The next morning, sunlight streamed through the massive windows of Mooncrest Villa.
Unfortunately for Ishira...
She had absolutely no intention of getting out of bed.
Not after barely sleeping.
Not after the strange phone call.
And definitely not after spending half the night thinking about a certain arrogant professor.
The sound of her bedroom door opening interrupted her sleep.
"Ishira!"
A pillow immediately hit Kiara in the face.
"Get out."
Kiara groaned.
"No."
Another pillow followed.
"Leave."
"We are late!"
That finally made Ishira crack one eye open.
"What time is it?"
"Almost eight-thirty."
Ishira stared at her.
Then at the ceiling.
Then pulled the blanket over her head.
"No."
Kiara blinked.
"No?"
"No."
"Ishira."
"No."
"We have classes."
"No."
Kiara walked over and yanked the blanket away.
Big mistake.
Ishira looked like she was about to commit murder.
Her hair was a mess.
Her eyes were tired.
And she looked half asleep.
"You look terrible."
"Thank you."
"You sound terrible."
"Thank you."
Kiara placed a hand on her forehead.
Immediately her expression changed.
"Oh."
"What?"
"You actually feel warm."
Ishira groaned.
Her head was pounding.
Every muscle in her body felt exhausted.
And her throat felt dry.
"I don't think I'm coming."
Kiara sat beside her.
For once, she stopped teasing.
"Are you okay?"
"I'll survive."
"You sure?"
Ishira nodded weakly.
"I just need sleep."
For a few moments, Kiara remained silent.
Then she sighed.
"Fine."
Victory.
Sweet victory.
Ishira immediately buried herself back under the blanket.
"Tell my professors I died."
"Gladly."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
A laugh escaped Kiara.
She grabbed her bag and headed toward the door.
Before leaving, she glanced back.
"Call me if you need anything."
Ishira lazily gave her a thumbs up from beneath the blanket.
A few minutes later, the front door of Mooncrest Villa closed.
Kiara was gone.
The mansion fell silent once again.
And within seconds—
Ishira drifted back to sleep.
Completely unaware that at Blackwood University...
Someone was about to notice her absence immediately.
Kiara rushed into the classroom just a minute before the lecture started.
Breathing heavily, she dropped into her seat.
"Made it," she whispered to herself.
Students slowly filled the room.
Conversations echoed around the lecture hall.
Then the atmosphere changed instantly.
The classroom door opened.
Ivaan Mehra walked in.
Black shirt.
Cold expression.
A file tucked beneath his arm.
The entire class immediately fell silent.
Without saying a word, he placed the file on the desk and began the lecture.
His voice remained calm and controlled as he explained the topic.
But something felt off.
His gaze swept across the classroom once.
Then again.
As if searching for something.
Or someone.
A few rows back, Kiara noticed.
And immediately knew who was missing.
Ishira.
For the next hour, the lecture continued normally.
At least for everyone else.
Ivaan remained professional and focused, never mentioning Ishira's absence.
Not once.
Finally, the bell rang.
Students began packing their bags and leaving the classroom.
The noise slowly faded.
Kiara was about to leave as well when a cold voice stopped her.
"Miss Kiara."
She froze.
Slowly turning around.
The classroom was almost empty now.
Ivaan stood near the desk, organizing a few papers.
His expression unreadable.
"Yes, Professor?"
"Where is Ishira?"
Straight to the point.
No greeting.
No small talk.
Kiara tried not to smile.
"She's at home."
Ivaan looked up.
"Why?"
"She wasn't feeling well."
For the first time, his hands stopped moving.
Only for a second.
Then he continued arranging the files.
"What happened?"
Kiara shrugged.
"Headache."
"And?"
"She wasn't in the mood to come."
Silence.
A strange silence.
Kiara couldn't tell what he was thinking.
His expression remained completely cold.
Professional.
Controlled.
Finally, he closed the file.
"Understood."
That was it.
No further questions.
No reaction.
Nothing.
Yet somehow...
The atmosphere felt heavier.
Kiara grabbed her bag.
"Can I go now? I have another lecture."
Ivaan gave a short nod.
"Go."
"Thank you, Professor."
She quickly left the classroom.
The moment she disappeared through the door, the room fell silent again.
Ivaan stood alone for several seconds.
Looking at the now-empty seat where Ishira usually sat.
Then he picked up his phone.
His jaw tightening slightly.
Before slipping it back into his pocket and walking out of the classroom
The moment he left Blackwood University, Ivaan got into his car.
The drive to Mooncrest Villa was anything but calm.
Rainwater splashed beneath the tires as the black car cut through Manhattan traffic at a speed that would have earned anyone else several tickets.
But Ivaan didn't care.
Something about Ishira's absence bothered him.
More than it should have.
Twenty minutes later, he stepped inside Mooncrest Villa.
The staff recognized him immediately and didn't dare question him.
His long strides carried him upstairs.
Straight toward Ishira's room.
He pushed the door open.
Silence.
The curtains were drawn.
The room was dim.
And there she was.
Curled beneath a blanket.
Completely still.
"Ishira."
No response.
His expression hardened.
The moment Ivaan pulled the blanket away, his expression darkened.
Ishira was drenched in sweat.
Her face was flushed.
And her body temperature was far too high.
Without wasting another second, he slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her waist, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
The movement stirred her from sleep.
"Ivaan...?"
"You're burning with fever."
"I can walk."
"No."
His tone left no room for argument.
As he carried her toward the washroom, his eyes caught a small blood stain on the bedsheet and the edge of her shorts.
The realization immediately explained part of her condition.
Exhaustion.
Pain.
Fever.
And the fact that she had stubbornly decided to suffer through it alone.
Typical Ishira.
He pushed open the bathroom door and set her down carefully.
The cool marble floor touched her bare feet.
The moment she regained her balance, she glared at him.
"What are you doing?"
"Making sure you don't collapse."
"I am fine."
"You can barely stand."
"Ivaan."
"What?"
"Get out."
"No."
"Get out of the bathroom."
A dangerous silence followed.
Then Ishira crossed her arms.
"I can handle it myself."
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Ivaan sighed.
Rare.
Very rare.
"Five minutes."
"Ivaan."
"Five."
"Out."
His jaw tightened.
Then he finally stepped back.
"Fine."
Before leaving, he pointed a finger at her.
"If you faint—"
"I won't."
"—I'm breaking this door."
The glare she sent him would have terrified most people.
Ivaan simply smirked and walked out.
The second the bathroom door closed behind him, he pulled out his phone.
"Replace the bedsheets in Miss Sharma's room."
The staff member on the other side immediately replied.
"Yes, sir."
The call ended.
A few minutes later, fresh sheets were being changed while Ivaan sat on the sofa near the windows.
One leg crossed over the other.
Phone in hand.
Responding to emails.
Approving business reports.
Managing meetings worth millions.
Yet every few minutes his gaze drifted toward the bathroom door.
Waiting.
Making sure the stubborn girl inside was actually okay.
Because despite everything...
The Devil of Manhattan had never been very good at ignoring Ishira.
The bathroom door finally opened.
Ivaan looked up from his phone.
And for a moment—
He forgot what he was doing.
Ishira had changed into comfortable clothes after her bath.
Her damp hair fell over her shoulders.
The fever had slightly reduced the redness on her face, but she still looked exhausted.
Very exhausted.
"See?" she said weakly. "I'm perfectly—"
Her sentence never finished.
The room suddenly spun around her.
Her vision blurred.
And before she could react, her knees gave out.
"Ishira!"
Ivaan was already moving.
He caught her just before she hit the floor.
Her unconscious body fell against his chest.
His jaw clenched immediately.
"Butterfly."
No response.
"Ishira."
Nothing.
The sight made something dangerous flash through his eyes.
He quickly lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the bed.
For the first time in a long time...
The great Ivaan Mehra looked genuinely worried.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
The call connected after one ring.
"Doctor."
The woman on the other side immediately straightened her tone.
"Mr. Mehra?"
"You have five minutes."
Silence.
Then—
"Sir?"
"Mooncrest Villa."
His eyes never left Ishira.
"Five minutes."
"Is something serious—"
"Five."
The coldness in his voice could have frozen hell itself.
The doctor immediately understood.
"On my way."
The call ended.
Ivaan threw the phone onto the bedside table.
His gaze remained fixed on Ishira.
A cold cloth rested against her forehead.
Her breathing was steady.
But the fact that she had fainted was enough to push his patience to the edge.
"Stubborn girl."
He brushed a damp strand of hair away from her face.
Then stood beside the bed like a silent guardian.
Waiting.
Watching.
Counting every second until the doctor arrived.
Because if there was one thing everyone in Manhattan knew—
When Ivaan Mehra gave you five minutes...
You arrived in four.
A sharp knock echoed through Mooncrest Villa.
Less than five minutes later, the doctor hurried into Ishira's room.
One look at Ivaan's expression told her everything she needed to know.
This was not the kind of patient she could keep waiting.
The doctor immediately moved toward the bed and began examining Ishira.
Temperature.
Pulse.
Blood pressure.
After several minutes, she finally stepped back.
"It's just a fever."
Ivaan's cold gaze remained fixed on her.
"Just?"
The doctor cleared her throat.
"She's exhausted, dehydrated, and hasn't been resting properly."
Her eyes moved toward Ishira.
"Has she been under stress recently?"
Ivaan remained silent.
The answer was obvious.
The doctor checked a few more things before asking,
"Is she on her period?"
"Yes."
The answer came immediately.
The doctor nodded.
"That explains part of it. First-day cramps combined with exhaustion and lack of sleep can sometimes make the body react like this."
Ivaan's expression didn't change.
"Will she be fine?"
"Of course."
The doctor prepared an injection.
A few moments later, she administered it carefully before placing several medicines on the bedside table.
"These medicines every few hours."
She wrote down the instructions.
"And make sure she eats properly when she wakes up."
The doctor looked around the room.
Then at the feared Ivaan Mehra standing beside the bed.
For some reason, she almost felt sorry for him.
He looked more stressed than the patient.
"She'll be okay, Mr. Mehra."
A brief silence followed.
Then he gave a short nod.
The doctor quickly packed her equipment.
"I'll take my leave."
Within moments, she was gone.
The room fell silent again.
Rain continued tapping softly against the windows.
Ivaan glanced at the medicines.
Then at the sleeping Ishira.
For the first time since arriving at Mooncrest Villa, some of the tension left his shoulders.
He pulled a chair beside the bed and sat down.
Phone in one hand.
Coffee in the other.
Business messages continued flooding his screen.
Meetings.
Deals.
Reports.
Problems worth millions.
Yet somehow...
None of them held his attention.
His eyes kept drifting back toward the stubborn girl sleeping peacefully beneath the blanket.
And for the first time all day—
The Devil looked relieved.
A few hours later, Ishira slowly opened her eyes.
The fever had reduced.
But the moment she tried to sit up—
A sharp pain shot through her lower stomach.
"Ah!"
The sudden pain made her gasp.
Almost immediately, a chair scraped against the floor.
Ivaan looked up from his laptop.
In seconds, he was beside the bed.
"Butterfly."
His voice was calm but alert.
"Are you okay?"
Ishira clenched her jaw.
"No, I'm throwing a party."
Ivaan ignored the sarcasm.
"What do you need?"
"Peace."
"Something useful."
Ishira glared at him.
"Why are you even here?"
"Because you fainted."
"I'm alive now."
"Barely."
That only annoyed her more.
She attempted to sit up again.
Bad idea.
Another wave of pain hit her immediately.
Ivaan gently steadied her before she could lose balance.
"Stop trying to be a hero."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm literally sitting on a bed."
"And somehow managing to make it look difficult."
Ishira threw him a murderous glare.
"You're very annoying."
"So I've been told."
"Multiple times."
"Usually by you."
For a brief moment, silence settled between them.
Then another cramp hit.
Ishira immediately shut her eyes.
Her hand instinctively moved toward her stomach.
Ivaan noticed.
His expression darkened slightly.
"The doctor said the pain would get worse if you didn't rest."
"Wonderful."
"You also haven't eaten."
"I'm not hungry."
"That's not a choice."
"It is for me."
"No."
Ishira groaned.
"Why do you sound like a dictator?"
A smirk appeared on his face.
"Because people rarely listen the first time."
"Ivaan."
"Butterfly."
"I don't need a babysitter."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Because I'm terrible at babysitting."
Despite herself, a small laugh escaped her lips.
The moment it did, Ivaan's expression softened ever so slightly.
A rare sight.
One most people never got to witness.
"There's food downstairs," he said.
"And medicine."
"I hate medicine."
"I know."
"Then why do I have to take it?"
"Because unlike your opinions, medicine actually helps."
Ishira stared at him.
Then grabbed a pillow and threw it at his chest.
Ivaan caught it effortlessly.
The smirk returned.
And for the first time that day, the room felt a little less heavy.
The argument between Ishira and Ivaan was still ongoing when the bedroom door suddenly flew open.
"ISHIRA!"
Kiara rushed inside.
The moment she saw Ishira sitting on the bed, relief flooded her face.
"Oh my God, you're okay!"
Before Ishira could answer, Kiara was already beside her.
"Do you know how scared I was? The staff called me and said you fainted!"
"I'm fine," Ishira muttered.
"No, you're not."
"I am."
"You literally passed out."
Kiara crossed her arms.
Meanwhile, Ivaan had been silently watching the exchange.
Then his cold voice cut through the room.
"She had a high fever."
Kiara immediately looked toward him.
"Professor, I—"
"She was alone."
The room fell silent.
"She hadn't eaten properly."
Kiara lowered her gaze.
"She wasn't answering calls."
"I know."
His voice wasn't loud.
But somehow it felt worse.
"You should have checked on her."
Kiara simply nodded.
"You're right."
Ishira immediately frowned.
"Stop scolding her."
Neither of them listened.
Kiara sighed.
"Sorry."
Ivaan's expression softened slightly.
Barely noticeable.
"Just make sure it doesn't happen again."
A few moments later he glanced toward the door.
"Kiara."
"Yes?"
"Give us a minute."
Kiara's eyes widened.
Ishira's widened too.
"What?"
"No."
"Absolutely not."
Kiara looked between them.
Then wisely decided not to get involved.
"I'll be downstairs."
Within seconds she disappeared from the room.
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
Dangerous silence.
Ishira immediately looked away.
She already knew that look.
And she hated it.
Ivaan picked up the medicine from the bedside table.
"Take it."
"No."
His eyes narrowed.
"No?"
"I said no."
"Ishira."
"I'm not taking it."
The room grew quiet.
Very quiet.
Then Ivaan slowly placed the medicine on the table and took a step toward her.
One.
Then another.
Until he was standing beside the bed.
His gaze never leaving hers.
"You fainted."
"I'm fine now."
"You have a fever."
"I'll survive."
His jaw tightened.
The patience was disappearing.
Fast.
"Ishira."
"No."
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Ivaan leaned slightly closer.
His voice calm.
Far too calm.
"The medicine."
"No."
A dangerous smirk appeared on his face.
The kind that never meant anything good.
"Butterfly."
She immediately regretted her answer.
"I gave you a choice."
"Oh really?"
"Yes."
"And now?"
His gaze locked onto hers.
"Now I'm losing patience."
Ishira swallowed.
Not because she was scared.
At least that's what she told herself.
But because she knew that look.
And when Ivaan Mehra got that look...
Arguments rarely ended in her favor.
With a dramatic sigh, she snatched the medicine from his hand.
"Happy?"
"Very."
She took it.
Then glared at him the entire time.
Ivaan watched until she finished.
Only then did he nod.
"Good."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
That answer earned him a pillow thrown directly at his chest.
And for the first time that day—
A faint smirk appeared on the Devil's face.
The room had barely fallen silent when another sharp cramp hit Ishira.
"Ahh—"
She immediately bent forward, clutching her stomach.
The pain was much worse than before.
Ivaan's expression hardened.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
Another wave of pain hit.
"Clearly."
Ishira shut her eyes.
"I hate this."
The irritation in her voice almost made him smirk.
Almost.
After a few moments she looked toward him.
"I want food."
The statement came unexpectedly.
Ivaan immediately picked up his phone.
Within seconds the staff answered.
"Bring food to her room."
"Yes, sir."
"And something light."
The call ended.
Twenty minutes later, a tray was brought upstairs.
Soup.
Toast.
Juice.
Simple food.
Exactly what the doctor had recommended.
The moment the tray was placed in front of her, Ishira made a face.
A dramatic one.
"What?"
"This looks horrible."
"It's food."
"It looks sad."
"It's soup."
"It looks depressed."
For a moment, silence filled the room.
Then Ivaan slowly pinched the bridge of his nose.
The Devil was losing patience.
Again.
"You said you were hungry."
"I was."
"Eat."
"No."
His eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean no?"
"I don't want this."
"Five minutes ago you wanted food."
"I changed my mind."
Ivaan stared at her.
She stared back.
The battle continued.
Finally—
"Butterfly."
"No."
"Eat."
"No."
"Eat."
"No."
The answer came instantly.
Without another word, Ivaan picked up the spoon.
Ishira immediately became suspicious.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?"
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Open your mouth."
Her eyes widened.
Absolutely not.
"I can eat myself."
"Then do it."
Silence.
She didn't move.
The stubbornness was unbelievable.
A few seconds passed.
Then Ivaan held the spoon in front of her again.
"Eat."
"No."
"Eat."
"No."
"Ishira."
"No."
The stare-off lasted several seconds.
Then another cramp hit.
Immediately weakening her argument.
A dangerous smirk appeared on Ivaan's face.
Victory.
Finally.
"Open."
Muttering several insults under her breath, Ishira finally accepted a spoonful.
Ivaan looked ridiculously satisfied.
Which only annoyed her further.
The process continued.
One spoon.
Then another.
And another.
The entire time Ishira acted as though she were being tortured.
"This is terrible."
"It's soup."
"I hate soup."
"No, you don't."
"I do."
"You're eating it."
Against all odds, she eventually finished most of the meal.
The tray was nearly empty.
Ivaan placed the bowl aside.
"Good."
Ishira crossed her arms.
"I feel humiliated."
A rare chuckle escaped him.
"Good."
And somehow that answer irritated her more than the medicine had.
The battle over food had finally ended.
Much to Ishira's disappointment.
And Ivaan's satisfaction.
After making sure she had eaten enough, he stood up from the chair beside her bed.
A few minutes later, he returned with a heating pad.
"What is that?"
"Your solution."
"I doubt it."
Ignoring her, he carefully placed the warm heating pad near her stomach.
The warmth immediately started easing some of the discomfort.
Though Ishira would never admit it.
Not to him.
"Better?"
"No."
A lie.
A very obvious lie.
Ivaan simply smirked.
Then he picked up his phone and sat on the armchair near the window.
His fingers moved quickly across the screen.
Message after message.
Order after order.
Ishira narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"What are you doing?"
"Working."
"You're lying."
That earned a glance.
A very unimpressed glance.
"I don't lie."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"You're definitely doing something."
Ivaan ignored her and continued typing.
A few moments later, his phone vibrated.
Order confirmed.
Another vibration.
Then another.
Then another.
Satisfied, he locked the phone.
Ishira looked even more suspicious now.
"What did you order?"
"Nothing important."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Tell me."
"No."
The argument continued for another minute before Ivaan's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Then stood up.
Without answering any of her questions.
Typical.
Walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window, he answered the call.
"Speak."
His voice instantly changed.
Colder.
Sharper.
Business mode.
Outside, Manhattan glowed beneath the evening lights.
Rain tapped softly against the glass.
One hand slipped into his pocket while the other held the phone against his ear.
As the conversation continued, Ishira watched from the bed.
The heating pad resting against her stomach.
The medicine making her slightly sleepy.
Meanwhile, Ivaan stood by the window like he owned the entire city.
Listening.
Giving orders.
Making decisions worth millions.
Completely unaware that the person he was supposedly taking care of had stopped paying attention to the conversation.
And had started watching him instead.
A few minutes later, another notification appeared on his phone.
Then another.
And another.
Ishira caught a glimpse of the screen.
Her eyes widened.
Chocolate.
More chocolate.
And somehow...
Even more chocolate.
An entire list of deliveries.
Different brands.
Different flavors.
Enough chocolate to supply a small supermarket.
Ishira blinked.
Twice.
Then looked back at him.
The Devil was still calmly discussing business on the phone.
As if ordering half of Manhattan's chocolate stock was perfectly normal.
For the first time that evening, a small smile appeared on her face.
And thankfully for Ivaan...
He didn't see it.
Ivaan was still standing near the massive glass window.
One hand holding his phone.
The other holding a cigarette.
His voice remained cold as he continued discussing business matters.
"Cancel the meeting."
Silence.
Then—
"No excuses."
The person on the other side immediately agreed.
Meanwhile, Ishira sat on the bed watching him.
The heating pad had reduced some of the pain.
But another problem had appeared.
A craving.
A very strong craving.
And unfortunately for her...
The smell of cigarette smoke wasn't helping.
Without thinking much, she threw the blanket aside and stood up.
Immediately regretting it.
Her body still felt weak.
But she stubbornly walked toward him anyway.
Ivaan noticed her movement from the corner of his eye.
Before he could ask anything—
She reached him.
Took the cigarette from his hand.
And took a puff.
The entire room went silent.
Even the person on the call stopped talking.
Ivaan slowly turned his head.
Looking directly at her.
Ishira exhaled the smoke.
Then blinked.
Only now realizing what she had just done.
A dangerous silence followed.
The kind that usually made grown men nervous.
Ivaan calmly removed the phone from his ear.
"Call me later."
The line disconnected immediately.
Then his attention returned to Ishira.
Who was now holding his cigarette.
Like she hadn't just stolen it from the most dangerous man in Manhattan.
His eyes narrowed.
"What exactly are you doing?"
Ishira shrugged.
"I wanted it."
"So you stole mine?"
"You weren't using it properly."
The answer was so ridiculous that even Ivaan looked surprised.
For two whole seconds.
Then he took the cigarette back.
"You have a fever."
"So?"
"You shouldn't be smoking."
Ishira folded her arms.
"And you should?"
"I didn't faint today."
That answer immediately annoyed her.
Ivaan shook his head and crushed the cigarette into the ashtray.
Finished.
Gone.
"No more."
"What?"
"No more smoking."
"I took one puff."
"Exactly."
She rolled her eyes.
"Bossy."
"Difficult."
"Arrogant."
"Stubborn."
The argument continued for several seconds before a small box was delivered upstairs.
Then another.
Then another.
Ishira looked toward the growing pile near the door.
Suspiciously.
"What now?"
Ivaan glanced at the boxes.
"Nothing."
"Those are not nothing."
"Correct."
"What are they?"
A faint smirk appeared on his face.
The kind she hated.
Because it usually meant he was about to say something annoying.
"Your medicine."
Ishira frowned.
"Medicine comes in boxes?"
"Chocolate does."
Silence.
She looked at the boxes.
Then at him.
Then back at the boxes.
"How much chocolate did you order?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I stopped counting."
For the first time all day—
A genuine laugh escaped Ishira.
And watching that laugh appear...
Ivaan quietly decided that ordering half of Manhattan's chocolate supply had been worth it.
The pile of chocolate boxes kept growing.
And somehow...
Ishira looked happier than she had all day.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she opened one box after another like an excited child on Christmas morning.
"This one is mine."
She placed it beside her.
"And this one."
Another box.
"And definitely this one."
Ivaan watched the entire scene from the armchair.
Expressionless.
Completely expressionless.
At least on the outside.
Inside?
The sight was strangely amusing.
The same girl who argued over medicine for twenty minutes was now happily eating chocolate without a single complaint.
Women were confusing.
Very confusing.
A small piece of chocolate disappeared into Ishira's mouth.
Another followed.
Then another.
A few moments later she looked toward him.
"Why are you staring?"
"I'm not."
"You are."
"No."
"You are."
Ivaan simply returned his attention to his phone.
Choosing not to continue the argument.
A wise decision.
For once.
Just then—
His phone rang.
The screen flashed a familiar name.
Zyan.
Ivaan answered immediately.
"What?"
On the other side, Zyan sounded unusually serious.
His playful attitude was gone.
"The shipment."
Ivaan's expression changed instantly.
Cold.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
The atmosphere inside the room shifted.
Even Ishira noticed.
She slowly stopped eating.
The conversation continued for several minutes.
Business.
Orders.
Names.
Locations.
Things Ishira couldn't fully understand.
But one thing became obvious.
Something urgent had happened.
Finally—
Ivaan ended the call.
The room fell silent.
For a few seconds he remained standing near the window.
Thinking.
Planning.
Calculating.
Then he picked up his blazer.
Ishira immediately frowned.
"You're leaving?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Ivaan looked at her.
For a brief moment, his expression softened.
Barely.
"I have work."
"Right now?"
"Unfortunately."
Ishira looked down at the chocolate in her hand.
Trying to ignore the strange disappointment that appeared inside her.
Ivaan walked toward the bed.
Stopping beside her.
His gaze landed on the heating pad.
The medicines.
Then on her.
"Take the next dose on time."
"I know."
"Sleep early."
"I know."
"No smoking."
Ishira rolled her eyes.
"It was one puff."
"It was one puff too many."
That earned him a glare.
Ivaan ignored it completely.
Then his voice lowered slightly.
"Take care of yourself, Butterfly."
The nickname made her heart skip for a second.
A fact she would never admit.
Not even under torture.
Before she could answer, Ivaan adjusted his watch and turned toward the door.
The Devil was back.
The mafia king.
The businessman.
The predator.
Whatever softness had appeared around Ishira vanished the moment work called.
A few seconds later, he was gone.
The room became quiet once again.
Ishira stared at the closed door.
Then at the mountain of chocolates surrounding her.
And despite herself...
A small smile appeared on her face.
Because for someone who claimed to be the Devil—
Ivaan Mehra had just left enough chocolate to feed an entire army.
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