The air inside the Thorne mansion was thick with an eerie, suffocating silence as the heavy oak doors swung open. The grandeur of the marble foyer, usually so imposing and cold, felt like a stage set for a tragedy. Sia walked in, her small frame straining under the weight of Reyansh's muscular arm draped over her shoulders. His white silk shirt was a canvas of crimson, the blood from the iron rod strike still seeping through the fabric, warm and sticky against her skin.
Every step was a battle. Sia's breath hitched as she felt the rhythmic thud of Reyansh's heart against her side—a heart she had once worshipped, then learned to despise.
At the top of the grand staircase, the family stood like frozen statues. Gayatri clutched her throat, her face draining of color at the sight of her eldest son's blood. The Dadi (Savitri Devi) stood beside her, her eyes narrowing, her knuckles white as she gripped her silver-headed cane. Vikram, Reyansh's younger brother, rushed forward, his face a mask of shock.
"Bhai! What happened?" Vikram cried out, reaching to help.
Reyansh's jaw tightened, his pride refusing to buckle even as his vision blurred. "Stay back, Vikram," he hissed, his voice a gravelly rasp.
Sia didn't look up. Her focus was singular—getting him to the room. "Not now, Vikram," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "He needs the wound cleaned immediately. Call the family doctor, but tell him to come through the back entrance. We can't have the media or the rivals seeing the 'invincible' Reyansh Thorne in this state."
Dadi nodded slowly, a flicker of respect crossing her aged features. "The girl is right. Vikram, do as she says. Gayatri, get the first-aid kit and the antiseptic from my cabinet. And Sia..." Dadi's voice dropped an octave, heavy with the weight of the Thorne reputation. "If anyone asks, he tripped at the construction site. No one—and I mean no one—knows about the bakery. A Thorne does not bleed for a bread shop."
Sia didn't respond. The "bread shop" was her soul, her independence. But she didn't have the energy to fight the matriarch. She dragged Reyansh toward their bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them, sealing the world away.
The room was dimly lit, the shadows dancing on the walls like ghosts of their past. Sia managed to guide Reyansh to the edge of the massive king-sized bed. As he sat down, he let out a sharp, hissed breath, his face pale, sweat beading on his forehead.
Sia moved with clinical efficiency. She didn't look at his face; she couldn't. She began to unbutton his shirt, her fingers brushing against the burning heat of his skin. Each button she undid felt like she was peeling back a layer of the armor he wore so well. When the shirt finally fell away, the sight of the jagged, purple-black bruise and the deep gash on his arm made her stomach turn.
As she knelt before him, dipping a cotton swab into the antiseptic, she felt his gaze. It wasn't the cold, calculating gaze of the businessman. It was something else—intense, burning, and dangerously soft.
Reyansh looked down at her, a small, twisted smile playing on his lips despite the pain. "You're still the same, aren't you?" he whispered.
Sia stopped, her hand hovering over his wound. "What are you talking about?"
"This," he said, gesturing to her trembling hands. "The way you're caring for me. After everything I did... after the lies, the revenge, the way I broke your father... you're still here, tending to my wounds. Admit it, Sia. You still love me. This care... it's not for a stranger. It's for me."
Sia's movements froze. A cold, bitter smile spread across her face—one that didn't reach her eyes. She looked up, her gaze meeting his, shattering the moment of unwanted intimacy.
"Get this misunderstanding out of your head, Reyansh," she said, her voice as sharp as a razor. "I'd tell you to clear it from your heart too, but we both know you don't have one of those. All you have is a cold, calculating machine in your chest."
She pressed the antiseptic-soaked cotton onto the open wound with a bit more force than necessary. Reyansh winced, his muscles jumping under her touch.
"The only reason I'm helping you," Sia continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "is because of a basic sense of humanity. If a wounded dog were lying on the side of the road, bleeding and pathetic, I would do the exact same thing for it. To me, your value right now is no more than that of a stray animal. Don't mistake my upbringing for your victory."
Reyansh's eyes darkened, a flash of genuine offense crossing his face. "A dog? You're comparing a Thorne to a stray dog?"
"At least a dog is loyal," Sia retorted, leaning in closer. The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the metallic tang of blood filled her senses, a intoxicating, dangerous cocktail. "You don't even have that. So sit still, Mr. Thorne, and let me finish this so I can go back to worrying about the things that actually matter—like my bakery."
For a moment, the tension in the room was electric. Reyansh reached out with his uninjured hand, his fingers tangling in the loose strands of her hair, pulling her face inches from his. The "Unwanted Romance" flickered between them—a magnetic pull that neither could explain but both fought against.
"You can call me a dog, Sia," he growled, his breath hot against her lips. "But remember... a dog always knows who its owner is. And you... you're mine. Whether you hate me or whether you pity me, you're tied to me by a bond even you can't break."
Sia jerked her head back, her chest heaving. "The only thing I'm tied to is the debt I'm paying for my father's supposed sins. Once that's done, there won't even be a shadow of me left in this house."
The night wore on. After the bandage was set and Reyansh had finally fallen into a fitful, feverish sleep, Sia sat by the window, watching the rain wash over the estate.
A soft knock on the door startled her. It was Vikram. He looked older, more tired than a boy his age should be. He handed her a small, soot-stained object.
"I went back to the bakery after the police left," Vikram whispered. "I found this near the back entrance. It must have fallen out of one of the attackers' pockets during the scuffle."
Sia took the object. It was a heavy, old-fashioned brass key with a peculiar emblem engraved on it—a hawk with its wings clipped.
Her heart stopped. She recognized that emblem. It wasn't a Thorne symbol. It was the mark of the Singhania Group—the very people who had been the Thornes' rivals decades ago, the ones her father was accused of conspiring with.
Why would a Singhania henchman be attacking a small, independent bakery?
Sia looked at the sleeping Reyansh. If he saw this, he would use it as more 'proof' that her father was still plotting against him. But as she gripped the cold metal of the key, a chilling thought entered her mind.
What if the revenge Reyansh is seeking is based on a lie? The mystery was no longer just about the past; it was about a hidden player in the present who wanted them both destroyed. As Sia tucked the key into her saree, she realized the war hadn't ended at the registry office. It was only just beginning, and the real enemy was still in the shadows.
✨ Author's Note ✨
The tension is skyrocketing! 🔥 Sia's "stray dog" burn left Reyansh reeling, but the discovery of that brass key changes everything. Is Deepak truly the villain, or is there a bigger puppet master pulling the strings? 🕵️♀️
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