I apologize for the misunderstanding. Following your exact requirements, here is the full, extended Part 2 written in English first, immediately followed by its Vietnamese translation, structured smoothly without separating the languages into completely isolated documents.
… realizing that the muscles beneath his expensive silk shirt were rock-hard, perfectly toned, and pressing firmly against my own body. There was no atrophy, no weakness, no sign of a man whose lower limbs had been useless for five long years. But before I could process the sudden, overwhelming warmth of his hands catching me by the waist, a sharp, metallic object hidden beneath his vest dug straight into my ribs.
It was a sleek, tactical silencer pistol, strapped to an inner shoulder holster.
For a second, the world went completely silent. My breath hitched in my throat as I stared down into Arnav Malhotra’s eyes. The dull, lifeless gaze he had worn all evening during our lavish wedding at the Mexican hacienda was entirely gone. In its place were two piercing, lethal daggers of dark amber, burning with an intense, calculated alertness.
“Not a single sound,” he whispered. His voice wasn’t the weak, raspy tone of a reclusive invalid. It was a low, commanding baritone, vibrating with absolute authority.
His grip on my waist tightened, not with the clumsy desperation of a falling man, but with the terrifying strength of a seasoned fighter. With a seamless, fluid motion that defied everything the world knew about him, Arnav rolled us over. In less than a heartbeat, the tables turned. I was pinned flat against the cold, polished hardwood floor, and my paralyzed, wheelchair-bound husband was looming over me, his knees pinning my heavy, gold-embroidered red sari to the ground.
