Chapter Eighteen
836 Words
Ryan's POV
Ryan wasn’t used to this.
He was used to controlling. Precision. A life scheduled down to the second. Even his chaos was calculated—every bullet, every order, every empire move. He ruled his world with a cold, steady grip.
But tonight?
He sat on the edge of a fragile, too-small bed in a dimly lit room that smelled faintly of ginger, worn books, and her. The girl who burned brighter than any storm he’d weathered—now pale and trembling under a blanket, breathing unevenly through cracked lips.
And he couldn’t control a damn thing.
Her fever had spiked around midnight. Her body was hot to the touch, her forehead slick with sweat. She tossed and turned, the blanket falling away again and again, only for him to tuck it back carefully each time.
He had pulled the chair closer and stayed.
Just watched her.
Now and then, he would wet the cloth, wring it out, and gently lay it across her forehead. It was a crude method, but it was all he had until morning. He made sure the fan was on low, that the windows were shut to block the night breeze, and that she had enough water beside her to sip when she stirred.
But she didn’t stir much.
She whimpered.
Talked in sleep.
Mumbled things that didn’t make sense.
Ryan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, listening in the half-dark.
“… Mumma, please don’t… I didn’t lie…”
He blinked.
Her voice was soft. Shaky.
“… Tell Bhaiya I didn’t touch his phone…”
Another murmur.
“…I want to go home…”
Ryan's chest tightened. His jaw flexed as he reached for the damp cloth again, replacing the one that had warmed too quickly.
Aanya shifted under his touch. Her eyes fluttered briefly but didn’t open.
“… Rishi bhai… I don’t want to stay here anymore…”
Bhai.
Brothers.
She was calling out for her family. Not friends. Not classmates.
Not him.
He wasn’t surprised, not really. But hearing her call for the people she missed, the ones she needed comfort from when her defenses were down… it stung. Deeper than he wanted to admit.
He brushed her hair off her temple gently, careful not to wake her. “They’re not here,” he whispered under his breath. “But I am.”
And maybe that didn’t mean anything to her.
But it meant something to him.
The minutes crawled into hours.
At some point, Gabe texted asking if he’d be coming in. Ryan ignored it.
His phone buzzed again around 3:00 AM—some minor update from one of the warehouses. He silenced it without reading.
Aanya shifted again. She was sweating profusely now. He got up, went to the bathroom, soaked a fresh towel in cold water, and returned.
As he wiped her arms and gently padded her forehead again, her breathing evened out just slightly. The fever hadn’t broken yet, but it had slowed.
Ryan exhaled.
He had fought turf wars that lasted less time than this fever.
Around 4:45 AM, her lips moved again. This time, not in sleep-talk.
Just a breath of his name.
“Ryan…”
It wasn’t a plea.
It wasn’t a protest.
It was something softer. Something too raw to handle.
He looked at her closely, but her eyes were still closed. Just another dream, maybe.
He didn’t say anything. Just touched her wrist lightly and kept sitting, kept watching.
By the time the first faint fingers of sunlight pushed through the dusty blinds, Ryan was still there.
Still sitting beside her.
His shoulders slumped a little now, exhaustion weighing down his usually straight posture. His tie had been discarded hours ago. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, one cuff damp from the cloth he’d been re-wetting all night.
His watch read 6:12 AM.
The fever had begun to drop. Her forehead was cooler to the touch. Her breathing was more even.
She looked peaceful now.
So peaceful, they disarmed him.
His hand lingered over her cheek, brushing the curve of her jaw as if assuring himself that, yes, she was really there.
That yes, she was okay.
He hadn’t realized how tightly his body had been coiled all night until now, when his muscles started to relax against his will.
His body demanded rest. His eyes burned. His chest was heavy with all the words he hadn’t said.
But his mind—his mind was still racing with thoughts of her.
This girl who defied him.
This girl who ran from him but stirred his world like no one else ever had.
He sat back in the chair, leaned his head against the wall beside her bed, and let out a long breath.
He didn’t remember closing his eyes.
Didn’t feel his grip on consciousness loosen.
But eventually, Ryan Williamson—ruthless CEO, feared mafia king—fell asleep beside her, the last thing on his mind being her name.
- Writer
