Author's POV

Vrishabh stood there, motionless like a child caught in his own mistake.

For the first time in a long while, the man who never bowed to anyone felt small… and helpless.

Avani rummaged through the table, not searching but destroying. Drawers were yanked open, things thrown aside, her movements sharp and reckless, fueled by a rage she could no longer contain.

Papers scattered across the floor, objects clattered against the walls, the room echoing with her fury.

“I just read a little,” he whispered, trying to explain

Before he could say another word, Avani grabbed the first thing her hand found and hurled it at him.

It struck his head with a dull thud. He caught it instinctively, a sharp, dramatic hiss escaping his lips as pain bloomed.

Avani stared at him, fury blazing in her eyes, refusing to acknowledge the drama in his reaction.

He saw her not reacting, so with more drama, his body sank to the floor as if the blow had shattered him.

For a second, she didn’t move.

Then the hardness on her face cracked. Color drained from her cheeks, her breath hitching as her legs carried her forward on instinct.

She tries to bend down slowly, one hand moving protectively to her baby bump.

Vrishabh noticed it immediately.

He was on his feet in a second, forgetting everything.

His hand shot out, gripping hers firmly.

“Stop doing that. It will be uncomfortable for you,” Vrishabh said, the concern unmistakable in his voice.

He guided her back toward the bed, his hold gentle but firm, as if afraid she might falter.

Avani shot him a sharp look, anger flaring brighter this time. It all felt like pure drama.

It was nothing, just a tiny break in the skin on his forehead, barely enough to draw blood.

As his eyes met hers, his heart dropped at the cold edge in her reaction. Instinctively, he gripped his head, exaggerating the pain, letting out a low hiss as if it truly hurt.

If anyone saw him like this, acting wounded just to calm his wife, they’d think it was a dream.

No one would ever believe it. A man who hadn’t even flinched when a bullet tore into him was now putting on an act over a shallow cut on his forehead.

And he was doing it for one reason: her…his wife…his Brown.

When he realized it was only fueling her anger, he slowly lowered his hand. His shoulders slumped, his head bowing on its own, like a child caught in a mistake he couldn’t undo.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, fragile, nothing like the man the world feared.

Silence stretched between them after that thick, heavy, unbearable.

Then her angry voice cut through it.

“Bring the first-aid kit.”

He didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed fixed on the floor as he walked to the drawer and pulled it open. He took the kit out with slow, careful movements.

When he returned, he sat down on the floor in front of her. Not the man everyone feared. Not the one who ruled rooms with a glance.

He sat there quietly, almost like a guilty child waiting to be scolded, his head slightly bowed, his hands resting still in his lap.

She slowly opened the box, soaked cotton with antiseptic, and gently touched it to his head.

He bowed his head without a word, letting her work. A smile tugged at his lips because her hand touched careful, worried.

Soft in a way the world never was with him. He quickly lowered his head further, hiding that smile. If she saw it, he wouldn’t be able to sleep beside her tonight.

Last month, when they had visited her mother’s house, he had found her diary. He hadn’t read it then. He told her he wouldn’t.

He lied.

Later, he brought all her diaries with him and read every single page. Every thought. Every scribbled emotion. Every careless line she probably never thought anyone would see.

The handsome man she had written about turned out to be a cartoon character.

It didn’t help his jealousy.

Not even a little.

He watched every episode, memorized that stupid animated face, and cursed it with a hundred ugly names. He made others call it those names too. He told himself it was ridiculous to be jealous of a cartoon but his computer screen held the proof. He was jealous of everything.

Every person who made her smile, everything she touched, every place she liked, every scent that clung to her skin rather than his, every word she spoke that wasn’t meant for him.

He wanted all of it. The love. The anger. The softness. Even her silence.

But the diary held something else too.

Him.

Her writing about him.

Even though she was calling him an idiot.

But it did make him smile all week and still does.

His employees started whispering, wondering if their boss had finally lost his mind because he didn’t smile, and when he did, it was never normal. It was dangerous like a storm that didn’t know whether to destroy or bless.

That day when he got to know she had written about him, he doubled everyone’s salary, and when it was something bad, they had to suffer with him.

How could he explain that her words, written in a hidden diary, had made the most ruthless man in the room feel like he owned the world just because of four words in her diary?

And in the morning, she found her diary in his drawer.

“Are you smiling?”

Her words landed, breaking his thoughts but making him freeze. Almost instantly, he shook his head. “No.”

A teasing voice rang out from behind her lips. “Baby, look how big a liar your dad is.”

She placed the cotton back in the box, deliberately slow. Vrishabh finally looked up at her, eyes wide with wounded pride. “I’m not a liar.”

Avani tilted her head, studying him. “Yes, you are. You’re always lying about things.”

“What did I lie about?”

Avani's brow rose sharply. He swallowed, caught. “This… this was an exception.”

Her lips curved, not fully smiling, but close enough to undo him.