𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

49⚚ Unshakable

Author POV:

"Babyyy?" Viraj's deep voice rang through the air, filled with concern.

Amaira stood frozen.

Rithvik and Daksh, who had been right beside her just moments ago, exchanged confused glances. Normally, at the very sound of Viraj's voice—especially when he called her "baby"—Amaira would abandon anything she was doing and just sprint into his arms without a second thought.

But this time... she didn't move. She didn't even blink.

And that scared them more than her throwing up.

Daksh blinked, trying to understand. "What's wrong with her?" he whispered to Rithvik. But of course, neither of them had any clue.

After all, they are her brothers—boys raised in a orphanage filled with their age boys and trainings for becoming soldiers, not emotional cues and hormone charts. They had no idea what this kind of silence meant.

Then Viraj's voice echoed again, louder and with a rising panic, "Vixen? Where are you, love?"

Amaira instinctively gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, sucking in a shaky breath as she tried to ground herself. Her chest rose and fell a little too fast. Her lips trembled as she tried to calm her racing thoughts.

Daksh, picking up on the urgency, left to intercept Viraj in the living room, mumbling a quick, "I'll handle him," before disappearing around the corner.

Rithvik stayed, stepping in front of his sister with soft eyes. "Amaira," he said quietly, "You can tell me anything. You know that, right?" His voice, gentle and steady, just a like a mother calming her kids.

Amaira stared at him, her eyes glassy. Then, in the lowest, smallest whisper he had ever heard from her, she said, "Bhai, I think I'm—"

"Baby?"

Viraj's voice cut her off as he appeared in the kitchen entrance, his eyes frantically scanning the room. The moment they landed on her, he strode forward in three large steps and wrapped her in his arms before anyone could say another word.

He held her like she is the only thing keeping him alive—his arms forming a cocoon of warmth and comfort around her trembling body. Her face automatically burrowed into his chest, and her body finally relaxed for the first time in what felt like hours.

Amaira let out a long, quiet sigh. Relief.

Viraj rubbed her back, his lips pressing gently to the top of her head. "You okay, baby?" he whispered.

"You scared the hell out of me." His tone was no longer loud—just soft, protective, and filled with quiet worry.

She didn't answer. Just nodded against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat and the way his arms held her like he never wanted to let go.

At the entrance, Daksh stood awkwardly, looking at the floor with a sheepish expression. Rithvik, who still hadn't moved, gave him a glare so sharp it could cut steel.

Daksh held up both hands in apology, silently mouthing, Sorry!

But Rithvik's eyes didn't soften. Too late, they seemed to say. She was about to tell. You gave it away.

Still, none of them said anything—because right now, Amaira is safe, wrapped in the arms of the one man who always made everything feel right.

Rithvik sighed, running a tired hand through his hair before muttering, "Vi, take her to the living room. I'll get her some soup."

Viraj frowned, glancing down at Amaira, whose arms were still loosely tucked between them, her face buried in his chest. "Soup? She didn't have dinner?"