Demon's Physco obsession

Bonus chapter: What We Carry Together

Adhiraaj stood at the tall window of his study, fingers laced behind his back, eyes fixed on the garden below. What he saw made his jaw tighten.

"Damn it," he muttered, already moving.

He was down the stairs and across the lawn in long, purposeful strides, as though responding to an alarm only he could hear.

In the garden, a cluster of teenage girls scattered the moment his shadow stretched across the grass—bare feet kicking up dust, laughter dying into shrieks of terror as they fled toward the servants' quarters.

All except one.

Ankita stood frozen mid-square of a hopscotch grid scratched into the earth. Her skirt was hitched up and tucked clumsily into her waistband, exposing legs streaked with sand. Her hair had come loose from its braid, curls flying wildly around her flushed face. She was breathing hard—not from fear, but from play.

She looked up slowly.

And smiled. Sheepish. Caught.

Adhiraaj stopped a few feet away, chest rising with restrained irritation.

"What," he asked coolly, "are you doing?"

"Passing time," she said lightly, as if this were the most reasonable answer in the world. She gestured vaguely at the ground with her toe. "I got bored."

His brows drew together. "Bored?" His gaze swept over her—dishevelled, dusty, unapologetic. "Since when do you get bored so suddenly? You have plenty of company. Malti. Jahnvi. Lakshmi." A beat. "I appointed Malti specifically to keep you occupied."

Ankita huffed, crossing her arms. "Malti is boring. She behaves like an old woman and doesn't know how to enjoy herself."

"That  woman raised you," he said dryly.

"Exactly my point," Ankita shot back. Then, softer—but sharper—"I miss Shakuntala kaki. At least she knows what fun means."

There was real frustration in her voice now, the kind that had nothing to do with hopscotch.

Adhiraaj sighed through his nose. He reached out, fingers closing gently but firmly around her wrist. "Enough. Come inside."

He tugged once.

She didn't move.

Instead, Ankita planted her feet stubbornly into the dirt. "Call them back."

He turned, incredulous. "What?"

"The girls," she said, pointing toward the servants' quarters. "Call them back. I'm not going anywhere until I teach them how to play proper hopscotch. That was terrible form."

He stared at her.

Now he understood.

This wasn't boredom.
This was rebellion—soft, childish, and deliberate.

"Dove," he warned quietly, giving her wrist another pull. "You're doing this on purpose."

She resisted, chin lifting. "I am doing nothing wrong."

That was the moment his patience snapped.

With one swift movement, Adhiraaj bent, lifted her clean off the ground, and slung her over his shoulder.

Ankita shrieked in outrage. "Ji! Put me down! This is unfair—I wasn't finished—"

He ignored her completely.

Servants melted out of his path as he strode back toward the mansion, her protests echoing uselessly against marble and discipline. One of her fists beat lightly against his back; the other tangled in his shirt.