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The tension in the dining area was thick enough to cut with a knife. Clara, the iron-willed CEO of the Herman Group, sat at the head of the table, her eyes flashing with a mix of maternal fire and corporate authority.
"Explain yourself, Rico," Clara demanded, her voice trembling with suppressed anger. "Why did you hide the fact that you were in the hospital? Did you think you could keep your own mother in the dark about your life?"
Rico cleared his throat, looking down at his plate. "Mom... I just—"
"Wait," Clara interrupted, leaning forward. "It's worse than that. You actually told Michael to keep it a secret from me? I had to find out from the evening news! Do you have any idea how that feels for a mother?"
Sitting beside Rico, Ameya remained silent, but her eyes were wide. She nudged Rico under the table, signaling him with a sharp look to say something—anything—to calm the storm.
Rico reached out and gently grabbed his mother's hand. "Mom... this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you. Look at you—you're worrying yourself sick. I didn't want to cause you this stress."
Clara looked at his hand, her anger softening just a fraction, but she didn't pull away. "As a mother, can't I worry for my son? You are my world, Rico."
Seeing her resolve crumble, Rico moved from his chair to sit in the seat right next to her. He put an arm around her shoulder. "Mom, nothing happened. Look at me, I'm perfectly fine. It was just a small strike, a minor incident. I'm standing right here, aren't I?"
Clara sighed, her hand reaching up to gently stroke Rico's hair, checking for herself that he was truly okay. "Are you really alright?"
Rico gave her a warm, reassuring smile. "Better than ever."
Clara finally turned her gaze toward Ameya. The silence stretched for a moment until Ameya cleared her throat softly. "The food is getting cold, Auntie. Have you had dinner? Please, join us."
The transition worked. Clara's expression smoothed into a genuine smile. "Thank you, Ameya. And thank you for taking care of him during all of this."
Before Ameya could offer a humble response, Rico leaned in and whispered just loud enough for both women to hear, "She was just fulfilling her responsibility as my girlfriend."
Ameya shot him a look that was half-annoyed and half-blushing, while Clara let out a small, knowing chuckle.
"I'll go bring out the dessert," Ameya said quickly, standing up to escape Rico's smug grin. She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the mother and son alone.
Clara immediately leaned in, tugging on Rico's hand to get his full attention while he tried to take a bite of his food. He turned to her, confused. Clara tilted her head toward the kitchen, her eyes dancing with a secret question.
Rico blinked, not catching the drift. "What?"
Clara lowered her voice to a whisper. "How? How did you convince her? I know Ameya—she has a temper. She wasn't furious ? When did you two officially get back together?"
Rico's face lit up with an enthusiastic, playful smile. "Ever since I got into the hospital," he whispered back proudly. "She forgave me for everything. We're officially together now."
Clara leaned back, a mocking but pleased smile on her face. "Well then... I suppose we have to start arranging a wedding soon."
Rico's eyes widened, and he nearly choked on his water. "Wait, Mom! Slow down. I haven't even proposed to her yet."
Clara patted his hand dismissively. "Fine, fine. I won't rush you. But don't take too long."
As Ameya walked back in with the dessert tray, Rico fell into a deep thought. A proposal, he mused, watching Ameya set the table. It has to be perfect. No more lies, no more hospitals—just us.
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The moonlight filtered through the large windows of the Rico Mansion, casting long, silvery shadows across the hallway. Ameya walked toward Rico's room, not for a romantic rendezvous, but to retrieve her script for the next day's shoot.
Inside, Rico was hunched over his laptop, the blue light reflecting off his sharp features. He looked up the moment she entered, but his expression shifted from professional to puzzled when he saw what she was carrying.
Along with her script, Ameya had her favorite pillow tucked under one arm and a fresh set of bedsheets draped over the other.
Rico watched her out of the corner of his eye as she gathered the rest of her things. He reached out, his hand snapping shut around her wrist. "Why? Where do you think you're going?"
"To my room, Rico. Where else?" she replied matter-of-factly.
Rico abruptly shut his laptop and stood up, towering over her. "Why? You've been sleeping here every night. Why change now?" A playful, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Are you afraid I might finally break our boundaries?"
He moved quickly, his hands finding her waist. Ameya gave him a firm push against his chest, her eyes widening.
"You—Rico! Stop it," she hissed. "Your mother is staying in the guest wing. It's not right for us to stay in the same room while she's here. What would she think?"
Rico chuckled, pulling her back toward him. "So what? You were sleeping here until yesterday. She knows we're together."
Ameya narrowed her eyes, turning her back to him to head for the door. "That was different. You were 'recovering' then."
As she stepped away, Rico reached out and caught the fabric of her silk pajamas, tugging her back gently. "And what if I need something in the middle of the night?"
Ameya turned around, poking a finger firmly against his chest. "You're fully recovered now, Rico. You don't need my help to get a glass of water."
But Rico didn't flinch. Instead, he caught her hand, his fingers locking around hers. His gaze turned heavy and intense, the playful spark replaced by something much deeper. Ameya tried to pull her finger back, but his grip was like iron—strong yet strangely careful.
With a sudden, swift tug, he pulled her forward. Ameya lost her balance, stumbling right against his hard chest. He caught her instantly, his arms locking around her until there wasn't a breath of space between them.
He leaned down, his finger tracing a slow, burning line down her cheek while he stared into her eyes. "Let's finish what we started earlier on the sofa," he whispered, his voice vibrating against her skin.
Ameya blinked, her heart hammering against her ribs. "What—"
Before she could finish the question, Rico's lips were on hers. He tilted his head, one hand sliding up to cradle the side of her face near her ear, while the other pulled her hip flush against him. It was a passionate, hungry kiss that demanded a response.
Ameya felt her resolve crumbling. Her hands, which had been poised to push him away, instead moved up to drape over his shoulders. She kissed him back, losing herself in the rhythm of his touch as he leaned into her, deepening the kiss with a slow, side-to-side intensity.
When they finally broke apart for air, Ameya leaned her forehead against his, her chest heaving. "I... I can't breathe," she gasped.
Rico didn't let go. He leaned in close to her ear, his breath hot, and whispered with a triumphant smirk, "You can stop me now, Ameya. But you won't be able to stop me after our marriage."
He pulled back just enough to look her directly in the eyes, his gaze steady and full of promise. Ameya could only blink, her voice lost in her throat.
Rico smiled—a warm, genuine expression that reached his eyes—and finally let her go.
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The world was swallowed by an oppressive, ink-black darkness. Ameya stood alone in the heart of a dense forest. There was no moonlight to guide her, only the suffocating silence of the trees. Far in the distance, a flickering orange glow caught her eye—a lone torch or fire stick burning in the void.
Trembling with fear, she followed the light. It led her to a clearing where a dilapidated, abandoned hut stood, leaning precariously against a gnarled oak.
Ameya pushed the door open. The interior was a nightmare of neglect. Dust hung thick in the air like a shroud, and thick plant roots snaked through the floorboards like dormant serpents. On every shelf sat hundreds of glass bottles filled with swirling, murky potions.
Suddenly, a large rat scurried across a shelf, knocking over a bottle of glowing green liquid. The glass shattered at Ameya's feet, the potion splashing directly onto her mud-caked, old shoes.
Ameya gasped. Before her eyes, the worn-out shoes shimmered and transformed into brand-new, expensive designer heels. They were pristine, glowing with an unnatural luster. She stared in disbelief, but the wonder didn't last.
Only minutes later, the heels began to warp. They decayed into broken, filthy sandals. Ameya let out a terrified cry as the sandals began to shrink. They tightened around her feet like a vice, the leather biting into her skin.
"AHA!" she roared, collapsing to her knees, frantically trying to tear the sandals off. They wouldn't budge.
"You're late," a raspy voice echoed.
Ameya looked up. Near a massive, bubbling cauldron that hadn't been there moments ago, an old lady appeared as if out of thin air. She looked every bit the classic witch, with eyes that held centuries of secrets.
The witch muttered a low, guttural spell. Instantly, the constricting sandals shattered into pieces. Ameya exhaled, the relief of the blood returning to her feet making her lightheaded. She scrambled backward, her back hitting the dusty wall.
"Who are you?" Ameya stammered. "Do you know me?"
The witch's lips curled into a chilling smile. "Of course I know you, Ameya."
Ameya's heart began to hammer against her ribs. The hut started to vibrate, the walls turning translucent as the reality of the dream began to dissolve. The witch, noticing the shift, suddenly teleported, appearing inches from Ameya's face.
She grabbed Ameya's hand, her cold, bony fingers digging into her skin. Her eyes locked onto the green stone gold ring on Ameya's finger.
"Remember one thing," the witch hissed, her voice like sandpaper. "Everything that makes you happy will turn to misery. It will choke the life out of you... soon."
Ameya couldn't breathe. The air felt like lead in her lungs. The witch's smile widened, becoming a distorted mask of malice.
"NO!"
Ameya bolted upright in bed, her scream echoing through the master suite. Sweat soaked her hair, and her chest heaved as she sobbed, "No, no, please..."
Beside her, the bed shifted instantly. Rico, who had apparently refused to let her sleep in her own room after all, was awake in a heartbeat. The lamp flickered on, bathing the room in a warm, safe light.
"Ameya? Ameya, what happened?" His voice was thick with sleep but sharp with genuine concern.
Ameya turned to him, her eyes blurred with tears. Without a word, she lunged forward, hugging him so tightly it was as if she were trying to merge into his very soul. She buried her face in his neck, her body shaking with violent sobs.
Rico didn't ask any more questions. He simply wrapped his strong arms around her, pulling her into his lap and resting his chin on her head. He smoothed her hair with a gentle, steady hand.
"Don't worry," he whispered into the dark, quiet room. "I'm here. It was just a dream. I'm right here."
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To be Continued........
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