Semua Bab DEVIL’s GRIP: Bab 131 - Bab 140

The room was silent except for the soft ticking of the antique clock hung on the hospital wall. Zayden sat on the edge of the bed, IVs removed, shirt half-buttoned, veins slightly bulging on his forearms. His jaw clenched as his eyes burned with new purpose. He could still feel the phantom ache of the despair he’d faked—he’d lived in it for so long, it had almost felt real.Mia stood beside him, straight-backed, her tablet in hand and her face composed, though her eyes shimmered with unspoken guilt and relief.“Are you sure about this?” she asked quietly, glancing at him.Zayden’s lips curled into the first genuine smirk she’d seen in months. “I’m more sure about this than I’ve been about anything since Hema left.”Mia gave a short nod and looked at her assistant who was waiting just outside the door. She gestured him in. A lean man with glasses and an intimidating presence stepped forward holding a folder.“Sir, this is the phone model you gifted her before your wedding day. Ma’am—”

The southern skies were overcast with the weight of monsoon clouds, the scent of wet earth blending with the aroma of spicy sambar from the little restaurant nestled near the coastal highway. Inside, Hema stood behind the cash counter, her sari neatly pleated, a hand resting gently on her rounded belly. Her pregnancy was showing now, more than ever, and yet she carried herself with quiet strength, even grace.She was talking to her unborn baby, her voice soft but full of life.“What do you want today, hmm? Dosa? Or that sweet aunty’s curd rice?” she chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You kicked like crazy last night. You must be training for football or something.”Outside, leaning against a lamppost across the street, hidden partially by shadows, Zayden watched her.His heart thundered in his chest.She was glowing—not just from the pregnancy, but from peace. Something he hadn’t seen in her for months. She was real. Alive. And she was carrying his child.He hadn’t ne

She smiled faintly, pressing a hand to her stomach. “You are making me crave mango pickle?” The gentle kick she felt seemed like an answer, and she giggled. “Pickle it is.” Inside the house across the street, Zayden sat, elbows on the table, watching her on the screen. His surveillance feeds blinked quietly—motion sensors picking up only her slow movements. Her laugh echoed faintly through the hidden mic near the tulsi plant. He had watched her laugh, cry, yawn, and hum lullabies into the night. But he hadn’t moved beyond the shadows. Today, however, fate decided to test his resolve. ⸻ It was just after breakfast. The morning rush had calmed. The house was mostly quiet, except for Hema, who was wiping the kitchen counter, humming to herself. She’d just turned toward the stove when her foot caught the edge of a water-drenched mat. Her balance tilted sharply, and in an instant, her body lurched forward. “Ahh!” she yelped, her hands instinctively trying to guard her stomach. Zay

It had been thirty days since Zayden rented the house across from Hema. Thirty long, unspoken days of watching her move with grace and quiet determination—cooking, cleaning, teaching, working… all while carrying his child.Each morning, she woke early and sat on the veranda with a cup of warm milk, her eyes slightly puffy from interrupted sleep. Her hand would always rest on her growing belly, fingers instinctively rubbing circles.Zayden memorized those circles.He memorized the way she tucked her hair behind her ears, how she laughed when kids from the street called her “Akka,” and how she still sometimes stared into the sky, lips whispering something to the clouds.He passed a month watching her. And in that month, he fell for her all over again.But one thing constantly troubled him—she was still doing everything alone.Cooking, laundry, cleaning, walking to the doctor. She had help from the elderly couple who cared deeply for her, yes—but age had its limits. He saw her try to fix

The sun rose like a melted gold coin over the small southern town, washing the narrow streets with warm light. Birds chirped their morning songs as usual, and the town woke up lazily—except Zayden, who had already been awake for hours.From the window of his rented house, Zayden kept his usual vigil. Coffee in hand, eyes trained on the small house across the street. The place that sheltered her. The place that gave his unborn child a home.His gaze drifted to the two elderly figures—Hema’s caretakers—standing outside their gate. The man was folding a piece of paper and slipping it into his shirt pocket. Probably their visit schedule to the bank. The woman adjusted her dupatta and fixed her spectacles as they waited for the auto.Hema wasn’t home. She had gone to the nearby temple to pray, as she did every Friday morning. Zayden made sure she wouldn’t witness what was about to happen.The auto-rickshaw pulled up, sputtering like a coughing dog.“Careful,” the woman told her husband, ho