Next morning

Siya was getting ready in front of the mirror. Sunlight streamed through the window, painting the room in shades of gold. He was awake, and he was watching her.

Silk and crepe draped over her like a whisper. Her eyes, still tinged with red from the night before, caught his gaze in the mirror.

Her hands were nimble, fingers flying as she braided her hair—but she felt the weight of his stare. Something in him tightened, watching her. The sunlight on her skin. Her steady hands. Her quiet beauty...

He was out of the sheets before he could stop himself. The rug was rough under his bare feet as he came up behind her—slowly, almost hesitantly. Her eyes met his in the mirror.

He didn't speak.

Didn't touch her.

Just stood there—tall, muscular, raw—watching her. Waiting.

"You are naked." She silently teased

He didn't flinch. Didn't cover himself. Just let out a low, dark chuckle—eyes still locked with hers in the mirror.

"And you're mine."

A step closer—skin brushing silk.

"Does it frighten you?" His hand glided up her bare arm, then down to rest possessively at her waist—the heat of him seeping through the thin fabric.

"Or does it make your pulse race... knowing I'd stand like this for no one else?"

"Shut up," she blushed.
He smirked—dark, unshaken—his grip tightening just enough to make her feel every inch of his heat against her back.

"Make me."

"Don't be so weird early in the morning," she pushed him towards the bathroom. He let out a short, rough laugh—low and teasing—as she shoved him with surprising strength.

"Ah! So the little bird grows claws at dawn."

But he didn't resist. Let her push him backwards toward the bathroom, his bare feet sliding on the polished floor. He went willingly—mocking surrender in his eyes.

"Fine, fine," he said, catching the door frame with one hand before stepping in, "but don't think this means I'm done with you."

His gaze dropped to her stomach—soft now—and then back to her eyes.

"One day... that child will cry for me too."

A smirk played on his lips.

"Just like its mother does."

Then, he shut the door softly behind him.

The dining room was steeped in an unsettling silence—too quiet, too tense. The faint clink of silverware against porcelain rang out sharply, like distant gunshots. He sat at the head of the table, posture rigid, a slice of untouched toast cooling in front of him. His gaze was fixed on an unseen point beyond the window, tension etched in his clenched jaw, as shadows danced softly around him.

No teasing.

No dark glances.

No possessive touch beneath the table.

Just silence.

Cold. Heavy.

And she felt it—like a storm brewing under still water.

Every bite she took tasted like as. "What shall I prepare for dinner tonight?" He didn't look at her. Just set his fork down with a quiet clink.

"Nothing."

A beat. The word hung in the air—cold, final.

Then, slowly, he turned his head. His eyes met hers—dark and unreadable.

"You won't be preparing dinner."

"You'll be resting."

"It's fine, I can do these things."

He stood abruptly—chair scraping sharply against the floor. The movement made her flinch, just slightly.

In two long strides, he was beside her—gloved hand gripping the back of her chair like he was holding himself back from more.

"I said rest, Siya."

His voice wasn't loud. But it cut deep and cold.

"You think I don't see how tired you've been? The shadows under your eyes? The way you sway when you stand too long?"

His fingers tightened on the chair.

"You're carrying my child."

"And if I have to lock this entire house down to make sure you take care of yourself..."

"I will."

He leaned down—close enough that his breath brushed her ear.

"No arguments. No defiance."

"Not this time."

"Are you still upset about yesterday?" he froze, just for a breath. Then, he slowly straightened, his gloved hand slipping from the chair.

The silence stretched.

Then—quietly—he walked to the window, back turned to her. Watched a sparrow hop across the lawn.

"Not upset."

A pause.

"Disappointed."

"You didn't tell me you were going."

"You didn't trust me with it."

He turned then—eyes raw, stripped of all masks.

"And I know what you think—that I wouldn't understand. That I'd stop you."

His voice dropped.

"But what if... I had let you go?"

"What if I said yes—and waited for you in this cold bed, wondering if you'd come back?"

"Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

"I'm sorry. But I needed to do. Even if it's at stake,"

He turned fully to her then—eyes burning with something raw, unspoken. The air between them grew thick—not with anger, but with the weight of two worlds colliding.

"I know it was important."

His voice was quiet. Resigned.

"Do you think I don't know what they fight for?" A bitter laugh escaped him. "I read the reports. I hear the whispers in council rooms. Men like him—they don't stop until someone lies broken in the dirt."

He stepped closer—slowly, like she might shatter.

"But it's not just him you risked for."

"It was me. This child."

"Your life."

A long silence.

Then—so softly it barely reached her—

"I'm not asking you to stop being who you are."

"God knows... I married an Indian rebel in silk, not a British puppet."

"Just promise me one thing."

His hand found hers—rough fingers lacing through soft ones.

"Next time... let me stand beside you. Even if we face opposite sides—I want to face danger together."

"Theodore, don't risk your life for me. I have decided that after I give birth, I'll leave you and the child so that no one can accuse you of supporting rebels."

The air went still.

He didn't let go of her hand. Didn't move. Didn't breathe.

"You are not leaving."

The words left no room for argument.

"Ever."

His grip tightened—almost painful—his eyes hard and fierce.

"I don't give a damn if they accuse me of anything."

His voice dropped, deep and raw.

"Or if every last rebel comes for me, knife in hand."

"You are not leaving me. Us."

"You love me too much."

He stared at her—a muscle ticking in his jaw. Then, slowly, he lifted her hand and pressed it against his chest, right over his heart. Thump. Thump. Thump. She could feel his heartbeat—quick, wild, raw. Unfathomably strong—like a drum pounding out a call to war.

"Too damned much," he whispered, voice like gravel.

"Don't leave me."

For the next few months, she helped Dev and Rebels silently, and he continued his work and ignored the increasing rebel actions. Months passed like hushed breaths in the dark.

"They stand on opposite sides... yet somehow, closer than ever."

He was born to destroy rebels... now he's protecting one. ⚔️

He's becoming the enemy to protect the woman he loves.