The sterile white walls of the hospital room had begun to soften—not from the sunlight streaming through the window, but because of the warmth Raneya brought with her.
By day, she filled its cold halls with quiet devotion. She served Razia Begum like a daughter—without complaint, without fatigue. Every morning began with a gentle touch and a genuine smile. She fluffed pillows, helped her sit up, combed through her graying hair with slow, loving strokes, and spoke to her like an old friend. By afternoon, her soft humming echoed through the corridors as she bathed her, changed her dressings, and fed her breakfast by hand.
Razia Begum, once lonely in her grandeur, now smiled like a child awaiting her favorite person. Their bond was unexplainable—almost cosmic. It felt like they had known each other in another life, and fate had merely reunited them.
There was no pretense in Raneya's eyes—just sincerity. It didn't take long for the hospital staff, even nearby patients, to pause and admire the quiet miracle blooming between the young woman and the fragile matriarch.
Justice Shah watched often. Sometimes from the hallway, sometimes through the half-open door. He'd see Raneya reading poetry to Razia, or laughing—a sound full of light—as she shared gentle jokes and stories. There was an innocence about her, untouched by the world. It reminded him of a daughter he never had. At first, he'd been wary of her sudden intrusion into their elite, tightly-shielded world. But her warmth was too raw to be fake. Like stone slowly warmed by the sun, his skepticism softened.
And when Razia slept—medicated and still—Raneya would retreat to the corner window, curl up with a pile of business magazines, and speak aloud to herself with dreamy eyes. It was her ritual. She flipped through the glossy pages, lips moving in whispers only ambition could inspire.
Once, Justice Shah had quietly walked in on her mid-monologue.
"One day, I'll have not just success... but impact. I'll build something that matters. Not just for profit. But for purpose."
He hadn't expected her to speak like that—like someone who saw farther than her circumstances. It stunned him. Her dream mirrored his own, decades ago.
He smiled softly. "That's a rare kind of dream. Don't let go of it."
But not everyone shared that sentiment.
Aahil Shah, the crown prince of their empire, remained unmoved.
Whenever he entered the hospital room, it was as if a blizzard followed. Cold. Distant. Arms crossed, gaze sharp, unreadable. His presence—regal and rigid—commanded attention and repelled emotion. Raneya often paused when he passed, not in admiration, but discomfort. His silence was loud. His judgment louder.
To the world, Aahil was a mogul—a prodigy who built Shah Media into a global force. But within these walls, he was a fortress of cold stares and unreadable smirks.
Raneya, despite trying to stay clear of his icy aura, always seemed to clash with it. And as days passed, she noticed the shift in his gaze—how it lingered longer when her name was mentioned. As if her presence threatened something in him.
Perhaps it did.
Because Aahil Shah had already begun investigating her. Quietly. Thoroughly. He had files now. Details. Names. A past with missing links. A girl with no digital trail, no traceable family… yet standing boldly in their lives?
He didn't trust her. And what he discovered only deepened the storm behind his gaze.
But he wasn't ready to expose her.
He preferred the game.
A storm always struck hardest at its peak.
With care and quiet companionship, Razia Begum's recovery accelerated. The day of her discharge came like spring after a long winter.
Raneya helped her into the wheelchair with practiced ease. Aahil stood beside her, silent, expression chiseled in stone. The ride back was quiet. Aahil drove with mechanical precision, jaw clenched, eyes forward. Razia hummed a tune from her youth, visibly lighter in spirit. In the back seat, Justice Shah observed Raneya as she stared out of the window, her eyes distant.
"Do you need to inform your family about staying with us?" he asked gently.
Raneya froze. Her palms began to sweat. Her throat dried.
"I… I don't have any family," she said softly, avoiding his eyes.
In the rearview mirror, Aahil's lips curled ever so slightly. Not in amusement—but knowing mockery. Like a lion catching a lie in the wind. Yet, he said nothing. Just kept driving.
Razia Begum reached for Raneya's hand with sudden urgency. "Then don't waste any more time. You're coming home with us. You'll live with me."
Raneya blinked, stunned. "I… I couldn't possibly—"
"Nonsense," Razia declared, a stubborn fire flickering in her aging eyes. "Aahil, tomorrow, take her to her place and bring all her belongings."
To her shock, Aahil nodded.
"As you wish," he said coolly, glancing at Raneya. "Tomorrow."
But the moment the others looked away, he leaned ever so slightly, just enough for her to catch it—the curl of his lips. Smug. Sharp.
Not a smile.
A signal.
He had already laid the trap.
And now, he was just waiting for her to walk into it.
Raneya sat still, fists clenched in her lap. Somewhere inside her, a quiet warning bell began to ring.