CHAPTER 10: Part 2 (TREADING ON THIN ICE)
Recap:
"I... I have to go," I said into the phone, standing up on shaky legs. "I'm coming out. Just... stay in the car. Please."
I grabbed my purse, smoothed down my crumpled dress, and ran towards the exit, praying that the lies I was weaving wouldn't strangle me tonight.
~ ISHIKA (POV) ~
The automatic glass doors of the hospital entrance slid open with a hiss, and the humid evening air hit my tear-stained face.
I scanned the chaotic parking lot, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Ambulances were pulling in, sirens wailing, families were rushing past with worried faces.
But amidst the chaos, I saw him instantly.
He was impossible to miss.
Mrityunjay was not sitting in his car. He was leaning against the hood of a massive, black SUV, his arms crossed over his chest, looking like a dark storm cloud that had descended upon the earth.
He was wearing a casual black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the veins on his forearms, and dark jeans. He looked lethal. And terrified.
His eyes were scanning the entrance like a hawk hunting for prey. The moment I stepped out, his gaze locked onto me.
The tension in his body snapped. He pushed off the car and strode towards me, his long legs eating up the distance between us in seconds.
"Ishika!"
I didn't even get a chance to speak.
He reached me and didn't stop. His large hand shot out, grabbing my upper arm, and he yanked me towards him. In one fluid motion, I was crushed against his hard, solid chest.
His arms wrapped around me like steel bands, squeezing me so tight it knocked the breath out of my lungs. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling sharply.
"You terrified me," he growled against my skin, the vibration of his voice rumbling through my body. "Damn it, Ishika. You terrified me."
I stood frozen for a second, overwhelmed by his scent—sandalwood, expensive musk, and the faint, metallic tang of adrenaline.
Then, I crumbled.
My hands came up to clutch his shirt, bunching the fabric in my fists. I pressed my face into his shoulder and let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
He held me for a long moment, ignoring the stares of passersby. He held me as if he was checking for broken bones, as if proving to himself that I was real and whole.
Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled back, but his hands stayed firmly on my shoulders, holding me in place.
His dark eyes roamed over my face, scrutinizing every inch. He looked at my red, puffy eyes, my messy hair, and then down at my crumpled dress.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded, his voice rough. "Did you fall? Why were you crying like that on the phone?"
I shook my head, sniffing. "No... I'm fine. It was just... seeing Dadu collapse. I was alone with him. I panicked."
His jaw tightened. His thumbs brushed away a fresh tear that escaped my eye.
"Mehak's grandfather?" he asked, his gaze piercing.
I forced myself to nod, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. "Yes. Mehak's Dadu. He... he is like a grandfather to me too. We are very close."
Mrityunjay stared at me, searching for something in my eyes. For a terrifying second, I thought he knew. I thought he could see the reflection of Vardhman Jaiswal in my pupils.
But then, his expression softened. The cold, predator look faded, replaced by a raw, aching concern.
"I should have been there," he muttered, frustration lacing his tone. "I was two minutes away. If you hadn't cut the call..."
"You couldn't come," I whispered, placing my hand over his on my shoulder. "Mehak's family... her parents, her relatives... they are all inside. It's chaos. If they saw you... the King... with me..."
"I don't care about them," he stated flatly. "I care about you. You were crying."
"I know," I said softly, looking down at his chest. "But please... try to understand. A scandal right now... it would destroy my... my friend's reputation."
He sighed, a harsh, frustrated sound, but he nodded. He released my shoulders and reached into the car through the open window, pulling out a bottle of water.
He unscrewed the cap and held it to my lips. "Drink."
It wasn't a request.
I took small sips, the cool water soothing my parched throat. He watched me drink, his gaze intense and unblinking.
When I finished, he took the bottle back and then did something that made my heart ache.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket—his monogrammed silk handkerchief—and gently, with infinite care, wiped my damp forehead and cheeks.
"You look exhausted, Little Rabbit," he murmured, his thumb tracing the dark circle under my eye. "This was supposed to be our second date."
A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat. "I know. I'm dressed for it." I gestured helplessly to my frock.
He stepped back slightly to look at the dress properly. A flicker of appreciation crossed his eyes, momentarily chasing away the shadows.
"You look beautiful," he said, his voice dropping to that husky register that always made my knees weak. "Even with red eyes and a crumpled dress. You look beautiful."
I blushed, looking down at my sandals. "You're just saying that."
"I never say things I do not mean," he countered seriously.
He stepped closer again, boxing me in against the car door. He lowered his head so our faces were inches apart.
"Is he going to be okay?" he asked quietly. "The grandfather?"
My breath hitched. "Yes. The doctors said it was a mild attack. Stress-induced. He just needs rest."
"Good," Mrityunjay nodded. Then he said the words that would haunt me forever.
"If you need anything... best doctors from the Royal Sanjeevani, moving him to a private suite there, airlifting him to Mumbai... you tell me. I will handle it."
I stared at him, my eyes widening. The offer was staggering. He wasn't just offering money; he was offering a seat at the table of the gods.
The mention of Royal Sanjeevani Medical Center changed the air between us instantly. In Jodhpur, that name didn't just represent a hospital; it was the crown jewel of the Rathore empire's medical branch.
It was a place where the elite were saved and the common were reminded of the distance between them and the throne.
To move my Dadu to the Royal Sanjeevani meant putting his life in the hands of the most advanced medical dynasty in the country—the very family I was currently lying to.
"You... you would do that?" I whispered. "For... for Mehak's grandfather?"
"I would do it for you," he corrected, his gaze burning into mine. "Anything that causes you tears becomes my problem to solve. If saving him stops you from crying, I will save him a thousand times over."
Tears welled up in my eyes again, but this time from a crushing wave of guilt.
He was offering to save Vardhman Jaiswal. He was offering to use his power, his wealth, to save the very man he hated, just because I loved him.
He didn't know. He had no idea.
And I was lying to him.
"Thank you," I choked out, a single tear sliding down my cheek. "Thank you, Hukum Sa."
He frowned at the tear. "Stop crying," he commanded gently. "I am here. I am not leaving."
"You... you can't stay here," I said, panic rising again. "I have to go back inside. Mehak is waiting. And... and you can't be seen waiting in the parking lot like a driver."
"I will wait," he said stubbornly. "I am not leaving you in this state."
"Please," I pleaded, placing my hands on his chest and pushing lightly. "Go home. I'll call you when we leave. I promise. Please, Mrityunjay."
His name slipped out.
I froze. He froze.
I hadn't called him *Hukum Sa*. I had called him *Mrityunjay*.
His eyes darkened, the pupils dilating until they were almost black. His hand came up to cover mine on his chest, pressing it harder against his heart.
"Say that again," he whispered roughy.
I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. "Please... go home... Mrityunjay."
A shudder ran through him. For a moment, I thought he might kiss me right there in the hospital parking lot, amidst the sirens and the strangers. The intensity in his gaze was scorching.
"Fine," he breathed, his voice sounding like gravel. "I will go. But only because you asked me like that."
He leaned down and pressed a hard, lingering kiss to my forehead. It was a brand. A promise.
"Go back inside," he ordered, pulling away reluctantly. "Text me the moment you are home. If I don't hear from you in two hours, I am coming inside, reputation be damned."
I nodded, breathless. "I will."
I turned and ran back towards the hospital entrance, my heart heavy with love, fear, and the terrible weight of the secrets I was carrying.
As the glass doors slid shut behind me, I looked back one last time.
He was still standing there, leaning against his car, watching me.
The King guarding his Queen.
Unaware that inside, I was running back to the enemy's camp.
The hospital doors hissed shut behind me, cutting off the sight of Mrityunjay standing by his car. I leaned against the cold glass for a second, my heart racing so fast I could feel it in my throat.
*Mrityunjay.* I had called him by his name.
But as I turned to walk down the sterile corridor toward the ICU waiting area, the romantic haze of the parking lot evaporated, replaced by a cold, sharp dread.
"Ishika!"
I looked up to see the elevator doors fly open. My breath hitched. It wasn't just Baba Sa. The whole family was there. They must have rushed straight from the engagement ceremony the moment they heard.
Mumma ran toward me, her heavy silk saree rustling loudly in the quiet hallway. Behind her came Baba Sa, his face a mask of sweat and panic, followed by Chacha and Chachi.
"Sona!" Mumma cried out, grabbing my face in her trembling hands. "Tum theek ho? (Are you okay?) Dadu kaise hain? (How is Dadu?)"
"He's stable, Mumma," I whispered, trying to stand tall despite the crushing guilt. "The doctor said it was a mild attack. He's in Room 402."
Baba Sa didn't wait. He sprinted toward the room, his footsteps echoing like gunshots on the tiled floor. I followed them in, feeling like an intruder in my own family's grief.
Inside the room, the lights were dimmed. Dadu looked so small against the white sheets. His eyes were open, but he looked exhausted.
"Baba Sa!" Baba Sa fell into the chair beside the bed, clutching Dadu's hand. "Aapne humein dara diya. (You scared us.)"
Dadu managed a weak, tired smile. "Hum theek hain, Anant. (I am fine, Anant.) Bas... purani baatein thoda bojh ban gayi thi. (Just... old matters became a bit of a burden.)"
He looked at me over Baba Sa's shoulder. His gaze lingered on my frock—the dress I was supposed to be wearing for a date with a Rathore.
He didn't say anything, but the sadness in his eyes told me he knew I was hiding something.
"It's them, isn't it?" Baba Sa's voice was low, vibrating with a suppressed, terrified anger. He looked at the floor, his jaw tight. "This marriage... this demand... it's killing you."
"Anant, shant ho jao," (Anant, calm down,) Mumma pleaded, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Kaise shant ho jaun, Madhu?" (How can I be calm, Madhu?) Baba Sa snapped, standing up and pacing the small room. He looked like a trapped animal.
"Bade Rana Sa is one thing, but have you heard the rumors? His grandson is back. Mrityunjay Singh Rathore is the one pulling the strings now."
I froze. I stayed in the shadows near the door, my fingers twisting the fabric of my dress.
"I saw him once, years ago," Baba Sa continued, his voice dropping to a fearful whisper.
"That man... he is a devil. He has no heart, no mercy. If he finds out we are trying to delay the wedding... if he thinks we are playing games with them..."
Baba Sa turned to me, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
"Sona, you must be careful," he said, walking over and gripping my shoulders.
"From tomorrow, you are not to go anywhere except work and home. Do you understand? Mrityunjay Rathore is not a man you want to cross. He treats people like pawns on a chessboard. If he catches sight of you..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but the shudder that went through his body said enough.
The irony was a physical weight on my chest. My father was terrified of the man who had just wiped my tears with a silk handkerchief.
He was warned me about a "devil" who had, just an hour ago, offered to airlift my grandfather to the best hospital in the country.
"Ji, Baba Sa," I murmured, staring at his shoes. "Main dhyan rakhungi. (I will be careful.)"
"Good," he exhaled, releasing me. "I'll go talk to the billing department. We need to get Dadu home as soon as possible. I don't like him being in a public place where anyone can see our weakness."
As the family huddled around Dadu, speaking in hushed, fearful tones about the Rathores, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
A text message.
*Mrityunjay: Are you home yet? Report to me, Little Rabbit.*
I looked at my family—my terrified father, my crying mother, and my sick grandfather. Then I looked at the screen.
I was standing in the middle of a war zone, and I was in love with the enemy's General.
"I'll be right back," I whispered. "I need to get some water."
I slipped out of the room, found a quiet corner in the stairwell, and leaned against the wall, my breath coming in short gasps. I pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling as I typed back.
*Ishika: I'm home. Thank you for everything.*
I pressed send, knowing that every word was a step closer to a disaster I couldn't stop.