𝑯𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!♡♡

Author's Pov

The sound of the siren cut through the night like a warning.

Divya stirred weakly in Ivaan’s arms as the car sped through empty roads.

Her breathing was uneven, shallow, as if her body had forgotten how to rest without fear. Blood had dried at the corner of her lip. Her hands were cold. Too cold.

Ivaan looked down at her face again. She was lighter than he expected. Almost fragile. Like she could disappear if he loosened his grip even a little.

“Drive faster,” he said quietly.

No anger. No shouting.

That tone was worse.

The hospital lights came into view, white and unforgiving against the darkness. The guards at the entrance straightened immediately as the car stopped. Doors opened. Stretcher ready.

“I’ll take her” Ivaan said.

The nurses froze for half a second.

Dr. Ivaan Singh Ranawat didn’t carry patients himself.

But no one argued.

Divya whimpered when they tried to take her from his arms. Her fingers curled into his shirt instinctively, knuckles white.

“Don’t,” she breathed, barely audible. “Please...”

Her voice wasn’t fear anymore. It was memory.

Ivaan’s jaw tightened. “Easy,” he said, low. “You’re not alone.”

He didn’t know why he said that. But her grip loosened just enough.

The emergency room was quiet at this hour. Too quiet.

Machines beeped softly as nurses worked around her, cutting away torn fabric, cleaning blood, checking vitals.

Divya didn’t wake. Or maybe she didn’t want to.

Ivaan stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, eyes sharp. This wasn’t his first trauma case. He’d seen worse.

But something about her didn’t sit right.

“She’s severely malnourished,” a nurse said hesitantly. “Low blood pressure. Dehydration.”

Ivaan nodded once. “Run a full panel. Blood work.”

The nurse paused.

“Now,” he said.

No one questioned him after that.

He moved closer as they cleaned her feet.

Cuts.

Old ones. Some healed. Some recent.

Bruises layered over bruises. Not random. Repeated.

Healing fractures.

Scars that didn’t belong to accidents.

This wasn’t an accident. This was a pattern.

An hour later, Ivaan sat alone in his cabin, staring at her reports.

His fingers stilled. His eyes narrowed.

Again.

And again.

His jaw clenched as he flipped through the file.

Repeated blood draws. Unnecessary injections. Sedatives. Supplements that shouldn’t be given without consent.

“This wasn’t treatment,” he said quietly.

Sharad stood near the door, arms folded. “Then what was it?”

Ivaan didn’t answer.

He looked at the glass wall separating his cabin from the ICU.

Divya lay still, small against the white sheets.

Used.

That was the word his mind kept circling.

The hospital lights were too bright.

Even with her eyes closed, Divya felt them burning against her skin. The hum of machines, the soft rush of footsteps, unfamiliar voices it all pressed in on her at once.

She stirred.

And panic hit instantly.

Her breath came out sharp, uneven. Her fingers twitched, then clenched into the bedsheet as if she was drowning and the fabric was the only thing keeping her alive.

“No.”

The word slipped out before she could stop it.

Her eyes flew open.

White.

Everywhere.

White walls. White sheets. White coats.

Smell of antiseptics. Hospital.

Her chest tightened painfully.

She tried to sit up.

Hands moved toward her.

“Don’t touch me!” she cried, her voice breaking as she pulled away, scrambling back against the bed until there was nowhere left to go.

A nurse froze mid-step.

“Sir,” she whispered nervously.

He was already there.

Standing near the foot of the bed, arms crossed, eyes sharp and alert.

The moment he saw her panic, something shifted in him.

“But sir, we will handle. You don’t need to--”

“Out.”

No raised voice. No anger.

Yet no one argued.

The room emptied within seconds, leaving behind only the steady beeping of a monitor and Divya’s ragged breathing.

She was shaking.

Not crying. Not screaming.

Just shaking.

Like her body remembered something her mind refused to touch.

Ivaan stepped closer, slow and careful, coat gone, sleeves rolled up. No gun. No blood.

Just eyes watching her carefully.

“You’re in a hospital,” he said, his voice controlled. “No one here will hurt you.”

She didn’t answer.

Her eyes were fixed on her arm.

On the thin tube taped to her skin.

Her breathing worsened.

“No... no... please,” she whispered, pulling her hand toward herself, trying to tear the line out. “Don’t give me anything. Please.”

Ivaan’s jaw tightened.

He followed her gaze.

Then he understood.

The fear wasn’t of him.

It wasn’t even of the hospital.

It was of what had been done to her.

“Hey,” he said firmly, “Calm down. No injections. Nothing like that.”

Her head snapped up.

“You promise?” she asked, barely audible.

Something twisted in his chest.

“Hmm,” he replied.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Umm Div-Divya” her voice trembled.

“How old are you?” he asked again calmly.

Divya swallowed. “Twenty-one.”

Too young.

Then her mind drfited back to last night.

Betrayal. Sold. Harsh Rana.

Tears streaming down her face, she whispered, “I don’t know how to thank you for saving me.”

“You don't have to. And no one is touching you without your permission,” he said firmly.

She stared at him, unsure.

“You won’t be sent anywhere,” he continued. “No one is selling you. No one owns you.”

The word made her tremble.

“Now rest” he said quietly. “You are hurt.”

Her eyelids fluttered as exhaustion finally claimed her.

Within moments, she drifted back into sleep.

Ivaan remained where he was long after.

Watching.

Thinking.

Who had the audacity to break you like this?

His phone buzzed.

Sharad.

“Find everything,” Ivaan said before the other man could speak. “Her past. Every hand that touched her without consent.”

A pause.

“Understood,” Sharad replied.

Ivaan ended the call and looked back at Divya one last time.

For the first time in years, the Dark King felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.

Not anger.

Not vengeance.

Responsibility.

And whoever had done this to her had just signed their own death sentence.

✿✿✿

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