Only His✔️

Chapter 13

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AAYNA'S POV

The cold plastic of the breast pump pressed against my skin like punishment.

I stared at the pale yellow hospital curtain fluttering near the window, trying not to cry again. My body wasn't ready for this. My mind definitely wasn't. But they didn't ask. He didn't ask.

The nurse had just left after throwing a cold look my way, muttering how "mothers nowadays give up too easily."

I wasn't a mother.

But the child in NICU had no one else left.

Not after Aarzoo.

Not after Rudra's sister died.

Aarzoo's son. Her blood.

I pulled up the hospital-issued gown, heart thudding like a war drum. The suction began, too strong, too sudden. A sharp pull. My lips parted in a silent cry as tears blurred my eyes.

Then he walked in.

Didn't knock. Didn't care.

Rudra.

His black sherwani jacket was half open, his shirt underneath wrinkled. His face looked like it was carved from stone cold, unreadable, terrifying.

"What the f**k are you doing?" he said, voice low and threatening.

I quickly tried to cover myself, fumbling. "I The nurse told me"

"I told them to make sure you feed the child. Not watch you cry like a coward."

I blinked, heart sinking further.

"I'm not ready," I said weakly.

"You should've thought of that before agreeing to stay in my house. You're here now. And he needs milk."

"He's not mine," I whispered.

Wrong thing to say.

His jaw locked. His eyes flared with something unreadable-rage? disappointment? hate?

"He's Aarzoo's," Rudra said, stepping forward. "And you promised her. Or was that just another lie you told while pretending to be her friend?"

I flinched.

The pump's sharp pull yanked again. I cried out, turning my face away, humiliated beyond words. My body felt foreign. Exposed. Useless.

"Stop crying," Rudra hissed. "You think this is hard? Try watching your sister die with your name on her lips and knowing you couldn't save her."

Silence.

I wanted to scream. To tell him this wasn't fair. That I was barely twenty. That I had dreams. College. Life. And now I was trapped in a world that never asked what I wanted.

But the milk was finally coming. The baby needed it.

So I stayed still.

I cried quietly.

He stood by the door, watching me like a warden guarding his prisoner.

"You'll feed him every three hours," he said flatly. "If you refuse, I'll make sure you never step out of this building again."

Then he left.

Just like that.

And I sat there, pumping milk with shaking hands, the pain in my chest nothing compared to the pain curling inside my soul.

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