His Cold-Hearted Bodyguard

“A Debt She Never Keeps”

At 11 in the morning,

The doctors shifted Aatish to a normal ward his condition had finally stabilized. Beside his bed stood two men: one was Rudraksh, and the other was a man in his mid-fifties, around fifty to fifty-five years old. His face was stern, carved with years of command, yet his eyes were moist. Even at this age, there was a sharpness in his posture, an alert energy that hadn’t faded.

Rudraksh placed his hand gently on Aatish’s forehead. For ten quiet minutes, the room was still. Then, in a low, firm voice, Rudraksh said, “Dad, you shouldn’t have argued with Aatish like that. You know how short-tempered he is. He’s the youngest among us, but when he’s angry, no one can stop him. He can do anything in rage—and the worst part is, no one can control him.”

That fifty-something man was none other than Mr. Digvijay Ahluwalia—the father of Rudraksh and Aatish.

Digvijay let out a long, weary sigh. “If he keeps losing his temper like this at such a young age,” he said quietly, “how will he survive the life ahead?”

Rudraksh turned toward him, frustration edging his tone. “You can see how weak he is right now, yet you’re still angry with him. If you hadn’t shouted at him, he wouldn’t have left the house—and our enemies wouldn’t have found the chance to attack. We all know someone’s been trying to kill him for the past five years, but we still don’t know who it is. And you keep treating him like he’s your enemy.”

Mr. Digvijay shot him a hard look. “You’re the one who spoiled him,” he said coldly. “Still, he’s my son—and I do worry about him. Now tell me, what’s the plan? He refuses to keep guards, and he lives alone in that private villa. The enemies could strike again anytime.”

Mr. Digvijay was deeply disturbed. He couldn’t bear to see Aatish in that condition, yet there was nothing he could do.

Seeing Rudraksh lost in thought, Digvijay frowned and said bitterly, “If you can’t find a way out of this, then we should just get him married. But our young prince here doesn’t even like women. In fact, I’m not even sure he knows what liking someone means. Do one thing—marry him off to your assistant Rohan instead. At least that way, he’ll stay at home. I don’t care if a man becomes my daughter-in-law.”

Rudraksh’s expression hardened. “Shut up,” he snapped. “I have an idea—but I’ll share it later. Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”

With that, he stormed out of the room and made a phone call.

Digvijay looked at Aatish’s pale face, his own eyes empty of expression. Slowly he closed them and murmured to himself, “If only you were alive, he wouldn’t have turned out like this—so stubborn, so reckless. Why did you leave us? That’s why he’s grown up believing I’m his enemy.”

He shut his eyes tight as a strange ache rose in his chest.

Somewhere else, darkness stretched in every direction. A young woman stood in the middle of a vast training ground, dressed in an army special-forces uniform. Her face was blank—expressionless, mechanical, like a soldier built, not born. She was around twenty.

A man standing before her threw a file in her face and shouted, “You’re useless! A disgrace to the army uniform! From this moment, you are dismissed. There’s no place here for cowards. Get out of my sight—right now—and never show me your face again!”

The man was about fifty, wearing the same army uniform, his rage palpable.

Another officer beside him spoke hesitantly, “Sir, please… what are you saying? She’s lived in the army camp since childhood. She doesn’t have emotions like ordinary people. She knows nothing about the world outside. She’s only ever been trained to fight. If you send her away alone, she won’t survive out there.”

The senior officer pointed a finger at the girl and said coldly, “Whether she lives or dies, I don’t care. I never want to see her face again.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

The girl didn’t move. Her face remained still, but her eyes carried a silent grief. She kept looking at him until he vanished from sight.

A c***k of thunder split the air—then suddenly, the girl blinked, as if snapping back to the present. Her eyes now burned with fury.

She was hitting a punching bag—hard, relentless blows that echoed through the room. Sweat rolled down her toned body. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, and despite the exhaustion, she was breathtakingly beautiful—the kind of beauty that could make anyone lose their heart. Yet her eyes still held sorrow.

For nearly an hour, she kept striking the bag. Then, the door swung open.

A young woman rushed in, panicked. “Aavya! What are you doing?”

She, too, was strikingly pretty, dressed in an Anarkali suit. Grabbing Aavya’s wrist, she said urgently, “Why don’t you ever listen to anyone? Come out—your phone’s been ringing. Some man called you. He said he needs to speak with you.”

Aavya looked at her without a trace of emotion. The other girl fidgeted nervously before blurting out, “Some Rudraksh Ahluwalia was calling you.”

Hearing that name, Aavya stared at her for a few seconds, silent and unreadable, then quietly walked away. The girl pressed a hand to her chest and muttered, “Oh God, I’m older than her, we’re friends, and still, she scares me. What’s going to happen to you, Srishti?”

Aavya entered her room and picked up her phone just as it began ringing again. She answered it, listened in silence to whatever was said on the other side, and then hung up without a word. After that, she went straight to the washroom.

An hour later, she stepped out of her flat.

About thirty minutes

After that, Aavya stood on the terrace of City Hospital. Rudraksh was there, facing away from her. She didn’t look at him—her eyes were fixed on the people moving below.

When he turned, he saw her dressed in her usual black pants and shirt, her hair braided neatly. Rudraksh shook his head, slipped one hand into his pocket, and said evenly, “Do you remember the favor I did for you a few months ago?”

Aavya didn’t react, but her fists tightened slightly.

“It’s time you repaid that favor,” he said.

Aavya’s eyes met his, sharp and silent.

Rudraksh looked away, speaking in a calm but firm tone. “My brother, Aatish Ahluwalia, is out of control. He listens to no one. You need to bring him under control. He’s surrounded by danger all the time, yet refuses to keep security. From now on, you’ll be responsible for his safety.”

Aavya’s brows furrowed, clear disapproval in her gaze. She turned to leave, ignoring him completely.

Then Rudraksh’s voice cut through the air. “You’re going to be my brother’s personal bodyguard—and you’ll keep him safe.”

Her steps halted. Her eyes darkened. Anger flared across her face, and she turned to walk away again.

But Rudraksh’s voice hardened, his teeth gritting. “Don’t forget—when you were locked within four walls, tortured day and night, I was the one who saved you. I heard that Aavya Rathore never keeps anyone’s favor.”

Aavya froze. She didn’t speak, didn’t even look at him.

Rudraksh’s lips curved into a devilish smile.