Dhiviya blinked, startled.
"I'm… curious," she murmured.
"How do you make our police departments listen to you?"
It was dawning on her now—the headlines, the arrests, the sweeping purges across the country—all of it was Athavan's handiwork. The man who slept beside her each night. Soft-spoken. Gentle. Now revealed as a force terrifyingly vast.
Athavan took a slow breath, gazing toward the horizon beyond the waterfall.
"Every nation has its own secret service," he began.
"Like the CIA, in the movies.
Walaysia's is called Department Zero."
His tone was calm, but deliberate.
"My father used to be one of their top agents.
This connection? It surprised me too.
Turns out the man who now leads Department Zero was once my grandfather's closest friend.
Long ago—during a special mission—my mother came to Walaysia.
That old fox played matchmaker.
My parents got married… and I was born."
He exhaled.
"But later, they separated—bound by duty, split by silence.
Still, my bloodline connects me to Walaysia's secret service for two generations."
Dhiviya sat speechless.
Athavan continued.
"I'm now part of that same system.
My current rank? Major General.
But even that identity… is hidden."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Within my own organization—the Devil Liberation Army—not everyone is clean.
We've had defectors. Traitors who slipped into the cult of Kali."
His voice turned quiet. Measured.
"Even among our ranks… I cannot be fully seen."
"So I stay in the shadows.
Until the AD Tech City is built.
Until the research on the Sacred Stone is complete.
Until the war shifts."
He looked into her eyes.
"Only a few know the truth—that I am Athavan, and that I was born here.
My enemies search for me in India. In Europe.
They don't yet know Walaysia is the battleground."
He turned back toward the mist rising from the falls.
"This street-cleaning war you've seen in the headlines?
It's not politics.
It's an extraction.
Athavan's voice lingered in the air like thunder's final whisper:
"I'm cleansing this country from every evil infection.
So that when the final war comes…
Walaysia stands as humanity's last hope."
Dhiviya stared at him in silence.
Then, slowly—she reached for his hand. Her fingers trembled, but her grip was firm.
She took a deep breath.
Then she spoke—not just as a wife, but as a vow in human form.
"Divine Doctor.
Scientist and Inventor Vishwakarma.
World's richest man.
Supreme Commander of the Devil Liberation Army.
Major General of Walaysia.
Chairman of AD Tech City… and more."
She paused, her voice softening like silk.
"But none of those titles matter to me.
Not as much as one."
She turned toward him, their eyes locked beneath the cascading mist.
"You're my husband. My Athavan. The man I chose.
And that's the only title that truly belongs to us."
Her voice cracked slightly—not from weakness, but depth.
"Your life… it's been storm after storm.
Every chapter you told me—felt like a scene from a movie.
War zones. Secret agencies. Hidden empires. Ancient stones."
Tears welled up—but didn't fall.
"This Dhiviya can't promise you magic or miracles.
I don't come with prophecies or power.
All I can offer… is an ordinary life."
She stepped closer. His hand was still in hers.
"A quiet dinner table.
A warm bed.
A silly argument over sugar in tea.
Laughter that isn't haunted.
And a family—one that leans on you without fear.
One that smiles because you exist."
Her voice trembled now.
"Husband… even with all the greatness surrounding you—your childhood was stolen.
Your adult years… carved in blood.
I want you to have something the world never gave you."
She looked up, standing beside him like a lighthouse in a storm.
"So moving forward…
Whenever you're with me—put down the crown.
Put down the weight.
Forget the General. Forget the Commander.
Just be Athavan.
Be mine."
A gust of wind wrapped around them.
The waterfall continued its endless descent.
And in that moment, Dhiviya's words didn't just soothe—they healed.
They anchored the storm.
Athavan held her gaze, and for a long while, neither spoke. They simply remained—two souls folded into one embrace. Her fingers laced through his, her head rested against his chest, where secrets once echoed but now beat only with quiet peace.
Then—
Footsteps approached gently on the wooden path behind them, crunching dried leaves.
"Master and my lady," the caretaker called softly. "Dinner is ready. Would you like me to prepare the table?"
Athavan nodded silently.
Dhiviya smiled—still wrapped in the warmth of their moment—and followed him indoors.
Dinner was quiet but full. Not with words, but with presence.
The aroma of spiced vegetables, fresh herbs, and jasmine rice filled the cabin. Candles flickered gently on the table. Outside, the waterfall whispered its lullaby. Inside, their hearts whispered something else—an invitation, long withheld.
That night became more than just shared sheets.
It became a promise.
They crossed the invisible line that had held them back. The silence turned into gentle laughter. The distance turned into skin against skin. For the first time, all that had lingered in their eyes was now spoken between their lips, their hands, their breath.
Dhiviya let go—of fear, of propriety, of restraint.
Athavan held on—protectively, reverently, like she was a truth he didn't want to forget.
They didn't make love like warriors.
They made love like people who had finally found peace.
The next morning, the world hadn't changed.
But they had.
For two full days, Athavan and Dhiviya remained on the island—sightseeing, strategizing, dreaming.
They walked beneath sunlit palms and roamed cliff edges overlooking sapphire oceans. They laughed by the waterfall and scribbled architectural notes on napkins while sipping coconut water beneath canvas shades.
It was a honeymoon, yes.
But it was also the meeting of minds. Of legacy.
Dhiviya saw every blueprint, every map, every burden he'd kept sealed in folders and beneath his ribs.
She listened. She asked. She understood.
And in silence—when he wasn't looking—she made a vow.
Not with ceremony.
But with truth.
To be his queen—not just beside his throne, but beside his brokenness.
To be the woman who holds the line when he can't.
To be the voice he needs when war steals his clarity.
To be his anchor. His softness. His second wind.
In his arms, she didn't just feel loved.
She felt chosen.
And she chose him back—with every breath.
She became, truly, his woman.
Not because he asked.
But because she claimed it.
And he... surrendered to it.
A man like Athavan had conquered empires.
But it was Dhiviya who conquered him.
On the third morning, they boarded the same chopper.
As the rotors thundered to life and the cabin lifted over the mountain, Dhiviya looked down one last time at the island.
She saw the future being carved into the earth.
And beside her sat the man who would reshape the world.
She rested her head on his shoulder.
And whispered—
"When the storm comes, you won't be alone."
As Metropore City appeared once more on the distant horizon, the world resumed its orbit.
But now… it carried a secret.
A love powerful enough to face gods.