Abhimanyu's POV
The basement reeked of damp earth and the sharp tang of fear. The informant, now a trembling wreck, had spilled everything. The Spanish Mafia—audacious, reckless, arrogant. But not untouchable. Never that.
I gave a single nod, dismissing my men. They knew what came next. The silence after violence. The clean-up. The message.
But my mind was elsewhere.
Not on the stolen guns. Not even on the declaration of war that this act symbolized. No—something far more maddening had clawed its way under my skin.
Her.
I walked out of the mansion, the heavy oak door groaning shut behind me like a coffin sealing away the remnants of someone else's fear. The night air was crisp, biting, and clean—utterly unlike the suffocating stench of weakness below. My Mercedes roared to life, but the sound did nothing to drown out the wildfire in my chest.
I drove, fast, reckless, the city lights bleeding into long streaks of gold and white. The streets blurred, but my vision remained sharp—fixed on the image that had been tormenting me since it appeared in my inbox.
Avni. With him.Laughing. Smiling. Her hand on his back.Rahul.
A name I'd like to erase from existence.
The footage had been grainy, but not enough to blur the intimacy of that brief, casual hug. Her head tilted toward him. His arm around her shoulder. Their body language spoke of familiarity, ease, comfort.
Mine.The word ripped through me like a lash.She doesn't get to offer that to someone else.
My grip on the wheel tightened, the leather creaking under the pressure. My jaw clenched so hard I could feel the ache climb into my temples.
She didn't even know what she was doing to me. Or worse—perhaps she did. Perhaps that laugh, that touch, that soft glow in her eyes was a calculated defiance. A rebellion meant to provoke.
And if it wasn't... then it was worse. Because it meant she simply didn't care.
Didn't care that her laughter with another man sounded like betrayal.Didn't care that her touch was a weapon I'd never held.Didn't care that every time she smiled at him, something inside me splintered.
I wanted to destroy him.I wanted to pull her away from him, lock her away, drown her in the truth—that she belonged to me. That she always had.
A savage thrill pulsed through my veins. She needed to learn. She needed to be reminded that even her smiles had a cost when they were given to someone else.
I pulled out my phone. Her number—memorized, of course. I'd looked at it too many times not to know the sequence by heart.
Call her. Punish her. Make her come to you.Make her choose.
I hit dial.
"Hello?" she answered, her voice wary, edged with caution.
God, her voice. Even that stirred something dark and deep inside me.
"Avni," I said, forcing my voice to remain calm, measured. As if I weren't seconds away from burning the whole damn world for her.
There was a pause. "Abhimanyu? What do you want now? It's late."
That tone—so sharp, so dismissive. Like I was a disruption. Me.It thrilled and enraged me in equal measure.
"It is. And yet, here we are," I murmured. "There's something we need to discuss. About tomorrow's session."
A pause. "Can't it wait until morning?"
"No. This is... sensitive. It's best discussed privately. At my home."
Silence. I could feel her hesitation, her instincts flaring.
"Your home? Absolutely not."
Of course she'd resist. She always did.
"We both know five minutes at the venue isn't enough. Especially not after today's… diversion." My words were smooth, but every syllable was laced with the image of her laughing with him.
"I will not betray my beliefs for your 'flexibility.'"
Always so moral. Always so noble.I wanted to ruin that.Not in a crude, careless way. No—I wanted to unravel her.Delicately. Devastatingly. Completely.
"And I respect that," I lied, letting a false sincerity coat my voice. "But Italy's position needs a united front. Personal matters must be set aside."
Personal? No, sweetheart. This was entirely personal.
I leaned into her sense of duty, her desire to win.
Another pause. Another breath. "Fine. Give me your address. But if you try anything—"
"Just the address, Avni," I cut in softly. "And trust me… you'll find the experience illuminating."
I hung up before she could backtrack.
She was coming. To me.
And this time, she wouldn't leave untouched—not physically, not mentally, not emotionally.
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Avni's POV:
The phone buzzed, sharp and unexpected.
I glanced at the screen. Unknown number.
A chill ran down my spine. I hesitated. But curiosity — or something more dangerous — pushed my thumb to swipe. "Hello?"
His voice slithered through the speaker. Calm. Deep. Infuriatingly confident.
Abhimanyu.
He spoke of the conference. Of urgent matters. Of a sensitive discussion that couldn't be had in public. And then — the twist — he wanted to meet at his home.
His home.Was he out of his mind?
I bit down on my tongue, the sharp taste of frustration flooding my mouth. I should've said no. I should've hung up.
But he kept talking. He wielded his words like scalpels — slicing into my professionalism, my pride. He painted the meeting as necessary. Critical. A matter of Italy's positioning, of presenting a united front. He said we needed to "set personal tensions aside for the greater good."
He twisted my own damn values against me.
His voice dropped, turning condescending. "Or is your professional success not worth a momentary inconvenience?"
I burned. But I couldn't ignore the bait. If I backed out now, I'd be proving him right. I'd be showing weakness. And that was something I refused to do.
So I said yes. Through gritted teeth.
He gave me his address and hung up without another word. No goodbye. No pleasantries.
Just a click. Like he'd already won.
I changed quickly — short kurti, comfortable jeans, tied my hair back. I grabbed my duffel bag with a clenched jaw, trying to hold onto what little composure.
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Abhimanyu's POV:
The chime of the doorbell echoed through the penthouse like a countdown. My heartbeat didn't race—it prowled. Slow. Steady. Predatory.
I opened the door.
And there she was.
Her short kurti hugged her waist, the fabric soft and simple. Modest. Ordinary. Yet on her—it was spellbinding.
How dare she look this beautiful while belonging to someone else?
"Welcome, Avni," I said, stepping aside. My voice calm. Too calm.
She entered, gaze flicking over the luxury she pretended not to notice. But I saw the flicker in her eyes. The awareness. The shift.
"So, where's this urgent strategy meeting?" she asked stiffly.
"This way."
I didn't take her to the formal rooms. No. I led her deeper—into my space. Where the world bent to my will.
My study.
"My study," I said, stepping in.
She stopped at the threshold. "Your... room?"
The hesitation. The flicker of discomfort. The tension in her spine. Beautiful. So controlled. So tightly wound. I wanted to see what she looked like undone.
"No. I will not go there," she said, drawing herself up. "We can talk in the living room."
I turned, tilting my head, letting my eyes sweep over her. "All the WHO material is in here. This is where I work. It's… warmer."
Her flush was instant. She hated that her body reacted before her mind could argue.
She was losing.
"Fine," she snapped, stepping in, rigid and furious. "But only about the competition."
"Of course," I said, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
She flinched.
I drank in the sight of her. Her shoulders tense. Her eyes scanning the room. She was caged. And she knew it.
I walked to my desk—the seat of power—and gestured to the chair opposite. A visitor's chair. Her place.
She sat, her jaw tight, hands clenched in her lap. Trying to stay in control.
I picked up the intercom. "Coffee. And hot water."
Then, I looked at her.
"Anything for you, Avni? Tea? Water?"
Her eyes met mine. Defiant. Angry.
"No. Just get to the point."
I smiled.
Oh, Avni.
You still think you can dictate the terms.You have no idea who you're playing with.
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A few minutes later, the quiet murmur of soft footsteps announced the arrival of a silent attendant. He entered, bowed slightly, and placed two steaming mugs on the far edge of the desk — one filled with rich, dark coffee, the other with plain hot water. Without a word, he retreated.
I reached for the coffee and took a long, deliberate sip. The bitterness was comforting — sharp, grounding. Across from me, Avni ignored the water altogether, her eyes fixed somewhere between defiance and forced neutrality.
"Now," I said, dragging a stack of binders toward me, each marked with the familiar WHO insignia. "Let's discuss the sub-clause in Article 7, Section 3. I believe you were analyzing its broader implications for pharmaceutical exports."
Her shoulders tightened. But after a pause, she pulled a notepad and pen from her duffel bag and began scribbling. Her professionalism was pristine, her expression set in the kind of mask that only experience and pride could shape. I watched her — no, studied her — as she argued back, her logic sharp as glass, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension coiling in the space between us.
She hated being here. She hated me. Yet she was here.
And that… thrilled me.
An hour ticked by. She held herself like a soldier — focused, bristling with purpose, ready to clash over every technicality. It was admirable, infuriating, intoxicating. But this... sterile, professional war? It wasn't enough. I hadn't brought her here for legal debates.
I wanted her walls to crack.
I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking under me, then pushed it slowly away from the desk. The quiet scrape of wood legs against marble echoed ominously through the room.
Her eyes darted up, guarded. "What happened? Have we covered everything?"
I didn't respond. Not right away.
Instead, I stood — my movements slow, measured, deliberate. Her gaze tracked me warily as I stepped around the desk. I didn't stop until I stood behind her, close enough to smell the faint floral scent of her shampoo. A detail that made my jaw tighten.
So soft. So unknowingly mine.
She began to turn, visibly unsettled. "What are you—"
But I moved quicker, my hand resting firmly on the back of her chair, anchoring her. Not rough, not forceful… but unyielding.
Why are you always trying to run from me, Avni?Don't you know there's nowhere left to run? Not from me.
Her voice was strained, wary. "What are you doing?" Her hands reached for the desk to steady herself, her kurti pulling taut against her back with the shift. My gaze lingered.
I leaned down, just close enough for my breath to graze the shell of her ear. "Why were you so close to Rahul, huh?"
My voice was a whisper — intimate and dangerous. A blade hidden in velvet.
She stilled. Completely. Her breath caught. I could feel the war erupting within her — logic battling instinct, pride choking on fear. The tremor in her body betrayed her. Just for a second. But I caught it.
Her scent was imprinted on my skin now, threaded into the air between us. The urge to press closer, to brand her with the truth of what we were — what we would be — simmered just beneath the surface.
I brushed my lips just behind her ear, not a kiss, just heat. A claim.
A smirk touched the corner of my lips as I straightened. The game had truly begun.
She began to turn, visibly unsettled. "What are you—"
But I moved quicker, my hand brushing her hair aside. And then I did it—I leaned down and pressed my lips just beneath her ear, letting the heat of my breath trace her skin.
She froze. Entirely.
Her breath hitched. I felt it. The jolt. The way her spine went rigid, as if her body had short-circuited between panic and something else she didn't dare name.
"You smell like surrender, Avni," I whispered, my voice a dark purr. "And you don't even know it."
She shot to her feet, shoving the chair back. "Don't touch me!" she snapped, but her voice wasn't as steady as she wanted it to be. The defiance was there—yes—but it was cracked. Strained.
Exactly where I wanted her.
"Too late," I muttered.
And before she could bolt—
I grabbed her.
Effortless. Sudden.
She let out a strangled gasp as I hauled her up, tossing her over my shoulder like she weighed nothing. One swift, dominant motion. Her fists slammed against my back, her legs kicking, but I didn't flinch. She was fire—wild and furious—but I was the storm built to consume it.