The First Rescue

The Weight of Warnings

Raghavendra couldn’t shake Sameer’s words.

He’s mafia. People disappear around him.

They echoed in his head with every delivery, every honk of traffic, every creak of his bike chain. The city felt different now—less alive, more dangerous. Every shadow seemed deeper, every stranger’s glance lingered too long.

And still, every route brought him back to Rathore Mansion.

He hated it. He hated the way his chest tightened when he approached the gates, the way his pulse leapt when the tall figure opened the door himself instead of sending a servant.

But he hated something else even more—he hated that Viraj Singh Rathore looked at him like he wasn’t invisible.

---

Viraj’s Watchful Eyes

Viraj sat in his office, the glow of monitors illuminating his sharp features. Cameras hidden across the city showed movement, patterns, routes. And there, in the grainy light of one screen, was Raghav—laughing briefly with a child as he handed her father a parcel.

Viraj leaned forward, heart clenching in a way he despised. “Kabir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Notice how he bends, how he places the parcel gently as if the weight of the world shouldn’t touch others.” His voice was soft, almost reverent. “This boy carries burdens, Kabir. He shouldn’t have to. He needs someone… stronger. Someone to take it from him.”

Kabir swallowed. He had heard many versions of Viraj’s obsessions before, but this one… this one was dangerous.

“Sir,” he said carefully, “strength can protect… or cage.”

Viraj’s lips curved faintly. “Sometimes protection and possession are the same thing.”

---

The Threat Emerges

It happened late that evening. Raghav had just dropped his last delivery and was cycling home through a narrow alley shortcut. The rain had left the road slick, the streetlamps dim and sputtering.

That’s when he noticed them.

Three men stepped out from the shadows, blocking his path. Their clothes were rough, their eyes sharper than knives.

“Nice bike,” one sneered, grabbing the handlebar. “What’s in the bag, delivery boy?”

Raghav’s chest tightened. “Just packages. Nothing valuable.”

“Everything’s valuable to someone,” another said, circling like a wolf. “Hand it over. Or maybe we take more than just the bag.”

Raghav clenched his fists. He’d grown up on these streets; he knew better than to show fear. But three against one was no fair fight.

Still, he raised his chin. “You’ll get nothing from me.”

---

The Intervention

The men moved closer. One grabbed his shoulder, shoving him against the damp wall. Raghav’s heart pounded as adrenaline surged.

But before the first punch could land, a car screeched to a halt at the mouth of the alley.

A tall figure emerged, the gleam of rain on his tailored suit.

Viraj Singh Rathore.

His presence swallowed the space instantly. The thugs froze, their swagger vanishing.

“You picked the wrong boy,” Viraj said, his voice calm, lethal.

The men exchanged nervous glances. “We—we didn’t know—”

Viraj stepped forward, his eyes like daggers. “Leave. Now. Before you stop breathing.”

The men bolted without another word, vanishing into the rain.

---

Possessive Protection

Raghav was still pressed against the wall, breath ragged, when Viraj turned to him.

“You’re hurt?”

Raghav shook his head, more shaken than injured. “No… I—what are you doing here?”

Viraj’s gaze softened, but there was steel beneath it. “Protecting what’s mine.”

The words struck Raghav like lightning. His stomach flipped, his fists tightened. “I’m not yours,” he snapped.

Viraj’s lips curved faintly. “Not yet. But fate doesn’t ask permission.”

Raghav shoved past him, anger flaring to cover fear. “Stop interfering in my life!”

Viraj didn’t stop him. He simply watched, eyes dark, voice low enough only Raghav could hear.

“You can fight me. Hate me. Curse me. But you’ll never be able to ignore me.”

---

Raghav’s Turmoil

By the time he reached home, Raghav’s body was trembling. He locked the door, pressing his back against it, the image of Viraj in the rain burned into his mind.

Why was he there? How did he know?

The box with the silver key still sat on his table. He wanted to throw it out, to burn every trace of the man. But his hand wouldn’t move.

Instead, he collapsed onto the cot, covering his face with his palms. His heart thundered—not just with fear, but with something he didn’t dare name.

---

Kabir’s Concern

Back at the mansion, Kabir confronted his boss.

“You followed him tonight,” Kabir said flatly.

Viraj didn’t deny it. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light. “I arrived when I was needed.”

Kabir’s jaw tightened. “Do you hear yourself? You’re watching him every second, pulling strings around his family, chasing him through the streets. That’s not devotion, sir. That’s possession.”

Viraj’s smile was sharp, dangerous. “And if it is? Then let it be. He is mine, Kabir. Not because I chose him… but because I saw him. And once I see something, I never let it go.”

---

Aarti’s Gratitude

The next morning, Aarti noticed Raghav’s quiet mood. “Bhaiya, you didn’t sleep again?” she asked gently.

He forced a smile. “Just tired. Nothing more.”

She touched his arm. “You’ve carried everything for us since Baba died. Maybe it’s time someone else helps you.”

The irony cut deep. Raghav looked away, guilt twisting inside him. If only she knew who was “helping.”

But he couldn’t tell her. Not yet.

---

Viraj’s Whisper

That night, Raghav dreamt.

He dreamt of rain, of footsteps echoing in alleys, of eyes watching him from shadows. And through it all, a voice—low, magnetic, impossible to ignore.

“You belong to me, Raghavendra. You always will.”

He woke with a start, drenched in sweat, the silver key clutched tightly in his palm though he didn’t remember picking it up.

And outside his window, unseen, a pair of dark eyes lingered in the night.

---

Chapter Five Cliffhanger

Viraj whispered to himself as the city slept, his car parked beneath Raghav’s building.

“I saved you once. And I will again. Until you learn… safety only exists in my shadow.”

The rain began to fall once more, as if the city itself bowed to the inevitable storm between them.

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