He Protects Everyone Except Himself: A Love Story

He Protects Everyone Except Himself.

Series Name: Unconventional Love

The Other One: Dark bully forbidden romance (Unconventional Love Book 1) (Live and available to read on Amazon Kindle)
Crooked Love – The Prequel: Dark bully forbidden romance (Unconventional Love Book 2) (Live and available to read on Amazon Kindle)
Dark Bully Forbidden Romance (Unconventional Love Book 2) (Live and available to read on Amazon Kindle)
Crooked Destinies: A Dark Forbidden Romance (Unconventional Love Book 4) (Live and available to read on Amazon Kindle)
Claimed Destinies: A Dark Forbidden Romance (Unconventional Love Book 5) (Live and available to read on Amazon Kindle)
Captive Mine: A Standalone Dark Psychological Romance (Unconventional Love Book 6) (Live and available to read on Amazon Kindle)

Chapter 1 of Harman’s Story

A shrill trill slices through my sleep, sharp enough to drag me straight out of whatever dream I was drowning in. My ringtone.

I lie still for a heartbeat, staring into the darkness, the sound vibrating against the bedside table. Then instinct kicks in. I throw off the covers, cool air brushing over bare skin, and snatch up my phone as I dash outside.

I already know who it is. Still, my thumb pauses long enough for me to glance at the screen.

Kairav Raichand. My friend. My boss. Calling me at night two-thirty. Nothing unpredictable. This is a routine for me. He pays me to keep him safe. And I don’t complain.

By the time the call connects, I’m pushing open the door to the surveillance room. The faint smell of electronics greets me as my fingers fumble for the switch. Fluorescent light floods the space, harsh and unforgiving, bouncing off the wall of dormant screens.

“Yes, Boss?”

“Can you check?”

Sleep still clings to the edges of my mind, but my body moves on muscle memory. I drop into the chair, power up the system, and watch the monitors hum awake one by one. Pixels flicker, static breathes, and then the live feed settles into place.

Night wraps around his house like a heavy blanket.

On one screen, he stands in the center of his cavernous living room, phone pressed to his ear, shoulders stiff despite the luxury surrounding him. The polished marble floor gleams even in low light. Everything looks expensive.

I rub my eyes with the heel of my palm and begin the routine.

Camera one. Living room. Shadows pooled in corners, nothing moving except the slow sway of curtains from central air.

Camera two. Corridor. Long, silent, stretching into darkness.

Camera three. Children’s bedroom. Soft night lamp glowing, small bodies tucked beneath the blankets, the quiet rise and fall of sleep.

Camera four. Master bedroom. Priya, his wife, is sleeping, but his side is untouched.

Camera five. Exterior perimeter. Gates closed, security lights steady, trees whispering in the wind.

I know this drill by heart. Still, I check every frame like it matters. Because to him, it does. His father was killed in his own home so I know this isn’t just paranoia.

“Another nightmare?” I ask, eyes flicking between screens.

“Yep.”

The word lands flat, practiced. I wish he would talk to me, but he doesn’t. So I don’t press.

I switch to the final feed. Terrace. Moonlight washing over empty tiles, a lone chair casting a crooked shadow. Nothing stirs. Nothing breathes. Nothing threatens.

“All clear, Boss.”

There’s a pause before a faint exhale of relief travels through the line.

“Okay, see you tomorrow.”

The call drops before I can respond. No gratitude, no small talk. Not that I wait for it. He is a good man with skeletons bigger than himself. And nightmares are part of his life like dreams are part of anyone’s life.

I let out a sigh and stand. The room suddenly feels too bright, too quiet. I power everything down and step into the hallway, the house settling around me with familiar creaks.

The sensors catches and the kitchen light blinks on. I pull open the fridge, cold air spilling out, and grab the first beer my fingers touch. The cap clinks against the counter before I twist it off and take a long swallow. Bitter, cold, grounding.

Leaning back against the counter, I scan the silent company apartment. Minimal furniture. Neutral walls. No photos. No proof of life beyond the essentials. It’s not that I have something good to offer from my past. I don’t so this is better.

I should buy my own place. The thought drifts through my head like background noise. Investment. Stability. Adult decisions. All things that make sense on paper.

But paper doesn’t echo when you walk through empty rooms.

I glance down and a quiet laugh escapes me. Standing in the middle of the kitchen at three in the morning, barefoot, wearing nothing but boxers.

Real impressive life, Harman.

The amusement fades just as quickly.

My gaze drops lower, landing on the jagged pale lines tracing across my thighs. They catch the light differently than skin, thin reminders I never invited. My fingers twitch, then curl into a fist before they can drift closer.

Not tonight. I won’t let them take over. My past is not my present. I drain the bottle, the last swallow harsher than the first, and leave it in the sink. The bedroom welcomes me back with darkness and familiar stillness.

Sheets cool. Pillow soft. Silence thick, just the way I like it.

I pull the covers over myself and shut my eyes before memory can find a way in. Sleep returns slowly, cautiously, like something unsure of its welcome. Eventually, it takes me under.

My alarm cuts through the quiet the next morning. Five a.m. The sound is sharp but familiar, and my eyes open before the second ring can follow. I sit up instantly, feet touching the floor without hesitation. There is no lingering, no stretching back into warmth, no bargaining for extra minutes. The day has started and that is enough reason to move.

Routine builds a person. Laziness chips away at him until nothing steady remains.

The bathroom light greets me with a pale glow. I move through the motions that have long stopped requiring thought. Water splashes against porcelain, toothbrush bristles scrape rhythmically, and the mirror reflects a face that looks awake even before the body fully catches up.

A quick shower follows, steam wrapping around me while the last traces of sleep dissolve and slip down the drain. I change into my gym wear and head outside.

The apartment is quiet when I step into the kitchen, but the silence no longer presses against my chest like it did in the middle of the night. This quiet feels good, purposeful, something I can handle. I peel a banana, drop it into the blender, add milk, a scoop of protein, and watch the blades whirl everything into a pale swirl. The mechanical hum fills the space, breaking the stillness just enough.

I pour the milkshake into a glass and drink it standing by the counter, thick sweetness sliding down easily, fuel rather than pleasure. Once finished, I rinse the glass, grab my gym bag, and step out into the early morning.

The world outside exists in that strange hour where darkness has not completely left and daylight has not fully claimed its place. I sit behind the wheel and drive myself to the gym.

Inside, the air smells faintly of metal, rubber, and effort. A handful of early risers occupy scattered corners, each lost in their own discipline. I set my bag down and begin.

Upper body today. The bar settles into my grip, cold and solid. Lift. Lower. Repeat. Muscles tighten, strain, protest. Sweat forms slowly, then steadily, tracing paths along my temples and spine. Breath grows heavier, syncing with each rep until thought disappears and only movement remains.

By the time I finish, blood hums beneath my skin and energy pulses through me, sharp and steady. This is me. And this is what I like to do every day. Work on my body. I’m the head of security and I need to own the tag literally.

I leave without lingering, skipping conversations and nods, and head straight to the office. Raichand Groups rises ahead of me, glass and steel catching the morning light, twenty nine floors standing like quiet authority over the street below. Kairav’s building. His territory. I need to be operational by seven.

Akansha Puri. The name sits in my head like a task highlighted in red. Kairav’s instruction. Tail her. Observe. Report. Simple words carrying layered implications.

I arrive at six-forty and swipe my access card, the soft beep granting entry into corridors that are only beginning to stir. My floor is calm, footsteps echoing faintly as I walk toward my cabin. Functional space. Minimal distractions. Exactly how I prefer it.

I drop my bag and head straight to the attached bedroom where another quick shower washes away the last signs of the gym. Then I change into crisp formals, grab my earpiece through which I connect to my entire team, and head to the ground floor, my main working arena.

The elevator ride down is smooth and quiet, numbers descending until the doors open onto the ground floor. The space stretches wide, polished floors gleaming beneath overhead lights, reception desk standing like the first checkpoint of the day, seating areas waiting to fill with movement and noise. This is where operations breathe. This is where I belong.

Tia sits behind the reception counter sorting documents. The moment she notices me, her posture shifts and her hands rush to clip on her ID. I shake of my head, but let it go. I don’t need the chaos in the early morning. If I say something, she will plead, say sorry, beg for a chance. It’s a routine.

I scan the area, sweeping across entry points, corners, exits, reflections in glass panels. Everything sits where it should. Nothing out of place. All good.

Security is important to Kairav and so it is to me. I don’t take it lightly, everyone in my team knows not to take it lightly.

I step outside the main doors and collide into someone before my mind can register the movement. The impact is light but enough to snap irritation through me. I stop instantly, jaw tightening. I do not bump into people. Awareness is part of survival. Yet this person appeared out of nowhere.

A soft floral scent reaches me first, delicate but distinct. A woman.

She is slightly hunched, arms wrapped around a stack of files that threaten to spill, fingers adjusting their grip while strands of hair fall forward and hide her face. Papers rustle softly as she steadies them. Then she straightens.

Recognition lands like an unwanted memory. A groan escapes me before I can stop it, and I take an instinctive step back. She catches the reaction immediately.

Reet. Reet Sonja.

My personal inconvenience disguised as competence. A freelancer who drifts in and out of Raichand Groups whenever chaos demands efficiency. Event manager. Fast. Reliable. Annoyingly effective.

Once, she pulled off an entire corporate event for Kairav within a day when our own team failed to deliver. Since then, she keeps getting called back, walking these halls like temporary ownership suits her. Even though we already have an in house event management team.

“Hey, hi Harman.”

Her voice lands beside me before I can pretend I didn’t notice her presence.

I give a brief nod and shift a step to the side, creating a clear path for her to walk past. An unspoken dismissal. Most people understand it.

She doesn’t.

Footsteps trail behind me instead. Light. Persistent.

“How are you?” she asks, matching my pace.

Another nod. Nothing more. The words get lost somewhere between my throat and my patience. In my head, I answer her clearly. Get lost.

My eyes remain on the driveway, sweeping across parked vehicles, security posts, camera angles. Movement at the gate catches my attention just as Danish approaches.

I frown slightly.

“Why are you early?” I ask as he stops near me, already straightening like he has stepped into inspection.

“For the event, Boss. Today is Friday. You asked me to manage the security on Friday.”

Right.

The reminder settles in.

“Oh yes. Okay. Carry on.”

He gives a small bow, the same one he repeats every day despite my attempts to stop him. Respect sits too deeply in his bones to be corrected. He used to be just my assistant, moving quietly behind me, absorbing instructions without complaint.

Last year I promoted him to second in command without discussion, without committee approval, without following any invisible ladder others believed existed. Shock rippled through the department for exactly two days. Then it faded. Because performance silences protest faster than explanations ever can.

Raichand Groups does not worship hierarchy. It worships output. As head of security, the decisions inside my department belong to me. Kairav never questions them.

Danish walks away, already speaking into his comms.

I turn slightly.

“Go,” I snap at Reet.

The word lands harder than necessary. Her expression flickers, shoulders drawing in just a fraction, but sympathy is not something I offer easily.

“I think I need a new ID.”

“Did you try your old one?” I ask, brows knitting together. The card I issued her should work without fail. I’m good at my work and my IDs don’t fail until I don’t revoke the rights.

She shrugs, fingers tightening around her files. “I think it won’t work.”

“You don’t need to think. You need to try.”

“I don’t like red color. What if the beep blinks red?”

A slow breath fills my lungs, patience thinning with each second.

“Reet, not in the morning. Get lost.”

My tone carries enough sharpness to cut through whatever else she planned to say. Her lips part, words forming but never escaping. Moisture gathers in her eyes before she looks away quickly, as if embarrassed to be caught reacting.

I don’t care. I glare at her until she starts moving. And she does. She walks to the access panel and presses her card against it.

I stand where I am, arms folded loosely, watching the screen. A soft beep follows. The light flashes green.

Of course it does.

A brief smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.

She turns back at that exact moment. The smile disappears instantly, replaced by the neutral mask I wear better than skin. But the damage is done. Too many emotions cross her face at once. Relief. Hurt. Something softer that I refuse to name.

I don’t have the time or the bandwidth for any of it.

I nod once and lift my chin toward the entrance. Move.

She hesitates only a second before obeying and passing through the glass doors.

“She likes you.”

I don’t need to turn to identify the voice.

“Sameer,” I say.

“Harman.”

He falls into step beside me, grin already stretching across his face like he woke up amused. His hand lands against my back in a solid thump that forces a short grunt out of me. Sameer only laughs, completely satisfied with himself. He has always carried that effortless energy, the kind that fills spaces before words do.

My best friend. The Chief Operating Officer of Raichand Groups.

A man who can negotiate million-rupee deals while joking about cricket scores in the same breath. Professional chaos wrapped neatly in expensive suits.

“I don’t care if she likes me or not,” I reply, gaze fixed ahead on the driveway. “I don’t like her and that’s enough for me.”

“I’m sure she will wear you down.” Amusement lingers in his voice, light and certain. “Reet’s nothing but resilient. If she can impress Kairav, you know she can steal your heart as well.”

“That day isn’t coming.” I say because I mean it. Love is not just a feeling for us, it’s something we like to wrap in rules and obedience.

He only shrugs, as if my resistance is just another variable in a calculation he has already solved, and walks inside. I turn slightly, watching him through the glass doors as they slide open to swallow him.

He catches up with Reet near the reception. Their heads tilt toward each other, conversation flowing easily. Sameer’s expression shifts, lips curving into that practiced smile he carries into boardrooms and investor meetings. Charming. Polished. Controlled. I have seen him deploy it like a strategy.

Reet smiles back without hesitation, shoulders relaxing, eyes brightening in a way that makes her look younger than she is.

Something pulls tight in my chest for a brief second, something I don’t even understand. A muscle clenches without permission.

I dismiss it because it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter. Turning away, I move toward the quiet corner near the entrance, the one spot that offers a clear view of arrivals while keeping me partially hidden from casual attention.

Technically, I do not need to stand here. As head of security, my role revolves around screens, reports, briefings, decisions issued from behind controlled environments. Yet being present on the floor feels different. Real. Honest. The pulse of operations is easier to read when you stand inside it.

A few minutes pass before Akansha appears at the gate.

I glance at my watch. Seven ten. Early. Her reporting time is seven-thirty. But I know her routine. She comes early. Then goes to the break room, makes coffee for Kairav, and grabs cookies for herself. She eats them while she waits for him to come and give her some work.

She walks toward the entrance with a yawn she does not bother concealing, fingers pushing stray hair behind her ear while her handbag slips from her shoulder and is quickly adjusted. Her pace is unhurried, unaware of observation, unaware of interpretation. She passes right by my corner without noticing me and enters the building.

Sameer’s early today because of the event. Kairav is not expected yet, which makes me wonder what does Akansha really do by coming so early.

Still, he calls her early. And she obediently comes, not that she can deny the CEO.

I know what’s going on between them, but it’s early to even think about it.

And… people like us… with strange needs… don’t find love. They find scars, and I have my fill of them. We are better than go searching for something that doesn’t exist for us.

Reet thinks she likes me. That much is obvious in the way her voice softens, in how her eyes search my face for reactions I never give. But she does not see me. She sees the outline. The six-foot-one height. The muscle carved through years of training. The surface that photographs well under office lighting. But that’s not who we are. Not really.

We need pain to survive, and we need control to live. And women run away from both.

Women do not choose storms they cannot calm. And I have never learned how to be anything else. And I also can’t be controlled.

I do not need someone to tame me, to soften corners, to negotiate my darkness into something presentable. What I need is rarer, almost unreasonable. Someone willing to stand inside the chaos without trying to reshape it. Someone who does not flinch at the weight I carry or the quiet intensity I offer in return.

Reet cannot do that. No one can. She needs dates, I offer chains. Quite the irony but it is what it is.

Kairav, Sameer, and I reached that understanding long ago, each in our own way, through different experiences that left similar impressions. But I know something is cooking between Kairav and Akansha. And so with Sameer and Anamika from the HR floor.

They are trying to groom them. But not me. I don’t want any of that. The thought of inviting that kind of vulnerability into my life feels like opening a door to a room I sealed years ago. I’m better alone.

I message him, and then get on with my day.

The End. Thank you for reading it!

Author Payal Dedhia independently publishes books on Amazon. You can check out her collection by clicking here.

If you like Dark Romance Fiction, do read my Sctintilla Series. Click here to read.

Aayansh Ahluwalia isn’t just a billionaire business tycoon—he’s the kind of man who haunts people’s nightmares. The world may recognize Scintilla Corporations as a legitimate empire, but Aayansh isn’t confined to the light. In the shadows, he commands an empire of fear, power, and blood. He rules over the underdogs, the darkness that terrifies everyone else.
Ruthless and untouchable, they call him a devil for a reason—he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t blink when it comes to taking lives.
His existence is fearless. His power, unmatched. Yet beneath the wealth and carnage lies a void—a darkness so complete it consumes him. There’s no light, no hope. Just emptiness stretching endlessly, leaving him hollow.
Then, one night, everything changed.
He saw her—a woman so radiant, so full of life, she made his chaos stand still. She erupted into his world like a dream, settling in his heart and claiming it as her own.
Tisha Chopra.
Aayansh hadn’t been searching for her, hadn’t asked for her. But the moment he saw her, he knew—she would be his.
She didn’t belong in his world, and that only made him want her more. Her laughter, her light—it wasn’t meant to survive the darkness he thrived in, yet it pulled him in, unrelenting. Like a predator to prey, he followed. He didn’t want her to save him. No. He wanted to ruin her, piece by piece, until she belonged to him completely. He would drag her down, crown her queen in his Devil’s Paradise, and make her sit beside him on the devil’s throne while he ruled the world.

What unfolds is a story steeped in obsession, control, and desire—a dangerous game where love is a battlefield, and submission comes at the cost of a soul.
Scintilla isn’t just the name of Aayansh’s empire; it’s the pulse of this saga—a place where power thrives and morality dies.

The series is divided into four phases:

🔥 The Chase – Where the predator finds his prey. Click here to read.

The Beginning – A collision of worlds. A spark ignited.
Unveiling Paradise – Her light tempts the darkness.
The Masked Guy – Secrets wear masks. So do devils.
Unleashing the Demons – Once awakened, there’s no turning back.
The Winner – Victory tastes sweeter when claimed by force.

🔥 The Possession – Where obsession takes root. Click here to read.

New Beginning – The chase ends. The real game begins.
The Rules – Boundaries are set, only to be broken.
Gilded Cage – Possession doesn’t feel like freedom.
Unleashed Fury – When control falters, chaos reigns.
Ensnared Hearts – Hearts trapped, souls scarred.

🔥 The Submission – Where surrender is demanded, not given. Click here to read.

Her Resistance – Light fights back. Darkness pushes harder.
Her Confession – Truths whispered in the dark.
The Good Times – A fleeting calm before the storm.
The Devil Struck – The predator strikes. The angel shatters.
Angel’s Judgement – When love turns to reckoning.

🔥 The Reward – Where love and darkness collide, leaving nothing unscarred. Click here to read.

The Storm – Chaos erupts, tearing apart the fragile ties of love and power.
The Punishment – Sins are judged, debts are paid, and vengeance claims its due.
Maalik – Sneak peek into Maurya Ahluwalia’s life
The Aftermath – Amid the wreckage, the cost of darkness comes to light.
Devastation – Another peek at Akhil and Inaaya’s life.
The Dawn – Hope flickers, fragile and hesitant, in the ruins of despair.
Devil’s Endgame – It’s time for the final move. What would be the devil’s endgame?