The car hums softly as it moves through the night, but the silence inside is thick. Samaira sits there, her hands tightly clutching her lap, her body shivering, though the cold outside is nothing compared to the storm raging inside her mind. Advait notices her shivering, the small tremors that seem to rattle through her even though the car is warm. His eyes flicker to her briefly, his gaze sharp and calculating, as always.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice low, though there's a note of concern there.

Samaira doesn’t respond, her eyes focused on the road ahead, her lips pressed into a thin line. She doesn’t want to answer. She doesn’t know how to answer. But Advait knows her too well. He can see past her walls, can hear the anxiety in the silence she tries to mask.

Before she can stop him, he gently places his hand over hers, his fingers warm against the cold of her skin. "Stop shivering," he says quietly, his touch almost soothing. But the moment his hand connects with hers, she freezes. The shiver doesn’t stop, but now it’s one of hesitation, uncertainty.

To distract her from the flood of emotions threatening to spill over, Advait leans in slightly, his voice just above a whisper. "What were you saying to the kidnapper inside, Samaira? I’m curious."

The words hit her like a splash of cold water, pulling her back from her spiraling thoughts. She knows exactly what he’s referring to, and her mind instantly flashes to those moments in the warehouse—the insults, the mocking words she hurled at the man who’d held her hostage. She can feel her heart racing again, but she doesn't want to show it.

"Why do you want to know?" she scoffs, trying to hide the unease in her voice.

Advait’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile. "Did I really torture you that much?" he says, almost mockingly, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Torture? She thinks. It’s a small word for what he's done to her, to her sanity, to her heart. The damage he’s inflicted on her goes deeper than physical scars. It’s mental, emotional, and now… it’s all tangled up with this twisted mess of love and hate. But the truth is, the words she spoke in that warehouse weren’t entirely a lie. They were a strategy—one she had to employ to buy herself some time.

She scoffs, shaking her head slightly. "All that I said inside... that was just for buying some time for myself," she mutters, almost mockingly. "Apparently, I didn’t know how the great mafia king took so long to save his wife."

Advait’s expression doesn’t change, but there's an edge to his voice as he presses on. "So when you said he’s a demon... but he’s my demon... was that a lie too?"

Samaira feels a flare of heat rise in her chest. That phrase, he’s my demon... It was the only thing she could say in the moment to protect herself from the kidnapper, to make sure he didn’t do anything foolish while they were waiting. But now, hearing Advait repeat it back to her... the words sting, and her thoughts flicker between resentment and something deeper. Something tangled.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "It was just a slip of the tongue," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I was just trying to make sure the kidnapper didn’t do anything stupid. Thanks to you for not coming on time."

Advait’s lips curl into a smirk. "I was always on time," he says, his tone almost teasing. "But when I saw how much my lovely wife was enjoying her freedom, talking behind my back, backbiting about me... I decided to let you have a little fun. You were so comfortable without me, weren’t you?"

The words hang in the air, thick with meaning. Samaira stares at him, her breath catching for a moment. He heard? Her heart skips a beat as she processes what he just said. She’s caught off guard.

"You were listening?" she asks, astonished. "How did you manage to hear the whole conversation?"

Advait leans back in his seat, looking at her with an expression of mild amusement. "Oh, you didn’t think I’d let you run around without keeping an eye on you, did you?" He pauses for a moment, his gaze darkening slightly. "I always have an eye on you, Samaira. No one can ever hurt you. I told you that before."

Samaira’s eyes fall to the bracelet on her wrist, the one aahana gifted her earlier. It was just a simple piece of jewelry—at least, that’s what she thought. But now, as her gaze lingers on it, she notices something unusual. The stones on the bracelet catch the light, but there’s something else there—a faint glow, like something embedded within the bracelet. Her heart skips a beat as she realizes what it might be.

She examines it more closely, and that’s when she sees the small, almost imperceptible mic embedded in the band. It’s not just a decoration—it’s powerful enough to catch the surrounding sounds, the conversations she had, every word she spoke. Her pulse quickens.

"What’s that?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper.

Advait notices her reaction and nods toward the bracelet. "Look closely," he says, his tone almost playful. "You’ll see what it really is."

As she peers closer, her suspicions are confirmed. There’s not just a chip inside, but a tiny microphone, tucked discreetly but effectively. She almost laughs at herself for not noticing it earlier. Of course. A surveillance tool.

Advait watches her closely, his eyes not leaving her face as she processes the truth. "I always know where you are," he says, his voice cold and calculated. "And no one, not even you, can hurt yourself."

Samaira swallows hard, the weight of the situation pressing down on her chest. The fear she thought had left her when they’d left the warehouse returns, sharper than ever. She feels the panic rising again, but she fights it down. "So, when you knew where I was," she says, her voice trembling slightly, "you still let me stay with him? Alone? What if something had happened to me, Advait?"

For a moment, Advait is silent, his expression unreadable. The car hums quietly around them, but it feels as if the world has stopped. Samaira waits, her heart hammering in her chest, desperate for an answer. She doesn’t know if she’s angry or scared anymore—maybe both.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and steady. "You’re never alone when I’m around, Samaira. But sometimes, you need to realize that you’re not in control anymore. You never were." He pauses for a second, looking at her with something akin to affection, though it’s impossible to tell what it really is. "And that... is something you’ll just have to get used to."

The weight of his words settles over her, and she can’t help but shiver once more. But this time, it’s not from the cold.