Disha lay curled into a tight, defensive ball on the center of the massive king-sized bed, looking heartbreakingly small. The sheets, which usually smelled of Aryan's distinct, woody cologne mixed with the sharp scent of his expensive aftershave, now felt cold, sterile, and agonizingly empty.

Her body throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. It wasn't just the emotional trauma of the past few hours, it was the harsh reality of her first trimester. The morning sickness had hit her like a tidal wave the moment Aryan left the house, leaving her dry-heaving over the porcelain bowl, weak, dizzy, and utterly shattered. Her stomach twisted painfully, empty yet entirely resistant to the thought of food.

Every single cell in her body screamed for the one man who had promised to protect her from the world, the man she had foolishly pushed away in a fit of hormonal suffocation.

A soft, hesitant knock cut through the oppressive quiet of the room. The door creaked open, and Revati Tai stepped inside, her face etched with profound anxiety. In her hands, she carried a small silver tray bearing a glass of warm water and a strip of prenatal vitamins and anti-nausea medication.

"Disha, beta... please open your eyes," Revati Tai pleaded softly, walking over to the bedside. She set the tray down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the mattress, gently laying a hand on Disha's feverish forehead. "You haven't eaten a single thing since afternoon. You threw up everything this morning. You need to take your medicines, bachha. Think about the little life growing inside you."

At the mention of her pregnancy, a fresh wave of tears leaked from Disha's swollen, bloodshot eyes. She buried her face deeper into the pillow, her shoulders shaking violently.

"Nahi, Tai... mujhe nahi chahiye. Mujhe kuch nahi khana, mujhe koi medicine nahi chahiye," Disha sobbed, her voice muffled, thick with raw grief.

(No, Tai... I don't want it. I don't want to eat anything, I don't want any medicine.)

"But Disha, you are weak! If you don't take the tablet, the nausea will only get worse," Revati Tai reasoned, her own voice cracking with maternal distress. She tried to pull Disha up, but Disha resisted, clinging to the pillow as if it were a life raft in a stormy sea.

"Main marr bhi jaaun toh unhe kya farak padta hai? He doesn't care, Tai! He doesn't love me anymore! Please mujhe akela chodh do!" Disha cried out, her voice breaking completely into a hysterical wail.

(Even if I die, what difference does it make to him? He doesn't care, Tai! He doesn't love me anymore! Please leave me alone!)

Revati Tai's heart shattered at the sight of the young girl completely unraveling. She knew the deep, borderline psychotic love Aryan harbored for Disha. She had seen that boy lose his sanity over a minor scrape on Disha's finger. This cold war between them was unnatural, dangerous, and it was destroying Disha.

Realizing she was helpless, Revati Tai stood up, her jaw set with determination. She walked out of the room, pulled out her phone, and dialed the one number that ruled over the entire estate.

The phone rang twice before Aryan's deep, clinical voice answered. "Yes, Tai. Is everything alright?"

"Nothing is alright, Aryan!" Revati Tai spoke sharply, abandoning her usual deferential tone out of sheer desperation. "Your wife is breaking down. She is throwing up continuously, she hasn't eaten a crumb, and she is flatly refusing to take her pregnancy medications. She is crying hysterically.Come home right now!"

There was a sudden, sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. The heavy, professional composure Aryan had maintained all morning fractured instantly. "I'm coming," he clipped out, the line going dead immediately.

Less than fifteen minutes later, the screech of tires echoed through the grand driveway. Aryan didn't care about the board meeting he had abruptly walked out on, nor did he care about the multi-million-dollar investors he had left sitting in a state of shock. His mind was consumed by a singular, terrifying image: Disha, his fragile, pregnant Lavender, hurting.

He stormed up the grand staircase, his heavy, expensive leather shoes slamming against the marble steps. His tie was slightly loosened, his dark hair disheveled from the manic drive back. He pushed the bedroom door open with enough force to make it rattle against the wall.

Disha flinched at the sudden sound, her tear-stained face lifting from the pillow.

Aryan stood in the doorway, chest heaving, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of raw panic, deeply buried anger, and consuming possessiveness. He took in her appearance—the pale skin, the dark circles under her eyes, the trembling of her lips. A sharp, physical stab of guilt hit his heart, but he forced his features to harden into the mask he had donned for the past week.

He walked over to the nightstand, picked up the blister pack of tablets and the glass of water, and stepped up to the side of the bed.

"Disha, what happened? Why are you not taking the tablets?" Aryan asked, his voice a low, commanding rumble that vibrated with underlying tension.

Disha stared up at him, the sight of his handsome, unyielding face igniting a spark of absolute fury amidst her profound sorrow. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her hair falling wildly around her face.

"Mujhe puch rahe ho after everything you did?" she said angrily, her voice trembling with a potent mix of rage and heartbreak.

(Are you asking me this after everything you did?)

Aryan's jaw clenched so tightly the muscle ticked visibly. He forced his voice to remain flat, though his insides were a chaotic tempest. "What did I do? Anyways, take the tablet."

He extended his hand, holding the small white pill out to her, alongside the glass of water.

Disha looked at his hand, then up at his cold, detached eyes. The sheer emotional distance in his gaze snapped the final thread of her control. With a sharp, sudden movement, she slapped his hand away. The tablet flew across the room, disappearing into the thick carpet, and the glass of water slipped from his grip, crashing onto the nightstand, spilling water everywhere.

"I won't take it! I won't take anything from you!" she screamed, her voice cracking as fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks.

Aryan froze. A dangerous, dark shadow crossed his face. For a split second, pure, unadulterated anger flared in his eyes. He was a man used to absolute obedience, a man who commanded empires, and he had spent the last seven days starving his own soul just to give her what she asked for. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, his knuckles turning stark white. He wanted to shake her, to scream at her, to demand why she was punishing herself and their unborn child just to hurt him.

But then, he looked at her eyes. They weren't filled with defiance; they were drowning in absolute, agonizing vulnerability. Her small frame was shaking so violently she could barely keep herself upright. She looked like a broken doll, utterly defeated by the very freedom she had begged for.

The anger vanished from his chest as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a suffocating wave of pure, protective instinct. To hell with the lesson, he thought bitterly. To hell with making her crave him. Seeing her like this was killing him faster than it was killing her.

Without a word, Aryan stepped into the spilled water, ignoring the damage to his expensive shoes. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed and reached out, his large hands wrapping firmly around her waist.

"Nahi! Mujhe nahi baithna! Chodho mujhe!" Disha screamed, wiggling and thrashing against his grip, kicking her legs in a desperate attempt to push him away.

(No! I don't want to sit! Let me go!)

"Shut up, Disha," Aryan growled softly, his voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming emotion.

He didn't care about her resistance. With effortless strength, he lifted her entire body, pulling her out of her defensive corner and settling her firmly onto his lap. He wrapped his powerful arms around her, locking her against his chest, trapping her legs between his own. She wiggled against him, hitting his chest with her small fists, but he merely tightened his hold, burying his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet, familiar lavender scent like a dying man finally getting oxygen.

"Mujhe nahi baithna," she whispered one last time, her strength completely evaporating as the familiar warmth of his body enveloped her. She felt like a traveler who had spent a week freezing in a blizzard, suddenly thrown into the warmth of a roaring fireplace.

(I don't want to sit.)

"Ok, sorry. Ab medicine toh lo," he murmured against her skin, his voice dropping all of its professional, cold pretense, returning to the deep, velvet softness that belonged only to her.

(Ok, sorry. Now at least take the medicine.)

"No! You are so mean! Ek pregnant wife ko aisa kaun chodta hai???" she complained loudly, her voice breaking into a sob as she clutched the lapels of his charcoal suit jacket. She began to cry in earnest now, the dam completely broken. "You left me alone! You didn't check on me! You didn't care if I was alive or dead! You didn't care about our baby!"

(No! You are so mean! Who leaves a pregnant wife like this???)

Aryan closed his eyes tightly, a tear of his own escaping and burning against her neck. He rocked her gently on his lap, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head, pressing her face into his chest.

"Ok, I am sorry. I am so sorry, jaan," he whispered, his voice trembling with a rare, raw vulnerability that made her heart ache.

(Ok, I am sorry. I am so sorry, my life.)

"Mujhe khana khilaya bhi nahi..." she whispered piteously. She lifted her head slightly, her nose running, her eyes red and puffy. Without a shred of elegance, she took the fabric of his incredibly expensive, custom-tailored shirt and wiped her nose right against his chest.

(You didn't even feed me...)

Aryan didn't even blink. He didn't care about the shirt, he didn't care about the mess. He just looked down at her with an expression of such intense, consuming devotion it was terrifying.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, his thumb brushing a stray tear from her cheek.

"Aur... aur mujhe uthaya nahi... aur mujhe fresh up bhi nahi kiya..." she continued her list of grievances, her voice small, like a child reporting a bully to her protector. The tears continued to flow, but the underlying panic was gone, replaced by the comforting knowledge that she was back where she belonged.

(And... and you didn't wake me up... and you didn't even help me freshen up...)

"I'm sorry again, Lavender," Aryan said, his voice cracking slightly as he used her favorite pet name. He pulled her closer, his lips pressing a long, hard, desperate kiss against her temple. "I am so incredibly sorry."

(I'm sorry again, Lavender.)

Disha suddenly went entirely silent. The chaotic storm inside her mind calmed instantly. The hollow, agonizing ache in her chest vanished, replaced by a profound sense of peace. She closed her eyes, letting her head rest heavily against his strong collarbone. She listened to the rapid, erratic thumping of his heart beneath her cheek. She was home. The cold, vast emptiness of the London mansion had shrunk down to the space of his arms, and she never wanted to leave it again.

Aryan let the silence linger for a few minutes, simply holding her, letting her re-absorb his presence. He reached over to the nightstand, popped another tablet out of a fresh blister pack, and picked up a fresh glass of water that Revati Tai had quietly placed there during their commotion.

"Ab medicine toh khalo," he whispered gently, holding the small pill to her lips.

(Now at least take the medicine.)

Disha pouted, her lips turning downward into a stubborn, childish line. She turned her face away, burying it back into his neck, refusing to open her mouth.

Aryan let out a soft, low chuckle—a sound she hadn't heard in an eternity. The possessive, playful demon inside him flared to life. He leaned down, and before she could realize what he was doing, he leaned in and gently, playfully bit her chubby cheek—the soft, adorable weight she had recently gained due to her pregnancy.

"Ah! Aryan!" she yelped, her mouth flying open in surprise as she turned her face back to him, her eyes wide.

Taking immediate advantage of the moment, Aryan smoothly pushed the small tablet into her mouth, followed immediately by the rim of the water glass. He tipped it slightly, forcing her to swallow. Disha sputtered for a second, but the cold water washed the pill down her throat before she could complain.

He set the glass down, his face lighting up with a brilliant, breathtaking smile. He began to pepper her entire face with soft, lingering, wet kisses. He kissed her forehead, her swollen eyelids, the tip of her red nose, and finally, the very cheek he had just bitten.

"Aur kuch complaints, madam?" he asked, laughing softly against her skin, his hands tracing comforting circles on her lower back.

(Any more complaints, madam?)

Disha shivered at the sensation of his lips against her skin, her heart fluttering wildly. She wrapped her arms securely around his neck, burying her fingers in his thick hair.

"Haan, bohot hai..." she mumbled, her voice thick with residual tears but laced with a newfound warmth.

(Yes, there are a lot...)

Aryan's laughter faded slightly, replaced by a smug, incredibly attractive smirk that reached his dark, mesmerizing eyes. He leaned back just enough to look down into her face, his gaze dripping with a mixture of intense love and triumphant vindication.

"Yeh badhiya hai. Tumhe privacy chahiye tha, tumhe space chahiye tha... and when I gave it, toh mein mean ban gaya. Wow..." he teased, his voice a low, seductive purr.

(This is great. You wanted privacy, you wanted space... and when I gave it to you, I became the mean one. Wow...)

Disha's face flushed a deep crimson. The realization of how foolish she had been hit her full force. She pouted, her lower lip trembling slightly as she looked away from his piercing gaze.

"Don't blame me... blame my hormones..." she whispered defensively, her voice incredibly small.

(Don't blame me... blame my hormones...)

Aryan's smirk softened into an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. He shifted her weight slightly on his lap, his hand coming down to rest over her flat stomach, where their child was growing. His touch was incredibly warm, incredibly grounding.

"Ok, madam. Ab aapka hormone kya chaha raha hai?" he asked softly, his eyes locking onto hers, waiting for the ultimate surrender.

(Ok, madam. Now what do your hormones want?)

Disha didn't hesitate for even a fraction of a second. She snuggled deeper into his chest, wrapping herself around him like a vine, burying her face so deeply into his neck that her words were almost lost against his skin.

"Tum," she whispered, the single word carrying the weight of her entire soul.

(You.)

Aryan let out a deep, contented breath, a low laugh vibrating through his chest. He closed his eyes, his arms tightening around her with a fierce, almost painful intensity. He leaned down and pressed a deep, lingering peck onto the crown of her head, a silent, dangerous promise sealing their bond.

He had broken her, but he had done it only to put her back together in a way that she would never fall apart from him again. She belonged to him—totally, completely, and irrevocably. And as he rocked his pregnant wife in the quiet luxury of their London home, Aryan knew that the word "space" would never enter their vocabulary ever again.

SO IN LAST CHAPTER EVERYONE MISUNDERSTOOD ARYAN AND SEE HOW SWEET HE IS AND SUCH A GREEN FLAG AND ABOUT REYANSH I WILL UPDATE IN NEXT CHAPTER....