MYRA’S POV

Soon as our cars entered Amaravathi city, police vehicles joined the convoy. The road was blocked for all other traffic, cleared only for us, and we reached the palace within fifteen minutes.

My body trembled with fear—how would he react? I had ignored his warnings and ended up in danger.

“Akka… we’re reaching,” Veda said in a low voice. “Honestly, I didn’t feel this scared even when we were attacked,” she added, gripping my hand tightly. Her palm was damp with sweat, her throat bobbing as she swallowed her fear. “Sreehan will kill me,” she whispered.

“Shh, I’m here. Don’t worry,” I said, tapping her shoulder, pretending I wasn’t more terrified than she was. My heart thumped wildly the moment we crossed the palace gates.

And there he was—leaning against the car, arms folded, surrounded by his own army. Sreehan stood beside him, both of them radiating a fury so raw it felt capable of tearing the world apart.

“Akkaa…” Veda cried, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry. Because of me, we walked straight into danger. I’m so sorry,” she said, pulling me into a hug.

“No, Veda—look at me,” I said, holding her chin and forcing her to meet my eyes. “You’re not alone in this. We both did it. I’m equally responsible. Don’t put all the blame on yourself.”

“But—” she began, and I cut her off softly.

“We’re not talking about this now,” I said just as the car came to an abrupt stop.

Sreehan came running and opened Veda’s side door first. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms, breathing heavily. Veda broke down against his chest, crying as she whispering something only he could hear.

My eyes searched for Adhvay—he still stood there, unmoving, his sunglasses on, giving nothing away. Sreehan gently kissed Veda’s forehead, then came around to my side and opened the door.

"Vadinamma," his voice low and concerned. I nodded at Sreehan giving him assuring look that I'm okay.

My fear surged wildly as I struggled to catch my breath and stepped out of the car. Adhvay’s eyes burned red behind those lenses, screaming danger without a single word.

Shanti atthaya ( atthaya= aunt)  stepped out of the palace with a plate of haarathi  meant to ward off the evil eye. Tension lined her face as she whispered, “Thank God,” and began circling the plate around us, her movements urgent and protective.

(Haarathi also known as aarthi is meant to remove the evil eye and protect everyone from danger)

She handed the plate to a worker and immediately pulled Veda and me into a tight hug. “Don’t ever do something like this again,” she scolded, her voice sharp with fear and love, just like a mother who had almost lost her children.

Amid all the chaos, I still looked at him—his eyes locked onto my face, unblinking, never leaving me for a single second.

“Come inside,” Shanti atthaya said, holding my hand and guiding me into the grand hall. The tension rose like unbearable heat, the air around me feeling suffocatingly hot.

If he scolded me, that would have been one thing—but he didn’t. He just kept looking at me, his gaze heavy with anger… or something far more frightening that I couldn’t describe.

Rudra mamayya rushed toward me. “Myra!” he shouted, and the moment he saw me smile, relief washed over his face. He ran his hand over my head gently. “You’re safe,” he whispered.

Not that I couldn’t handle the attackers on my own—I can, and everyone standing here knew it. But the care they showed, the fear in their eyes at the thought of losing me, made my heart ache in the sweetest way.

Sreehan was shaking with fury. "How foolish they were to think they could harm the women of this palace. They should suffer—they will suffer"—he said it like a promise carved in stone.

The workers handed us juice, and I gulped it down, my eyes still on Adhvay. My mind didn’t even register what kind of juice it was—I barely noticed, caught in his presence.

Adhvay marched toward the stairs, and everyone’s eyes followed him—shocked just like mine. Maybe they, too, had expected him to simply hug me and never let go. Why was he acting so differently?

Shanti atthaya caught my eye and signalled me to follow him. I made a crying face and shook my head as a  ' no '.

Her expression turned incredulous. 'Girl, you messed up—go and make it right with him', her eyes seemed to scream without a word.

Veda and Sreehan sat side by side, her head resting on his shoulder, their hands tangled together as he gently caressed her hair.

They looked so adorable, and here I was, with this angry human to deal with. My steps were deliberately slow, each one stretching the walk into the longest journey toward our chamber.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to our room. His back was faced to me, and with each slower step, it felt like I was walking beside him for an eternity before finally closing the distance.

Wrapping my arms around his waist, I hugged him tightly from behind. My racing heartbeat slowed as his warm skin pressed against mine, and a flicker of relief almost made me smile.

He yanked me away abruptly, almost harshly. His fury was blazing, yet he struggled to control himself, holding back from lashing out.

His hand gripped mine harshly, snatching me along as we walked to his drawing room. The door nearly shattered under the force as he pushed it open.

He propelled me into the room and locked the door behind us. My eyes darted around at the paintings that adorned the walls, each one seeming to watch me. Adhvay gripped my shoulders, closing the distance between us. Our bodies collided, and his eyes, teary and red, burned with a fuming intensity that left me breathless.

“Look around,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding.

“Do you even know what you mean to me?”

“All these paintings aren’t just paintings. Every single one of them—I drew imagining your eyes, from the  first day we met. You walked through that training area and claimed me from the very start.”

He cupped my face, his palms trembling despite the strength in his grip, tears spilling down his cheek as if his fury had finally cracked. “I’m nothing without you,” he breathed, forehead resting against mine, his anger melting into something raw and terrified. “Every second after hearing that you were being attacked, I felt like I was dying slowly” he whispered, his voice breaking, trembling with the weight of his emotions.

All that power, all that control—and yet in this moment, he looked undone, as if the very idea of losing me had hollowed him out. His breath was uneven, his eyes burning red with emotion rather than rage now, and I realized this wasn’t punishment waiting for me—it was fear, love, and desperation colliding, because the world could touch him, threaten him, even challenge him, but the thought of me slipping away was the one thing he could never survive.

“I know I can protect you. I know you can protect yourself. I know there isn’t a single fucking soul who can harm even a strand of your hair—yet the thought of you being hurt…”

He stopped, his voice breaking. “I can’t survive without you, Myra.”

I didn’t realize when I started crying. His love—his obsession with me—hurt my soul, slowed my breath, and in that moment I understood there could be no human who would love me, own me, the way he did.

I kissed him— with the certainty of someone who knew exactly where she belonged. I kissed him like he was my world, like every fear, every breath, every fracture inside me led back to him alone.

It wasn’t just desperation; it was possession born of love, a quiet claiming that said ' you are mine as much as I am yours'. I kissed him until his anger dissolved, until his hands steadied, until the distance between us vanished completely, and in that moment, nothing existed beyond the way our broken hearts recognized home in each other.

Neither of us was ready to pull away. We stayed like that, kissing, until the kiss shifted—harsh to soft, soft back to harsh—changing within seconds, as if our emotions couldn’t decide which one deserved to speak first.

His anger bled into it, then love followed, then fear, all tangled together in the way his mouth claimed mine, in the way he held me as if losing control was the only thing keeping him sane. Every second of the kiss carried something different,  rage at the danger, relief that I was alive, and a love so fierce it felt almost violent, until I could feel it in my bones.

This was how he loves, unapologetic, overwhelming, and terrifyingly real.