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(Virat's mansion)
The rain came down like a curtain of glass, streaking across the tall windows of virat kohli's mansion. Outside, the sprawling estate was shrouded in darkness—silent except for the low rumble of thunder rolling over the hills.
Inside, the lights were low. The air smelled faintly of rain and cedarwood
And on the massive Italian leather couch in the living room, Virat kohli sat with Rohit gurunath Sharma curled up in his lap
Rohit was quiet. Unusually quiet
That was the part that scared Virat more than the storm, more than the dozen missed calls flashing on his iPhone, more than the encrypted message blinking from the secure line hidden beneath his desk upstairs
Rohit Sharma was never quiet. Even when alone He talked to the plants, to the sky, to the dogs, to the rain—sometimes even to the ceiling fan
But now he was still, head pressed to Virat’s chest, burning up with fever, eyes half-lidded and dazed
The sound of his labored breathing filled the silence
Virat’s hand moved automatically, stroking his hair—soft, damp from sweat. “Hey,” he said quietly, voice low enough to be a whisper against rohit's temple. “You’re okay, panda. Just a fever. You’re fine.”
Rohit didn’t answer. Just made a faint sound, something between a hum and a sigh, fingers curling weakly into the fabric of virat's shirt.
The younger man exhaled through his nose. His pulse was steady, but his mind wasn’t. The iPhone on the coffee table lit up again—caller ID: Azaad. His second-in-command.
He didn’t need to answer to know what it meant. Something was wrong
A meeting. A shipment. A betrayal. Something that needed virat kohli
But his kingly empire could wait. His panda couldn’t
He stared at the phone until the screen went black. Then again, it buzzed, vibrating insistently. Rohit shifted slightly at the noise, whimpering, and Virat’s entire focus snapped back to him
"Shh. Ignore that" he murmured, pulling Rohit closer. His voice softened, velvet over steel. “It’s nothing just shubman calling to complain about ishan's chaos"
But it wasn’t nothing, and both halves of his world were starting to collide.
He had a gun holstered under the casual shirt he wore a tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows tattoos half exposed
His watch was platinum, his sneakers custom-made. Everything about him screamed effortless luxury, even when he was preparing for a meeting that could end in blood not his of course
And yet here he was, heart caught between the warmth in his lap and the darkness waiting outside
He tilted his head, brushing Rohit’s forehead lightly with his lips "You’re burning up baby"
