A Devil Love Story

Chapter 3

The night felt endless. After Arnav locked the door, Diya spent hours sitting on the cold floor, her tears finally drying up. The image of the woman in the portrait haunted her. She looked so full of life, so different from the cold, lifeless man who now owned this mansion. Diya realized that Arnav Singhania didn't just have a past; he had a wound that was still bleeding.

Around 3:00 AM, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a call from the hospital. Her heart skipped a beat as she lunged for the phone.

"Hello? Is this Ms. Diya?" a nurse’s voice sounded frantic. "Your father’s condition has suddenly worsened. His oxygen levels are dropping rapidly. We need to perform an emergency surgery, but the hospital management says the previous bills haven't been cleared yet. We can't move him to the OT without the payment."

Diya felt like the world was collapsing around her. "Please... please save him! I will bring the money. Give me two hours!"

"We don't have two hours, Ms. Diya. You have thirty minutes," the nurse said before hanging up.

Diya ran to the door and pulled the handle, but it was still locked from the outside. Panic set in. She began to bang on the heavy wooden door with all her strength.

"Help! Someone open the door! Samuel! Arnav!" she screamed, her voice breaking.

Suddenly, the lock clicked. The door swung open, and there he was. Arnav was standing there, still in his black shirt, looking like he hadn't slept either. His eyes were tired, but his expression was still hard.

"What is this noise, Diya? Do you want to test my patience again?" he hissed.

"My father... he is dying!" Diya sobbed, grabbing his collar. "The hospital needs money now. They won't operate without it. Please, Arnav... I’ll do anything. I’ll sign ten more contracts, but please save him!"

Arnav looked at her trembling form. For a second, the 'Devil' mask slipped. He saw the raw pain in her eyes—the same pain he had felt many years ago. Without a word, he pulled out his phone and made a quick call.

"This is Arnav Singhania. Transfer the full amount to City General Hospital for Mr. Sharma's account immediately. Now!"

He hung up and looked at Diya. "It’s done. Now get in the car. We are going there."

The drive to the hospital was silent. Arnav drove like a madman, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. When they arrived, the doctors were already moving her father to the surgery room.

Diya sank into a chair in the waiting area, her face buried in her hands. She felt a heavy weight on her shoulders. Suddenly, she felt something warm. Arnav had placed his expensive wool coat over her shivering shoulders.

"He will be fine," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. It wasn't the voice of a captor; it was almost... human.

Diya looked up at him, surprised. "Why are you doing this? You said I was just an investment."

Arnav looked away, his gaze fixed on the sterile white walls of the hospital. "Even an investment needs to be protected, Diya. Don't make it more than it is."

But as he walked away to talk to the doctors, Diya saw him rub his scarred wrist. She realized that the Devil had a heart, even if it was broken into a million pieces.

The surgical lights in the hallway felt blindingly white. Diya sat motionless, wrapped in Arnav’s heavy wool coat. It smelled of him—expensive, cold, but surprisingly grounding. For the first time, she didn't feel like his prisoner; she felt protected. Every few minutes, she would steal a glance at him. He was standing near the large glass window, his silhouette dark and solitary. He was talking on the phone in a low, sharp voice, likely managing his vast empire even at 4:00 AM.

The surgery lasted for three agonizing hours. When the head surgeon finally stepped out, Diya jumped to her feet.

"The surgery was a success, Ms. Sharma. Your father is stable now," the doctor said with a tired smile. "It’s a miracle we could start the procedure on time. Mr. Singhania’s immediate intervention saved his life."

Diya felt a wave of relief so intense that her knees nearly gave out. She looked toward Arnav. He didn't come closer to celebrate or even offer a nod. He simply put his phone in his pocket and started walking toward the exit.

"Wait!" Diya called out, running to catch up with him.

He stopped but didn't turn around. "Your father is safe. My part of the deal for tonight is done. Don't waste my time with thank-yous."

"I wasn't just going to say thank you," Diya said, standing in front of him. "I want to know... why do you try so hard to act like you don't care? You saved my father’s life. You didn't have to come here yourself."

Arnav’s eyes snapped to hers, cold and piercing. "I told you, Diya. You are an investment. If your father dies, you will spend your time grieving instead of working for me. I hate inefficiency."

He started walking again, but Diya followed him to the parking lot. The cold morning air bit at her skin. "I saw the portrait, Arnav. And I saw the scar on your wrist. Is that why you're like this? Because someone you loved left a scar on your heart that never healed?"

Arnav stopped dead in his tracks. The silence that followed was terrifying. He turned around slowly, his face inches from hers. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might break.

"Listen to me very carefully," he hissed, his voice trembling with a suppressed emotion she couldn't name. "You are here because of a contract. You are not my therapist, and you are certainly not my friend. If you ever mention that portrait or my scars again, I will send your father back to that hospital bed myself."

The cruelty in his words hit her like a physical blow. But this time, Diya didn't look away. She saw the flicker of pain in his eyes before he masked it with anger. She realized then that his anger was his armor.

"You can threaten me all you want, Arnav," she whispered. "But the more you push me away, the more I see how much you're hurting."

Arnav didn't reply. He gripped the steering wheel of his car and roared the engine to life. As they drove back to the mansion, the rising sun began to hit the horizon, but the shadows between them only grew longer. The Devil was terrified—not of her, but of the emotions she was forcing him to feel.