CHAPTER 4 — Bruised Knuckles, Broken Rules

The mirror was smeared with blood.

It took Riyan a second to realize it was his own. His right fist throbbed with each heartbeat, knuckles torn raw from hitting the concrete wall behind the dormitory. He stared at his reflection—wild hair, sweat-slick skin, eyes burning with something between rage and desperation.

He never meant to lose it like that.

But when he read the message on Aira’s phone, something inside him snapped.

> “If you value his life, stop meeting him.”

Short. Cold. Threatening.

Riyan wasn’t scared for himself. He’d lived with fear his whole life. But this was different—this was someone targeting her through him. And that, he couldn’t let slide.

He turned the tap on, letting icy water run over his hand. The sting bit deep. Good. He needed to feel it. To stay grounded. Because every instinct in him screamed for war.

Behind his reflection, memories flashed—his mother’s voice warning him to stay invisible, his father’s police record, the whispers at school, the teachers who watched him like he might explode. They all saw him as a mistake waiting to happen.

Only Aira didn’t.

And now she was in danger for it.

---

Across campus, Aira sat on the rooftop, her knees tucked to her chest. The wind played with strands of her hair as the sun dipped below the skyline, bleeding gold into violet. But even that beauty couldn’t calm the storm inside her.

She had turned off her phone.

Too many thoughts. Too many shadows behind each one.

She kept replaying Riyan’s face when he read the message—his jaw clenched, muscles locked, protectiveness radiating like fire. She had seen many versions of him: the sarcastic rebel, the quiet loner, the intense lover. But this one—furious, scared for her—this was new.

And it scared her.

Not because he looked dangerous… but because he was willing to be dangerous for her.

“One more step, and he disappears.”

That was the second message.

They had no idea who sent it. No name, no hint. Just a slow poison dropped into their lives. Someone was watching them. Someone powerful enough to make threats and mean them.

She wasn’t stupid. Her father was no saint. He dealt in alliances, power, and control. Her relationships were monitored, filtered, and often, erased. But she never thought it would go this far. Not over a boy. Not over Riyan.

No, she corrected herself. Not just a boy.

---

By nightfall, they met again—unspoken, inevitable.

They always met here. The back courtyard of the abandoned music hall. No cameras. No people. Just them and whatever this burning thing was between them.

Riyan was already there, hood up, hand wrapped in a bandage. Aira’s breath caught when she saw him.

“You hit something?” she asked softly.

He looked away. “Wall.”

She walked closer, her boots crunching dry leaves. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.”

She stood in front of him now. “So why?”

His gaze lifted to hers, calm but intense. “Because someone thinks they can scare you with my life. And that’s not okay.”

Aira touched the bandage lightly. “You’re not invincible.”

“Neither are you.”

They stood in silence, the air between them thick.

He finally asked, “Are you going to listen to them?”

She hesitated. “Do you want me to?”

Riyan exhaled sharply, eyes scanning hers. “No. But I’ll understand if you do. I’m not exactly easy to protect.”

That was true. Loving Riyan was like holding fire—beautiful, warm, but capable of burning everything down.

And she still chose to hold it.

“I’m not leaving,” she said, voice firm. “Not unless you push me away.”

He reached up, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I’d rather burn than lose you.”

She leaned into his touch, but then—softly—she whispered, “Then we might both burn.”

---

Later that night, the sky opened up.

It wasn’t just rain. It was a downpour that erased footprints, blurred the edges of everything. Aira sat in her room, watching lightning slice the sky, thinking about what they’d become.

Forbidden. Fragile. Feral.

Her phone buzzed again. But this time, it wasn’t a threat.

> “Meet me. Same place. Midnight.”

No name. But she knew it was Riyan.

She didn’t think. Just grabbed her coat.

---

The music hall’s courtyard was soaked, the walls slick with rain. Riyan stood under the broken archway, dripping wet, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. He looked like something out of a novel—haunted, too beautiful, too dangerous.

She stepped into view.

No words. Just breath.

He walked up to her. “You came.”

She nodded.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo—old, worn, folded a thousand times. “You need to know something.”

Aira took it, opening it carefully.

It was a picture of a woman. Familiar eyes. Soft smile.

“My mother,” he said. “She died protecting me. From him.”

Her eyes widened. “Your—?”

“Yeah.” His voice was ice. “My father. The one your father made deals with years ago. They buried it. Buried us. I wasn’t supposed to exist.”

Silence. Then realization hit.

The threats. The surveillance. It wasn’t just about love.