Chapter-11

Chapter-11

Aryaman rushed Krishna to the servant quarters, his grip firm yet careful as he carried her through the hallways. His half-buttoned shirt brushed against her, the warmth of his exposed skin making her painfully aware of their proximity.

She was feeling too many things at once. Pain from her burns, the sting of fresh cuts, the exhaustion from the long day— But also… an overwhelming embarrassment. Her face was so close to his bare chest that she could feel his body heat. She could also smell him—a mix of something musky, something faintly alcoholic, and something entirely him. It made her dizzy with shyness.

The moment they entered the small servant quarters, Mohan rushed towards them, his eyes wide with fear and concern. “Didi!”

Aryaman didn’t pause. “Bring cold water from the kitchen,” he instructed, his voice sharp with urgency. Mohan hesitated, looking between his sister and Aryaman-sir, but then nodded and ran off.

Aryaman turned to Pinkesh, who had just caught up. “First-aid. Now.”

Pinkesh Uncle gave a quick nod and hurried away. And just like that, they were alone.

Aryaman laid Krishna down on the bed, adjusting her carefully. He tried to pull his hand away, but—

“Ouch,” Krishna winced softly.

Aryaman frowned. His cuff button had gotten tangled in her hair.

Great. Just great.

He gave a small shake to free it. The knot only tightened.

He sighed and tried to yank it lightly. Another wince.

“I’ll try to unknot it,” Krishna murmured, hesitantly lifting her hands. But Aryaman saw the way her injured arms trembled, the way her fingers curled weakly.

“No need. I’ll do it,” he said, his voice quieter now. Before she could protest, he moved closer. Too close. And then— Her scent enveloped him. That mild jasmine fragrance. He remembered noticing it before. But this close… It was intoxicating.

His fingers worked through the tangled strands, but his focus wasn’t entirely on them anymore.

Krishna, on the other hand, was in her own silent turmoil. Her face was inside Aryaman-sir’s half-buttoned shirt. Her nose brushed against his bare chest with every small movement.

The only thing she could do to salvage the utter indecency of this situation was to shut her eyes tightly. If she couldn’t see him, then she wasn’t doing anything improper.

Aryaman felt anything but innocent. He was lost in the scent. Not just jasmine—her scent.

Sweet. Uniquely alluring.

His fingers kept moving in her hair, but his mind wasn’t on the knot anymore.

It was on the way her breath hitched. On the small, barely audible squeaks, she was desperately holding back. The tiny spark that flared whenever her nose grazed him.

He leaned in, just slightly, and his warm breath fanned over her ear accidentally. A muffled, helpless little sound escaped her lips.

He tried to ignore that and continue, but as luck would have it, his stubble grazed against her ear, sending shivers down both of their spines.

Krishna sucked in a sharp breath, her body going completely rigid. Another soft sound slipped out—this time, a helpless noise that sounded like a strangled cuckoo.

And then, in her instinctive attempt to escape his touch— she moved forward. And her lips accidentally crashed against his bare chest.

This time… The jolt that ran through Aryaman wasn’t small.

It wasn’t tiny sparks. It was a shockwave.

A raw, undeniable zap of electricity.

He stiffened.

His fingers yanked away from her hair, too roughly. She let out a small gasp of pain, her hand instinctively gripping his shirt collar for support.

And that’s when he saw her.

Her eyes—tightly shut. Her lips—still slightly parted from the accidental touch. Looking dangerously too unguarded. She had no idea what she had just done to him.

But he knew.

His heartbeat was erratic.

His breathing was uneven.

His grip on her tightened slightly.

BANG!

The door flung open.

"Didi!!" Mohan’s voice shattered the thick tension like a rock through glass. Aryaman jolted back, reality slamming into him.

What the f*ck was that?

Without waiting for an answer from his body, he snatched the cold water vessel from Mohan’s hands and viciously gulped it down.

Ice water spilled over his chest, drenching his shirt, but he didn’t care. He had to cool down.

Krishna watched him, confusion morphing into concern. Her brows knit. For a moment, it looked like she might say something... but she didn’t. Of course, she didn’t.

He imagined she was pitying him—ha, if she only knew.

Just then, Pinkesh arrived with the first-aid kit. Aryaman barely looked at him. “Take care of her,” he said sharply. He saw Pinkesh open the kit, searching for ointment from the corner of his eye.

And then, he left. Without looking back. Without trusting himself to stay a second longer.

“I’m a bloody caveman,” he muttered under his breath, the words laced with frustration as he trudged toward the imposing mansion.

*****

The drawing room in Thakur Mansion buzzed with the tension of a battle fought with delicate, calculated words. Leela and Srijala faced each other, exchanging pointed comments wrapped in politeness, their voices dripping with insincerity. It was a subtle struggle for power, and neither woman was willing to back down.

Ananya stormed into the hall, her face flushed with frustration. "Aryaman is being weird!" she complained loudly, catching the attention of the two women.

Leela raised an eyebrow, her composure never wavering. "What do you mean by 'weird'?" she asked, her voice crisp and cool.

"Krishna," Ananya practically spat the name. "Some decoration fell on her, and instead of just making sure she's alright, Aryaman picks her up and carries her off to the servant's quarters like some kind of... hero!"

Leela blinked, a flicker of surprise flashing in her eyes. "Is she alright?" she asked, her concern now genuine, even if it was masked under a veneer of control.

Ananya raised her hands in exasperation.

"She's fine! But Aryaman didn’t act like a leader. He didn’t delegate to Pinkesh; he just ran off with her—" She paused, noticing Srijala's expression.

Srijala, leaning back in her seat, had an amused look on her face. Her lips curled into a sly smile as she considered the situation. Aryaman and Krishna? she thought to herself. Maybe… But before she could let the thought fully form, the door to the hall opened.

Aryaman stepped in, his half-open shirt drenched, hair messy, and eyes dazed as though he’d just woken from a deep, confusing dream.

Leela’s sharp voice cut through his haze. "What happened to you?" she asked, her tone both surprised and stern.

Aryaman ran a hand through his hair, barely registering the question. "I left Pinkesh in charge," he muttered, almost to himself. "Krishna’s fine. She’ll be fine."

Ananya’s irritation softened a little at his response, but a smirk tugged at her lips. At least he’s not obsessing over her, she thought, feeling a small sense of satisfaction. He hadn’t treated Krishna’s injury himself, as Ananya had feared.

But Leela wasn’t satisfied. Her eyes darkened with disappointment. "And you didn’t check on her? What if she needed medical attention?" Leela’s voice was calm, but it held an unmistakable edge of reprimand.

Ananya, always ready to gain the upper hand against Leela, jumped in. "But why should Aryaman do that much for a mere helper?"

Leela shot her a cold look. "The Mehtas do not differentiate between rich and poor. Family or helper. We treat everyone the same. You should remember that." She turned her disappointed gaze back to Aryaman. "You should have stayed and made sure she was okay. What if she had needed to go to the hospital?"

Aryaman, clearly irritated, let out a sigh. "I did the needful," he said, his tone clipped. "Pinkesh will handle the rest."

Leela’s disappointment was strong, but she didn’t press further. Aryaman’s gaze was already drifting towards the door. "Fine. But remember," she said, her voice firm. "You’re a Mehta. And we do what’s right, not just what’s easy."

Without even waiting for any permission, Aryaman left the room, his mind already far from the conversation. Leela’s eyes followed him as he exited, her thoughts darkening. Is Srijala’s influence already creeping in?

****

Later that night, in Sid and Isha’s bedroom, the atmosphere was far more relaxed. Srijala entered, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and sat down between them, a small, wicked smile curving her lips.

Sid glanced up from his phone, not bothering to hide his amusement.

"What now, Mom?" he asked, chuckling.

Srijala raised an eyebrow, not at all fazed by his casual tone. "I had an idea," she began, her voice conspiratorial. "I thought maybe... just maybe, Aryaman and Krishna were having an affair."

Isha snorted, her expression turning amused. "You thought what? Mom, you've been watching too many Bollywood movies."

Srijala grinned, the glint in her eyes darkening slightly. "I know it sounds crazy. But there’s something there, I’m sure of it. The cold, calculating man who falls for the pure-hearted woman...HIS SOULMATE!! You know the type," she laughed, half‑mocking her own melodrama.

Sid burst out laughing. "You’ve been watching too many movies, that's for sure."

Isha joined in with a teasing comment. "And don't you need a soul to have a soul-mate?"

Srijala laughed with Isha, but she quickly recovered, her mind already racing.

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "maybe it was a long shot. But what if we made it look like Aryaman was falling for Krishna?"

Sid blinked, clearly taken aback. "You want to fake it?"

Srijala leaned forward, her gaze intense. "If we make it look like he’s distracted, it gives us an opening. I could use that. You could get the project AND the CEO position."

Sid hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "Dad would never give me Aryaman’s project; he doesn't trust me with that kind of thing."

Srijala's smile widened. "Oh! Kundan will. All we need is to break Kundan's trust in Aryaman."

Sid looked at her, his expression unreadable. Then, after a moment of silence, he nodded, his eyes glinting with a calculating look. "Fine... But I’ll move my pieces slowly, just in case it won't work."

Srijala chuckled, her eyes cold and determined. This will work... one way or another.

*****

Aryaman stood alone in the private bar, nursing a drink and trying to clear his mind. He still felt the lingering warmth of Krishna’s touch and her presence. Damn it, he cursed inwardly. He needed to focus, but thoughts of her made his heart race.

The sound of the door opening broke his trance. Ananya walked in, her eyes immediately locking with his. Without a word, she took the glass from his hand and sipped from it. Then she set it down and closed the distance between them, her lips capturing his in a kiss that was both familiar and foreign.

Aryaman froze for a moment, but it wasn’t long before he responded, his hands moving automatically, as though on instinct. Her hands found their way to his chest, pushing him back slightly as she climbed onto his lap, pressing her body against his.

His lips moved against hers in a rhythmic, practiced manner, but his mind was elsewhere, searching for a scent which was not here.

Ananya pulled away slightly, her voice sultry. "I’m glad you didn’t take too long. I was starting to get jealous."

Aryaman, now caught between his growing desire and his thoughts, kissed his way down her jawline, his lips tracing a path to her neck. He could feel her moan against him, her body moving in tune with his touch.

But every time she moaned, he kept on feeling how different it felt compared to that girl's breathless sounds.

Ananya’s fingers tangled in his hair, coaxing him to deepen the kiss.

Her hips rolled in practiced rhythm against him.

"You know, your mother doesn’t appreciate all the work you do," she sighed between kisses. "She doesn't see how hard you work, how much you sacrifice."

But then, in a rare burst of irritation, he pulled away and sighed, his cold eyes meeting Ananya’s. "I have told you before, don’t involve me in your fight with my mom… especially when we’re like this. When we’re together, leave that shit behind."

Ananya's smile faltered. "Fine," she muttered, standing up and adjusting herself. "I just thought you might need a little distraction."

Aryaman’s lips curled into a sneer. "Unlike you, I’m not controlled by my mother." His voice wasn’t angry; it was distant. Like he was using the argument to hide from something far more disorienting.

Ananya’s expression twisted with anger, her eyes flashing as she stalked out of the room. "You’re impossible," she spat.

Aryaman watched her leave, his expression hard.