The storm outside had begun to abate, leaving behind a relentless, cold drizzle that tapped rhythmically against the expansive glass panel of the master suite. Inside, the heavy aroma of copper, dried blood, and burning firewood clung to the air like a thick veil. The fires in the stone fireplace had died down to embers, casting a dim, pulsating crimson glow over the room.

Meher remained sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the cold mahogany framework of the king-sized bed. Her hands, still stained with Aaryan’s blood, trembled as the adrenaline slowly drained from her system. Opposite her, lying immobile across the dark silk sheets, was Aaryan Russo. His chest rose and fell in slow, labored rhythms. The white bandages she had wrapped around his upper torso were clean, save for a small, darkening spot over the entry wound, indicating the bleeding had finally ceased.