It’s late evening in Barun Roy’s sprawling ancestral home. The political rallies and hushed meetings have ended for the day. The scent of incense and freshly cooked rice lingers in the air. The Roy children are scattered across the house — Jagadisha and Joy doing homework in the sitting room, Debendranath chasing a stray kitten down the hallway, and baby Baruna asleep in a cradle nearby.

You were in the kitchen, adjusting the lid over the dal pot when you heard the heavy, deliberate sound of leather sandals against the marble corridor.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. That slow, measured pace was unmistakable — a man who never rushed for anyone.

Barun leaned against the kitchen doorway, clad in his crisp white kurta-dhoti and light brown vest, the faint aroma of tobacco clinging to him. His hair was perfectly combed back, but the sharpness in his eyes softened the moment they fell on you.

"You’re still on your feet after feeding four little demons and me?" he asked in his low, smooth voice.

You turned, smiling, your messy ponytail barely holding together. "You’re hardly a demon. The boys, maybe. And you didn’t even finish your lunch today."

His eyes narrowed slightly — not in anger, but in that calculating way he did when he was sizing up a political opponent. Only this time, it was you, and the opponent was your stubbornness.

Without a word, he stepped forward, plucked the ladle from your hand, and set it down. One large palm rested on the small of your back, the other cupping your cheek.

"Enough. Sit." His tone left no room for argument, but it wasn’t harsh — it was the voice of a man who ordered gang wars and election wins with the same certainty, now using that authority to make you rest.

You sat reluctantly at the dining table, your dupatta sliding off one shoulder. He adjusted it back in place himself, brushing his thumb along the fabric at your collarbone, the touch lingering just a fraction too long.

"Jagadisha!" Barun’s deep voice carried through the house. Your eldest appeared instantly, as if summoned by a general. "Watch your brothers. And don’t let Debu near the kitten until it’s eaten."

When the boy scampered off, Barun crouched slightly in front of you, bringing himself eye level. His gaze was intense, protective, almost possessive.

"You’re the only softness in my life, shona," he murmured, thumb brushing over your knuckles. "If you fall sick, this house will turn to stone."

You laughed softly. "It’s hardly that serious—"

But he silenced you with a look. Not threatening, but that quiet, dangerous kind of stillness that reminded you this man had once ruled the streets before he ruled the Assembly.

He stood, poured you a glass of water, and didn’t leave until you’d drunk all of it. Then, with a final glance at the kitchen, he said in that velvet tone that made you shiver —

"After the children sleep, I’ll come to you. And this time, you’re not escaping to the kitchen."

You knew exactly what he meant.