Dhruv's POV

We entered the room after having dinner. Today was eventful. So much fun, all the storytelling of Aakriti's childhood, the teasing, especially our moment together. And her face... God, that face when Aarav brought Gabbar. Scary like a cat.

I had never seen her like that—completely unguarded. She hugged me like her life was dependent on me. Not polite and composed, but lively and fun. This was different. This was Aakriti without the armor.

I stood near the balcony door, watching her from the shadows as I scrolled absentmindedly through my phone. She entered the room, changing into her pajamas. She reached toward the side table, pulled the drawer open quietly, and took out a small white bottle. I paused. Something about the way her fingers trembled slightly made my stomach knot.

She unscrewed the lid, popped a tablet into her mouth, and chased it down with a sip of water from the glass on her nightstand. Her expression was neutral—too neutral. A little too rehearsed.

My voice broke the silence. "What are those?"

She startled slightly, then turned toward me with a smile too quick to be real. "Vitamin tablets," she said, waving the bottle vaguely before tucking it back into the drawer.

Vitamin tablets. Does anyone take those at nighttime?

I didn't say anything, but I could feel the lie hanging between us like fog—thin, but suffocating. My eyes followed her movements as she settled into bed, switching off the lamp on her side with the same ease as someone following a script. Neat. Controlled. Like nothing had happened.

But something had.

The tremble in her fingers. The forced smile. The way she didn't meet my eyes for longer than a second. I lay beside her. Pretend to sleep. Waiting for her to fall asleep.

Once I was sure she had drifted to sleep, her breathing was slow, and her rhythm was steady. I got up and reached for the drawer. Quiet. Controlled. Not wanting to wake her. The bottle was there. I took it out and brought it under my phone's flashlight. My chest tightened as I read the label. It didn't seem like normal vitamin tablets. I snapped a photo and placed the bottle back as it was.

I stepped out of the room, phone in hand, and typed out a message to Dr. Mehta.

"Need you to confirm something. What exactly is this medication? Are they vitamin tablets?"

I attached the photo and sent it.

I stood there, in the hallway, the cool floor grounding me as I stared at the screen.

Ping.

The reply came faster than I expected.

"Dhruv... This isn't a regular vitamin. It's prescribed for anxiety and sometimes used to treat panic episodes or severe insomnia. Who's taking this?"

I stared at the message. Every word landed like a stone.

She wasn't just tired. She wasn't just stressed. She was hurting. And hiding it.

My thumb hovered over the screen as if I could erase the message. As if denial would undo the truth sitting heavy in my chest.

I walked back into the room and sat beside her on the bed. She looked peaceful, as if sleep was her only escape.

The memory of last night hit me harder now. Her thrashing in bed. The soft, broken pleas.

"No... Don't... drink... Dhruv, please stop... Don't go there... please..."

I had held her and whispered that it was just a dream. She hadn't said a word this morning. No mention of it. Not even a hint of discomfort.

So either she didn't remember it...
Or she was pretending.

Or does she take these tablets regularly?

I didn't wake her.

Didn't ask why.

Not yet.

But I would be here when she was ready to tell me. And until then... I'd hold the silence with her. Even if it scared me.

Because if I rushed, it would mean invading her space, and then she would distance herself from me.

My phone buzzes softly. I pick it up immediately. I received a message from Dr. Mehta.

'Dhruv, I looked into the medicine you sent me.

It's not a regular vitamin—far from it. It's a sedative-hypnotic. Prescribed for chronic insomnia and sometimes to suppress trauma-induced nightmares. Very specific. Very strong.

This medication is not meant to be taken casually or without strict medical supervision. There are serious side effects—dependency, memory disturbances, and emotional dulling. Long-term use without monitoring can worsen mental health.

Who's taking this? Are they seeing a psychiatrist? Please tell me they're under medical care.

If not, Dhruv—this is serious. Anyone shouldn't be taking this without a prescription. And even if they have a prescription, it should not extend its given time. Or else it might be deadly. You need to talk to the person.'

My fingers tightened around the phone, a dull ache settling in my chest.

Nightmares.
Chronic insomnia.
Trauma-induced.

She was using this to sleep.

She needed it just to escape the night.

What kind of hell had she been walking through all this time—alone?

But it hadn't.

I looked down at the phone again, rereading Dr. Mehta's message. The warning was clear. And so was the truth I could no longer ignore.

This wasn't just stress.
This wasn't just a phase.
This was a cry for help. A quiet, hidden one.

I tightened my grip around the phone, jaw clenched. No more pretending. No more delays. I didn't care how strong her walls were—I was going to break through them.

Because whatever this was, she wouldn't face it alone again.

Not while I was here.

-----------------------

I got up and saw Aakriti sleeping peacefully.

Curled up on her side, her face was finally free of the tension she wore all day. I didn't sleep a wink last night—my mind was going in endless circles. That bottle of pills on the nightstand... I can't get it out of my head.

How to stop her from taking that stupid medicine. I highly doubt it being prescribed by a doctor.

Should I change her tablets?

"Yes, yes, why not?" my inner voice snapped, full of sarcasm. "Your wife is a five-year-old, right? You'll just switch the tablets, and she won't notice. Brilliant plan, Sherlock."

I stared at her again. Even five-year-old Aakriti would have caught on. Hell, she probably would've not just lectured me but also threatened me to not interfere in her life.

I sighed.

This isn't the solution.

I needed proof. Facts. I need to be Dhruv Singh Rathore with her and not just Dhruv this time. Or else the outcome would be nothing.

I picked up my phone to check mail but saw sensational news.

"BREAKING News: Nanda Industries Accused of Charity Fraud. CEO Aakriti Nanda Under Fire. Public Backlash Grows!"

Looks like the trouble has started. Just by experiencing one day peacefully, I became too wishful. Should I get this clear? But instead of appreciating me, my wife might criticize me for being too nosy. Let's see what my wife does.

I threw one last glance at her, memorizing the way her fingers curled on the pillow and how her lips moved ever so slightly, maybe caught in some beautiful dream. I am not waking her up because today is going to be super busy for you.

Then I moved, quietly, methodically.
Showered. Dressed. Pulled on my blazer.

I buttoned the last clasp on my blazer and stepped back into the room, half-expecting chaos, half-expecting silence.

But what I saw instead was Aakriti on the balcony—barefoot, hair tied up in a messy bun, sunlight kissing the edge of her cheek, and her voice calm yet commanding. She was on the phone. I paused near the door, just out of her view.

"...No, Dadu, I told you not to panic," she was saying, her voice crisp and clear. "Yes, the news is out. Right on schedule."

Schedule?

I moved a step closer, careful not to make a sound. Her back was to me, but she looked like a woman I hadn't seen in a while. Composed. Fierce. Focused.

"This will direct all the media traffic towards us. Nanda Industries might be under scrutiny, yes, but that's exactly what I wanted. When we unveil the new drug tomorrow, every pair of eyes will be watching. I'll give them a headline they'll beg to write."

She paused for a second, listening.

"No, I'm not worried about backlash. Once the truth is revealed, we'll have both public sympathy and investor interest. You know this fraud is not true. It was just a mess that I have already cleared. I had planned long to use it for our interest."

My jaw slackened just slightly. So this... this wasn't panic. This was strategy.

This wasn't damage control. It was damn near genius PR.

Aakriti tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and continued, "Just ensure that you don't panic. You have already retired; just focus on political problems and leave the business ones to me."

I leaned back against the wall, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My wife—my fiercely private, emotionally elusive, stubborn-as-hell wife—had just turned a scandal into a spotlight.

I felt something stir in me. Pride. Surprise. A rush of awe I couldn't quite put into words. I had thought she was spiraling. That she needed saving. But of course, I forgot—she's not the kind who waits for rescue.

She is the storm and the shelter.

As she ended the call and turned around, her eyes met mine. Calm, unreadable.

"How long were you standing there?" she asked.

"Long enough to realize I married a mastermind," I replied, walking toward her with a slow smile.

Her phone beeped before she could say anything further. Her smile changed into a frown.

"Looks like someone outdid the mastermind." She murmured.

"Huh!"

"Someone else released this news. Me releasing it means control, and someone else doing it means trouble."

She said it so calmly, but I could hear the storm building underneath.

Her eyes didn't blink. Her jaw tightened just slightly. A single line, but it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken threats.

At that moment, I realized that the person who had prematurely jumped into Aakriti Nanda's plan wasn't merely reckless. They were suicidal.

Because this woman didn't take kindly to the chaos that wasn't hers.

And she was about to make that very clear.

She didn't say anything else. Her fingers were already flying over her phone screen, scrolling through the source details of the article. I stepped closer, watching her expression morph from confusion to sharp calculation.

"Looks like someone is messing around." She murmured.

"Need help?" I asked.

"Not really. It's just that I don't like people messing with my plan. I hate not knowing." She sighed, pressing her fingers against her temples.

"You'll find out who did it," I said firmly. "And when you do, they'll wish they never touched you."

She looked at me, and for a moment, her eyes softened. But for a mere second.

"No need. It's not something so serious. Let's watch for some time."

Then she turned away, all business again. She made a quick call.

"Cancel the press meet for this evening. We're going dark until I have prepared the answers that they didn't expect. If they want a storm, let them wonder how bad it can get without knowing its direction."

God help whoever lit that match.

Because my wife wasn't just fire.

She was the whole damn inferno.

**************************************************

🥰🥰💕💕

Hello! I hope you liked this chapter..................

Do vote and comment.....................

Share this story with your friends.................

Do follow me...............

Take care bye..........