Myra needed air.
After everything—Ranvijay's intense words, the way he looked at her like she was his entire world and his battlefield—she couldn't breathe inside those palace walls. So, she wrapped herself in a soft chiffon saree, its lavender shade fluttering like petals with every step, and made her way to the garden.
The palace garden had always felt like her little escape. The fragrance of blooming mogras and the gentle rustle of leaves calmed her storming heart. She wandered barefoot along the marble path, fingers trailing the velvety petals of blooming roses, her thoughts still spiraling around Ranvijay.
But just as she turned toward the jasmine arch, her steps came to a sudden halt.
Her eyes blinked rapidly—once, twice—just to make sure she was seeing right.
There, near the far end of the garden, hidden partially by the weeping willows and rose bushes, stood Anika and Shiv. At first glance, they looked romantic—Shiv had Anika backed up against the vine-covered wall, one hand flat beside her head, his face just inches from hers. His other hand was curled into a fist like he was barely controlling himself. Anika, on the other hand, had her arms crossed, chin tilted defiantly upward, lips curved in what might've been a smirk if it weren't for the way her eyes blazed.
If it wasn't for their faces, Myra might've thought she was interrupting a private moment.
But no—Shiv looked like he wanted to throttle her. Anika looked like she wanted to set him on fire.
Myra ducked behind the tall hibiscus bush instinctively, peeking through the leaves, heart hammering—not out of fear, but from sheer disbelief. What on earth was this?
"You seriously think you can control me like that?" Anika hissed, her voice low but sharp.
"You think I don't know what you're doing, Anika?" Shiv growled back, his jaw tense. "Flirting with other men right in front of me. Playing games."
"I'm not playing, Shiv. I just don't like being watched like some princess in a tower," she snapped, jabbing a finger against his chest.
He caught her hand, fast. Their eyes locked, heat rising.
"I'm not watching," he said, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I'm warning."
For a moment, neither moved. The air between them sizzled with a kind of volatile energy—like the calm just before a storm or two magnets about to collide.
Myra, crouching awkwardly behind the bush, could hardly breathe. What even is going on between these two? Do they love each other or want to kill each other? It was the strangest tension she'd ever seen—and a little... entertaining?
She slowly backed away, deciding it was better not to be caught eavesdropping on what seemed like a private war disguised as passion.
But even as she left them behind, the image stuck in her mind—Shiv's hand gripping Anika's wrist, Anika's fire meeting his fury.
Maybe she wasn't the only one in this palace caught in a complicated web of emotions.
Myra tiptoed further away from the bushes, thinking she was being silent enough. But curiosity tugged at her again, and she couldn't resist one last glance. That was her mistake.
Because just then—
"I swear, if you try to spy on me again, Shiv, I'll pour hot coffee on your precious files!" Anika snapped, poking a manicured finger at his chest.
"Oh please," Shiv scoffed, stepping even closer. "You can barely pour water without making a mess, let alone coffee."
Anika's eyes widened in outrage. "Are you calling me clumsy?!"
He smirked. "You said it, not me."
"You're insufferable!"
"And you're dramatic!"
"You think you're smart, don't you?"
"Smarter than you? Definitely."
"Argh! I'm going to—"
"Punch me? Hit me with a flower pot? Be my guest."
Their words flew back and forth like sharp arrows, but the weird part was—they didn't back away. In fact, their faces were just inches apart, eyes blazing, cheeks flushed. It was like watching a very intense tennis match, where both players secretly didn't want to stop.
And that's exactly when Myra stepped right into the middle of it.
"Uhm... everything okay here?" she asked, blinking at them.
Shiv instantly stepped back, arms stiff at his sides as if he'd been caught in something criminal.
Anika straightened up too quickly, brushing imaginary dust off her saree. "Bhabi (Sister in law)! Oh! You're here. I—uh—we—were just discussing...plants."
"Plants?" Myra raised an eyebrow.
"Yes!" Shiv said a little too loudly. "Important...botanical stuff. You wouldn't understand."
Anika rolled her eyes. "Wow. You make her sound like she failed third-grade science."
"I didn't mean that—" Shiv looked at Myra and cleared his throat. "What he meant," Anika interrupted mockingly, "was that he's terrible at covering up his flustered self."
"I'm not flustered," he muttered, looking very flustered.
"Sure, bunny," Anika teased with a smirk.
Myra looked between them—Anika all smug and amused, Shiv grumbling like a grumpy cat—and had to bite back a laugh. The romantic tension from earlier was still there, but now it had taken a sharp turn into full-on bickering.
"I'll, uh... leave you two to your plants," Myra said, backing away with a knowing smile.
"No!" they both said in unison, a little too quickly.
She stopped, amused. "No?"
"You're not interrupting anything," Shiv said stiffly.
"Of course not," Anika added with a tight smile. "We were just finishing up anyway."
Myra gave them both a long look, then turned and continued her walk, lips twitching in amusement.
Behind her, the sound of low bickering resumed almost immediately.
"Why do you always ruin my explanations?" Shiv muttered.
"Why do you always need explanations?" Anika shot back.
The corners of Myra's lips lifted.
If that wasn't love hiding behind a very thin veil of war, she didn't know what was.
Anika huffed, clearly at her limit. Dressed in her signature chic crop top and high-waisted trousers, she looked like a walking fashion editorial—effortlessly fierce, sharp as a blade.
"I don't have time to argue with a toddler in a grown man's body," she snapped, tossing her sleek ponytail over her shoulder.
With a dramatic roll of her eyes, she turned on her heel and stomped away, her boots clicking against the stone path like warning bells.
Shiv scoffed behind her. "You could just admit you lost the argument," he muttered under his breath.
As the breeze danced through the garden, Myra sat on the stone bench, gently brushing her fingers along the soft petals of a white rose. The calmness here was her refuge—away from confusing emotions, hidden truths, and especially him.
Shiv appeared a few moments later, looking surprisingly calm after his usual squabble with Anika. He approached with his hands in his pockets, his tone casual. "Mind if I sit, bhabhi?"
Myra looked up and gave a small smile. "You're unusually polite today. What happened, did Anika finally win the argument?"
"She always thinks she does," Shiv muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes before taking the spot next to her. "But honestly, I needed some peace. She's... exhausting."
Myra chuckled softly. "You two fight like fire and fire."
"She's the fire. I'm the victim," he said dramatically, making her laugh again.
Silence settled between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just the kind of silence that let thoughts float freely. Myra picked up a fallen jasmine flower and rolled it between her fingers.
"You like this place, huh?" Shiv asked, watching her.
She nodded. "It's quiet. The flowers don't talk. They don't judge. They're just... there."
He glanced at her sideways. "You come here when you miss her, don't you?"
Myra didn't answer right away. The petals trembled slightly in her grasp.
"I never got to meet her," Shiv said gently, "but I've heard enough to know she must've been incredible."
Myra blinked fast, her throat tightening. "She was. She had the softest voice, but her eyes... they could hold your whole world together. I still talk to her, you know... in my mind."
Shiv was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "She'd be proud of you. For enduring. For staying soft despite everything."
Her lips trembled slightly as she looked away. "Do you really think so?"
"I know so," he said firmly. "And Ranvijay knows it too, even if he doesn't say it aloud."
At the mention of Ranvijay, her smile faltered. Her gaze drifted to the sunlight filtering through the leaves, and something in her chest fluttered.
"He's not easy," she whispered.
"Neither are you," Shiv replied with a knowing smile.
Myra let out a breathy laugh. "Thanks?"
"Anytime," he said, leaning back against the bench. "You're not just Ranvijay's wife, you're our queen now. Whether you believe it yet or not."
Her eyes softened at his words, and for the first time in days, a bit of warmth spread in her chest.
From the shadowed archway that opened to the garden, Ranvijay stood still, his arms folded across his chest, gaze locked onto the scene before him.
Myra sat on the stone bench, a soft smile playing on her lips as she laughed—actually laughed—at something Shiv had said. The sound of it floated through the garden like music, wrapping around Ranvijay's guarded heart and tightening it painfully.
She never laughed like that with him.
Not even once.
Her smiles in his presence were always hesitant… wary. Like she was holding herself back, measuring every breath, every word. But with Shiv? She was radiant—glowing under the golden sunlight with jasmine flowers in her lap and that silvery laugh tumbling from her lips like she'd forgotten every burden for a moment.
Ranvijay's jaw tensed.
Not with jealousy—but with something rawer. Possessiveness. A gnawing ache that reminded him just how far she still was from him. How much she didn't trust him… yet.
And that she gave her softness so easily to someone else—even if that someone was Shiv, his most trusted man, the brother he chose.
His fingers clenched briefly at his sides.
He had no doubt that Shiv's heart belonged to someone else entirely. Anika and he could burn down a palace with the fire they shared. That wasn't the worry. It was her—his Myra. Her ease, her tenderness, that unguarded version of her… he wanted that. He needed that.
Not just her presence. Not just her body.
He wanted her laughter. Her trust. Her soul.
And he hated—hated—that it wasn't his words that had pulled it from her.
For a long moment, he simply watched. His gaze tracing her profile, the way the sunlight shimmered in her hair, the way Shiv was listening intently, nodding, like a younger brother would with a beloved elder sister. It was… sweet. Pure.
But that didn't stop the flicker of heat in Ranvijay's chest.
Mine, his mind whispered.
Then, as if sensing him, Myra suddenly turned. Her eyes met his—wide, startled, like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't.
Ranvijay didn't look away.
He held her gaze, letting her see it all—his hunger, his frustration, his claim.
And then, slowly, his lips curved into a small, unreadable smile.
Myra looked away first.
Ranvijay turned on his heel, disappearing into the palace with measured steps, but inside, every part of him was screaming.
One day, Myra. You'll laugh like that for me. Only me.