Episode 12 : "I Felt It in My Bones"
1117 Words
(Rhea's POV)
People think my life is perfect.
I don’t blame them. I live in a mansion where chandeliers throw gold across marble floors, where the air always smells faintly of roses, and where even the silence feels expensive. I’m married to Denver Knight — a man whose name alone makes powerful men hesitate — and I have a daughter who could melt ice with her laughter.
But perfection is never free.
Power always has a price.
And when you’re married to Denver Knight, king of the underground, that price is constant vigilance. Peace isn’t given to you — you fight for it, every single day, and sometimes even that’s not enough.
---
That morning, I woke with an ache in my chest.
Not physical. Not the kind you can fix with medicine.
It was the kind of ache born in the marrow, a quiet alarm that goes off before the world gives you the reason for it.
Call it instinct. Call it a sixth sense.
But I’ve always known when something is wrong before it happens. And today… every breath I took felt like it was made of glass.
I reached for Denver’s side of the bed.
Cold.
He was already gone.
I slipped out from under the duvet, walked barefoot across the Persian rug, and stepped onto the balcony. The winter air bit into my skin, but I barely noticed. My eyes tracked movement down the long driveway — his black car speeding away from the estate, one tail car following.
Only one.
No convoy. No Veer. No swarm of guards.
That wasn’t normal.
That wasn’t safe.
My stomach tightened.
I called him.
One ring. Two. Four.
No answer.
I tried again.
Still nothing.
I stayed on the balcony until the car vanished beyond the gates, the cold air crawling deeper into my bones. When I finally stepped back inside, the silence of the bedroom felt heavier than the winter sky.
---
Hours passed — though each minute felt stretched thin, like a string about to snap.
I tried to distract myself — fed Pari, made tea, answered meaningless calls from acquaintances — but my thoughts kept circling back to the image of Denver’s car disappearing down that road without its usual army behind it.
When the gates finally opened again, I moved before I even realized it — crossing the foyer, my bare feet silent against the marble.
The door swung open.
And there he was.
Relief surged through me so fast it almost knocked me over — until I saw it.
Blood. Dark, fresh, smeared across the cuff of his white sleeve.
I froze. My voice came out in a whisper I barely recognized.
“Whose blood is that?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he stepped forward, one large hand cupping my face. His eyes — usually sharp and unreadable — softened, almost… reverent. Like he was memorizing me.
“She saved me,” he said quietly.
Something in his voice made my heart skip.
“Who?”
“A girl. A stranger.” His gaze drifted, like he was replaying it in his head. “She jumped in front of the bullet. Didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t know who I was. She just… acted.”
For a man like Denver — who dealt in calculated risks, who trusted no one — the awe in his voice was rare.
And in that moment, I understood something.
This wasn’t just about the attack.
It was about her.
---
That night, I stayed quiet.
I let him be. Let him process.
But sleep didn’t come for me.
I lay beside him, staring at the ceiling’s intricate molding, counting the shadows shifting with the wind. My mind kept circling the same questions.
Who was this girl?
Why did she risk her life for a stranger?
And what would have happened if she hadn’t been there?
I turned my head toward Denver. Even in sleep, his brows were drawn, his jaw tight — like his body couldn’t relax, even now.
I knew he wasn’t just thinking about the attack.
He was thinking about her.
It wasn’t jealousy that twisted in my chest. It was something colder. Older.
Fear.
Not fear of losing him to another woman.
Fear of what this meant — of what fate was setting in motion.
Because people like us didn’t meet strangers by chance.
When someone walked into your life at a moment like that… it was never just coincidence.
---
The Next Morning
Pari’s tiny fingers smeared syrup over her waffles, humming a song she’d half-made up. I was feeding her, smiling when she giggled, when I caught movement at the doorway.
Veer walked in — his expression tight, his shoulders tense.
“Veer Bhai,” I greeted softly. “He told you?”
He nodded. “We’ve got a leak.”
I didn’t need details. I already knew.
“I could feel it, Bhai,” I said quietly. “Since the gala attack, the air in this house has changed.”
I looked at my daughter — the light of our lives — happily stacking her waffle pieces into a small tower.
“I don’t care about the power games out there,” I said, my voice low. “Just keep him safe. Keep her safe.”
His brow furrowed. “Her?”
“The girl who saved him,” I said simply. “Someone who throws herself in front of a bullet for a man she doesn’t know? She’s already part of this story, whether she realizes it or not. And once you’re inside the world of the Knights…”
Veer’s silence was its own agreement.
There’s no way out.
---
That evening, the sun had barely dipped behind the horizon when I finally asked the question that had been turning circles in my mind since yesterday.
We were in his study, the faint scent of cigars clinging to the air. Denver was leaning against the desk, scrolling through something on his phone.
“Do you want to meet her?” I asked.
His eyes lifted, surprised. “She saved my life. Of course, I do.”
I smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. “Then maybe… you should. But Denver…”
“Yes?”
“Be careful what you feel.” I stepped closer, my voice dropping. “Sometimes the people we owe the most to… end up becoming the most dangerous to our hearts.”
He didn’t reply.
But the look in his eyes?
He was already falling.
Not in love. Not yet.
But into something deeper. Something nameless.
And that — more than the attack, more than the blood — was what truly scared me.
- Writer
