Chapter 9- it’s her boss

Hema closed her eyes tightly, bracing for the sharp, agonizing pain she expected any moment. Her heart was pounding in her chest like a drum, and her knees threatened to give way. Suddenly, she heard a loud crashing sound, the glass bottle shattering against something solid instead of her.

She opened her eyes slowly, her vision blurry with unshed tears. And there he was—Chris Zayden, her boss. The cold, no-nonsense man she knew only from the corporate world stood in front of her like a shield.

Chris’s arm was raised, his hand blocking the bottle that would have hit her head. The jagged shards of glass had dug into his skin, creating a deep cut from which blood was dripping down his wrist, staining the ground. Yet he didn’t seem to care about his injury. His piercing eyes, sharp as daggers, were locked on hers. His expression was a mix of fury and… something softer, something that Hema couldn’t quite place.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a voice that was low but urgent, snapping her out of her daze.

Hema’s lips trembled, but no words came out. She just stared at his bleeding hand, her breath hitching. “Your hand…” she finally whispered, her voice barely audible.

Chris didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his head sharply towards the group of boys, his jaw tightening. His usual calm and composed demeanor had vanished, replaced by a ferocity that sent a chill down Hema’s spine.

The three boys froze, their earlier bravado gone. One of them stammered in Hindi, “W-We didn’t mean to—”

Chris didn’t let him finish. He took a step forward, his broad shoulders tense and his tall, muscular frame casting a long shadow under the dim streetlights. His casual black t-shirt clung to his body, outlining his powerful build, and his fitted gray joggers didn’t do much to tone down the intimidating air he carried.

Chris’s glare silenced him instantly. He glanced down at his injured hand, blood dripping steadily onto the ground, and then back at them. The sight alone was enough to make the boys step back in fear.

The boys exchanged nervous glances, but it wasn’t until Chris shifted slightly and revealed the sleek handle of a gun peeking out from the waistband of his joggers that they truly panicked. Their eyes widened in terror.

The boy closest to Chris nearly tripped over himself as he scrambled backward. “W-We’re sorry! We’re leaving!” he blurted out, his voice cracking.

Like scared dogs, they turned and ran, their footsteps echoing in the dark alley as they disappeared into the distance.

Chris didn’t take his eyes off them until they were completely out of sight. Then, pulling out his phone with his uninjured hand, he made a quick call. “I want three men sent to the intersection near my location. There were three boys—drunk, harassing a woman. Find them.” His voice was cold and efficient, all traces of the earlier rage suppressed.

Hema, still frozen in place, felt her knees give way slightly. She stumbled back a step, clutching her bag tightly to her chest as she stared at Chris.

“Sir… what are you doing at this time—”

Chris turned to her then, his intense gaze softening ever so slightly when it met hers. “I came to check on you”

His words sent a strange warmth spreading through her chest, though she didn’t understand why. But that warmth quickly turned into guilt as her eyes fell on his bleeding hand.

“Your hand…” she said again, her voice trembling.

Chris glanced down at it as if just now remembering it existed. “It’s fine,” he said dismissively, though the blood dripping onto the ground painted a different picture.

She stepped forward hesitantly, her hands shaking as she rummaged through her bag.

Chris raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop her when she pulled out a handkerchief. She moved closer, close enough that she could see the tension in his jaw and the faint beads of sweat on his forehead.

She carefully took his injured arm, her touch light but firm, and began wrapping the handkerchief around the wound to stop the bleeding.

“Thank you” she said.

Chris stood still, his tall frame towering over her as she worked. His usual stoic expression faltered for a moment as he watched her. Her movements were quick but gentle, her brows furrowed in concentration. She bit her lower lip slightly as she adjusted the makeshift bandage, and Chris found himself captivated by the small, unintentional gesture.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his voice almost unrecognizable without its usual sharpness.

“You didn’t have to jump in front of me either,” she replied without looking up, her focus still on his arm.

Chris smirked faintly. “I guess we’re even, then.”

Hema glanced up at him briefly without a single expression , her eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment before she looked away. Her face is filled with confusion ad guilt.

After a moment, she stepped back, letting go of his arm. “That should stop the bleeding for now, but you need to get it properly treated.”

Chris nodded, glancing at the makeshift bandage.

Hema opened her mouth to say something, but her words were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Two men in dark suits arrived in his car, their expressions stern.

“Sir,” one of them said, addressing Chris. “We’ll take care of it from here.”

Chris gave them a curt nod. “Find those boys. Make sure they don’t try this ever again.”

The men nodded and quickly moved in the direction the boys had fled.

Hema watched them go, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She turned to Chris, her voice hesitant. “You didn’t have to call them… They’re just teenagers .”

Chris frowned. “Kids who tried to hurt you. They need to learn there are consequences.”

“But…” Hema began, but Chris cut her off.

“No arguments,” he said firmly. “Let’s get you home.”

Hema blinked in surprise. “You don’t have to—”

“I insist,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for discussion.

Chris opened the passenger door of his sleek black car and motioned for Hema to get in. His movements were precise, though a faint grimace flickered across his face as his injured left hand brushed against the edge of the car door. Hema hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking between his bloodstained handkerchief and his stoic expression.

“Get in,” Chris said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Hema nodded, silently slipping into the seat. She could feel her heart pounding, a mix of gratitude and concern swirling in her chest as she buckled her seatbelt. Chris closed the door gently, then walked around to the driver’s side, his broad shoulders looking heavier under the burden of the night’s events.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Chris started the car with one swift motion, but every time his left hand gripped the gear shift, hema noticed a fresh trickle of blood seeped through the handkerchief. His knuckles whitened with effort as he suppressed any sign of pain, his jaw clenched tightly, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

Chris glanced at her briefly, his dark eyes unreadable. “Let’s get you home first.”

She sighed, leaning back in her seat, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her dupatta. The faint hum of the car filled the air as they drove through the dimly lit streets.

Chris drove carefully despite the pain radiating from his hand. Each time he changed gears, his lips pressed into a tight line, the strain evident on his face. The blood from his hand had soaked through the kerchief now, a small crimson stain spreading across the white fabric.

Hema couldn’t help but steal glances at him, her worry growing with every passing moment. The man who was usually so composed and intimidating now looked almost… human. Vulnerable.

“Turn left here,” Hema said softly, guiding him toward her apartment. The streets were eerily quiet, the faint sound of crickets the only noise breaking the stillness.

When they finally arrived at her apartment building, the clock on the dashboard read 12:05 a.m. The building was dark, with only a few scattered lights glowing in the windows. Most of the residents had gone to bed, but as Chris pulled up in front of the gate, Hema noticed two familiar figures standing near the entrance.

Her grandmother, clad in a simple cotton sari, was pacing nervously, her hands wringing together as she muttered prayers under her breath. Beside her stood Arvind, his posture tense and his face set in a worried frown. He was dressed in casual tracks and a t-shirt, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he glanced up and down the road, clearly waiting for Hema.

The moment the car came to a stop, Arvind took a step forward, his eyes narrowing as he saw the unfamiliar vehicle. Hema quickly unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out, calling out to them.

“Dhadhi! Arvind!”

Her grandmother’s head snapped up, and a wave of relief washed over her face. She clasped her hands together and looked toward the sky, murmuring a quick thank-you to God before rushing toward Hema.

“Beta, where were you? We were so worried!” her grandmother cried, pulling Hema into a tight embrace.

“I’m fine, Dhadhi,” Hema reassured her, her voice soft and tired. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

Arvind walked up to them, his frown deepening when he noticed the bloodstains on Hema’s dupatta. “What happened?” he asked sharply, his eyes scanning her from head to toe.

“It’s nothing,” Hema said quickly, trying to defuse the situation. “Just a little incident on the way home.”

Arvind’s gaze shifted to the car, his expression hardening when he saw Chris sitting in the driver’s seat. Chris, who had been silently observing the scene, leaned back in his seat, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel while the other, wrapped in the bloodied handkerchief, hung loosely at his side.

“What is he doing with you?” Arvind asked, his tone sharp and demanding.

Hema hesitated, glancing back at Chris. “He’s the one who helped me,” she said finally, her voice quiet.

Grandmother asked who was he. She said, “it’s my boss”

Arvind’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He took a step closer to the car, his eyes locking onto Chris with barely concealed anger.

Chris met his glare head-on, his expression calm and unreadable. His dark eyes held a quiet intensity, and even in his injured state, he exuded an air of authority that made it clear he wasn’t intimidated by Arvind’s hostility.