aaye tab gaadi jal rahi thi," someone said hesitantly. "Andar koi nahi tha."
Rudra shook his head violently. "Jhoot bol rahe ho tum sab!" he roared. "Kisi ne dekha nahi? Koi nahi? Kahaan hai woh?!"
His hands trembled. His breath came sharp, uneven.
If she wasn't here… then where—
Or worse…
No.
No.
He lunged toward the car again, desperation overpowering sense.
"Rudra!"
Ravi's voice cut through the chaos.
Ravi reached him just as he tried to break free from the crowd, grabbing him hard, arms locking around his chest.
"Ravi!" Rudra gasped, eyes wild. "Yeh… yeh Anaya ki gaadi hai! Mujhe jaane de! Woh andar hogi!"
"Rudra, pagal mat ban," Ravi said urgently. "Aag hai! Agar tu gaya toh—"
Fire engines wailed as they arrived, sirens screaming, water hoses unfurling. Firefighters pushed through, forcing the crowd back, shouting orders.
Rudra and Ravi stood there, helpless.
Water blasted the flames.
Steam hissed.
The fire slowly died, leaving behind a blackened skeleton of metal.
Every second felt like a knife.
Finally, firefighters pried open the door.
Everyone held their breath.
"Sir," one of them said, voice steady, "andar koi nahi hai."
The words didn't register at first.
Then they hit.
Rudra swayed.
No one inside.
Relief and terror collided violently in his chest.
If she wasn't in the car…
Then where the hell was she?
Police arrived, cordoning off the area.
Ravi stepped forward, voice controlled but shaking underneath. "Officer, yeh gaadi meri behen ki hai. Woh missing hai."
Before the officer could reply, Rudra cut in, fury snapping raw.
"Find her," he ordered, eyes burning red, wet with unshed tears. "CCTV footage nikaalo. Abhi. Ek ek camera check karo. Abhi!"
The officer stiffened. "Sir, hum poori koshish—"
"Best nahi," Rudra snapped. "Fast."
Ravi stood beside him, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Years of loss had taught him how to turn emotions into stone, but his eyes betrayed him. They were wet. Burning.
Rudra stared at the wreck.
The melted metal.
The ash.
His chest caved in.
This is my fault.
The thought sliced through him mercilessly.
I should've been with her.
His hands curled into fists.
The city noise faded.
All he could hear was his own heartbeat, loud, erratic.
Somewhere out there, Anaya was alive.
She had to be.
And Rudra Singhaniya would tear the city apart until he found her.