“Good night,” I murmured sleepily.
“Horrible dreams.”
He turned his head slightly. “That’s… an odd wish.”
I smiled faintly. “I only say horrible dreams to people who are close to me. People I love. Like Divyanka.”
Then I added quickly, half‑teasing, half‑defensive,
“But— ahemm— remember, Mr. Karl… I don’t love you. Hehe.”
He didn’t reply.
But his pinky tightened around mine for half a second before sleep finally claimed us both.
Morning came quietly.
Rain had stopped. The room was washed in soft grey light. Karl was still asleep on the couch, his breathing steady, peaceful in a way that didn’t match the man he was when awake.
I woke up with a sharp pain in my stomach.
Bad. Sudden.
I pressed a hand to my abdomen, wincing. “Great,” I muttered.
I tried to get up.
Big mistake.
I forgot about my injured foot.
The moment I put weight on it, my leg buckled and I fell back onto the bed with a gasp, grabbing the corner of the mattress to steady myself.
That’s when I saw it.
The white bedsheet.
Red.
My breath caught.
Not from my foot.
I froze for a second—then understanding hit, fast and humiliating.
My period.
Of all days.
Of all places.
My face burned. I sat down hard on the bed, panic rising.
“karllllllll!” I shouted. “Get out of the room right now!”
He woke instantly.
“What—?” He sat up, alert.
“Out!” I snapped, pulling the blanket tighter around me. “I want to go to the washroom. Right now.”
He was already on his feet. “You can’t walk. I’ll take you.”
“No!” I said quickly. “Stay away.”
“Kavira—”
“I said stay away!” My voice cracked, embarrassment mixing with pain. “Just—just turn around!”
A small argument followed—frustrated whispers, rushed words, both of us talking over each other. He tried to help. I refused. My stomach cramped again, sharp enough that I sucked in a breath.
That was when karl stopped arguing.
He came closer.
“Enough,” he said firmly—not angry, just decisive.
Before I could protest again, he lifted me carefully into his arms, mindful of my foot, steady and sure.
“karl!” I protested weakly. “Don’t—”
Then his gaze dropped.
He saw the bed.
The red stain on the white sheet.
He froze for half a second.
Not disgusted.
Not shocked.
Just… understanding.
His jaw tightened—not in anger, but in concern.
“Okay,” he said calmly. “I’ve got you.”
My face burned even more. “This is so embarrassing…”
He looked down at me, voice low and steady. “There’s nothing embarrassing about being human.”
I stared at him.
He didn’t tease.
Didn’t comment.
Didn’t make it awkward.
He simply turned and carried me toward the washroom, shielding me like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“You should’ve told me you were in pain,” he added quietly.
I looked away. “I didn’t know it would start today.”
“I know,” he said. “Still.”
As the bathroom door closed behind us, one thought echoed loudly in my head—
This man terrified me.
Controlled my life.
Frightened me in ways I didn’t understand yet.
But in this moment…
Karl Casanova handled my vulnerability
like it was something to protect, not judge.
And that scared me even more than the storm.
After my bath, after changing into fresh clothes, karl carried me downstairs.
He didn’t hide it.
Every single person in that mansion stopped.
Guards. Staff. Men who looked like they’d seen death a thousand times.
They stared.
Because they had never—never—seen their mafia boss carry someone like that. Not gently. Not protectively. Not like she mattered more than power.
Karl didn’t care.
He carried me like the world could watch and burn for all he cared.
Breakfast passed quietly. He made sure I ate. Made sure I was comfortable. Then, without a word, he left for work—black suit, cold face, mafia king again.
And I was alone.
In our bedroom.
With my phone.
I smiled to myself.
This is it.
I called Divyanka.
The moment I heard her voice, I almost cried. I told her everything—whispering, rushing,
half‑panicking, half‑planning. I told her about the mansion, about karl, about the fear… and then—
The plan.
She would come here.
She would stay with me.
And then… I would escape.
After the call, exhaustion hit me like a wave.
I slept.
Because that’s me.
I can sleep anytime. Anywhere.
When I opened my eyes again, the room was darker. Evening light painted the walls gold.
I smiled instinctively.
“Good morning,” I murmured sleepily.
Then I saw his face.
Karl.
Standing there.
Watching me.
Not cold.
Not calm.
Angry.
My smile faded.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
It hit me all at once.
He had seen everything.
Every move.
Every word.
Every lie.
My heart dropped.
But there were no cameras.
I had checked.
So how?
Then I understood.
Karl Casanova didn’t need cameras to control a room.
He had people.
He had systems.
He had ears everywhere.
My plan hadn’t failed today.
It had never existed.
I swallowed.
“You’re awake,” he said.
His voice was quiet.
That was worse than shouting.
“I—” I started. “karl, listen—”
“You invited Divyanka,” he interrupted.
My blood turned cold.
“You planned to escape,” he continued calmly, stepping closer. “Using her.”
I sat up slowly, panic creeping in. “I was just—”
“Don’t lie,” he said sharply.
The room felt smaller.
I hugged the blanket to myself. “I was going to ask you to let her stay with me.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “And while I was protecting you… you were preparing to disappear.”
I couldn’t deny it.
Silence stretched.
Then he spoke again—low, dangerous, controlled.
“You’re clever,” he said. “I underestimated that.”
I flinched.
“But you made one mistake,” he continued. “You assumed I wouldn’t hear you.”
I lifted my chin, fear mixing with anger. “You spy on me?”
“I protect what’s mine,” he corrected.
“I told you not to call me that,” I snapped,
His jaw clenched.
“I heard you laugh,” he said quietly. “I heard you feel safe enough to plan against me.”
That hurt more than anger.
I whispered, “You don’t own my freedom.”
“No,” he replied. “But I am responsible for your survival.”
I shook my head. “You’re suffocating me.”
He stopped right in front of the bed.
“You want Divyanka here?” he asked suddenly.
Hope flickered.
“Yes,” I said quickly.
He leaned closer, eyes dark.
“Then she will come,” he said. “Under my rules. My security. My timing.”
My heart raced.
“And the escape plan?” he added softly.
I didn’t answer.
Karl straightened.
“Consider it dead,” he said. “And Kavira—”
He looked at me, really looked at me.
“Next time you plan to run,” he finished, “don’t do it while sleeping under my roof.”
The door closed behind him.
And I sat there, shaking, realizing the truth
I hadn’t lost my freedom today.
I had just learned how closely
Karl Casanova was already watching my heart.
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