Chapter 44 :

Anvaya's POV

I hated this office.

Not because of how cold it always was, or how the smell of Kaaryaksh’s cologne seemed to seep into the very grain of the wooden table I now sat on.

No.

I hated it because it knew. This room knew what I was becoming. A hypocrite. A fool. A woman who couldn’t say "no" and mean it when he was this close.

I knew it all, I knew denial, but with him, I didn't even spill out anything such as denial. I did push away, but the more I pushed him away, the closer he got and the more I shattered.

Shame was coursing through me as if a part of my blood.

It pressed into my skin like a second layer, even thicker than the sweat clinging to the back of my neck.

I was on his table—legs parted at the knees, skirt bunched up just enough to make me forget how to breathe. His hands were on me. Not fumbling, not eager.

What could be more shameful than this?

"Say something," I whispered. The silence was heavy and each second reminded me of how shameless I was getting.

Kaaryaksh didn’t. He stepped closer. Measured. Controlled. His abyssal gaze was pinned on me without any intention of wavering away, and that, hatefully, made me feel little.

Being a little woman was the last thing I wanted to see myself doing.

"Don’t look at me like that," I breathed, my voice breaking before I could armor it.

He stopped in front of me. Between my legs. His hands were braced on the desk, caging me in a way that wasn’t violent—but it wasn’t innocent either.

"You kissed me first," he murmured.

"I didn’t know what I was doing."

"But you still did it."

His fingers brushed the hem of my skirt, and I gasped—because he didn’t even lift it. Just touched it. Like a warning.

Like a promise.

Certain.

"You want to run," Kaaryaksh murmured, lips just above mine. His breath was hot and steady, unlike mine. "But you won’t."

"I should," I managed to say.

"You won’t."

"And how do you know?"

"Because your legs will betray you."

My breath hitched.

I tried to run away once, get away from him, but I ended up roaming in a loop that started and ended in him. I was just running like a fool, thinking I was escaping, and there, he was looking at me as if entertained.

I was strong. I still am. But, he is the shadow behind my strength, lingering, always pulling a stitch to wreck my strength. I always stitched my broken courage, strength to fight him, but broken things can't be fixed forever.

"I shouldn’t be here," I said.

"You already are."

"You called me." I accussed.

"And you came."

Then I didn't know what to say.

My hand rose instinctively—to push him, maybe. To plead. But it landed on his chest, flat and trembling. And I didn’t push. Call me shameless. Call me anything, because even I hated myself for doing all these.

"You’re married."

"Yes."

"To her." Anything about Viola's presence spoken in my tongue, felt utterly bitter. I didn't hate her, for, maybe her anger and resentment toward me was justified. Even if not completely justifiable.

We paused for a moment.

"You know what I feel for you has nothing to do with her," he said quietly. Too quietly. Like the calm before breaking bones.

"Then why does it feel like I’m the one being broken?"

He leaned in.

His lips grazed the curve of my jaw. Not kissing—tasting. As if memorizing what betrayal tasted like. My thighs tensed around his hips, not to trap, not to welcome—but because I couldn’t run.

"Tell me to stop."

"I’m trying," I said. "But I don’t think you ever planned to listen." My half closed eyes stared at him, feeling my head getting dizzy with this closeness. His hands on me, breaths on my skin, cologne wrapping me in it—was a form of intoxication I never thought would go for.

His mouth moved to my neck, hot and slow, his teeth grazing the skin just above my collarbone. I arched, not out of pleasure—at least that’s what I told myself—but out of desperation to forget what I was doing and who I was becoming. My body didn’t want this. It needed it. And that terrified me.

"You’re shaking."

"Because you’re ruining me."

He unbuttoned my shirt, one button at a time, eyes never leaving mine.

"You’ve always been mine, Anvaya. From the moment you walked into my life thinking you could stay untouched."

I paused, my eyes locked with his now. He never missed a chance to acknowledge me about my belongingness. His eyes always remained calm, but just… blank. And that blankness gave me the comfort I wasn't even searching for.

He peeled the fabric open, not taking it off, and traced the line between my breasts with one knuckle. My breath hitched further.

"I hate you for this." I muttered.

"Then why are your legs wrapped around me?"

"You can’t keep doing this to me," I whispered.

He lifted his head, lips red, eyes darker. A cruel smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Then why are you not stopping me?"

I didn't respond. My throat had closed long ago, because my mind wasn't anymore on his words but his hands on my hips. His skin burnt, even through the layers.

"You kissed me first," he said again. "Now let me finish what you started."

And he did.

He kissed me before I could find another excuse. Deep. Full. The kind of kiss that felt like a closing door. Like once it shut, I wouldn’t be the same person anymore.

And maybe that’s exactly what he wanted.

His lips moved against mine, tugging my lower lip between his teeth, earning a low moan from me. His lips tasted of wine and cigarettes, a combination I wasn't fond of but couldn't let go.

I hated it.

But I never hated it truly.

I had a voice for I wasn't weak even in front of him, but he controlled what I said. He made me say what I didn't even think of in my mind. He made me want things, accept things that I knew weren't morally right.

His hands slid up the front of my shirt, undoing the buttons with slow, deliberate flicks. I didn’t stop him.

I couldn’t.

But as his fingers traced the fabric of my bra, I flinched.

"Stop."

He stilled.

"Don’t," I whispered. "You can’t."

Kaaryaksh leaned back just enough to look at me fully, eyebrows barely lifted.

"Why?" he asked, voice low.

I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted blood. The humiliation swelled up before I could shove it back into the corner I kept it in. I didn't know if I wanted the revelation, for it was a deeply seated stain to my life I never even tried to call superficial.

"I… I have a problem," I said quietly. "A condition. It’s — it’s not normal. I didn’t ask for it. It just happens sometimes and I — please — just don’t…"

His fingers didn’t move. His eyes, however, sharpened.

"I know."

My heart dropped. I froze for a second.

"What?" I wasn't sure what I heard.

He brought his hand to my face, tilting my chin upward. "I said I know. You lactate. Even though you’re not pregnant."

I jerked away, face flushing with horror. But from inside, disgust instantly flooded my veins, as if flowing with the blood. I pushed at his chest. "You’re sick. Did you… how the hell did you—how long—?"

"From the beginning."

"Why the fuck would you even—"

"I know everything about you, Anvaya," he said. Not like a man desperate to explain himself. Like a man who had nothing to hide. And that… was poisonous.

"Your condition. Your medicines. The way you avoid white tops in the summer. I know how many spoons of sugar you add to your tea when you’re tired. I know the exact sound your voice makes when you’re lying."

"If you're involved in my life, then know that there's barely anything I don't know about you."

My stomach twisted. "You’re insane. You're obsessed."

"I am." He admitted as if nothing serious. As if I wasn't crumbling in shame from inside.

My eyes stung at the back, unshed tears flooding in them but I held back. "For how long… had you been stalking me?" my voice trembled.

He just looked. His steely eyes just stared into my teary ones. But his silence said it all. He was lurking in the shadows, not just stalking me—he was reading each fibre in my name. He was memorizing me, as if I were his favourite subject.

He caught my wrists when I tried to shield my chest. Not roughly. But firmly. Pulling both hands behind my back in one smooth motion, trapping them in his.

"I watched you for months," he said softly, lips brushing my cheek. "Not because I wanted to break you. But because I wanted to learn you."

"I’m not yours to study." I said in disbelief.

"But you let me," he whispered. "With every look, every breath. Even when you hated it."

"You don’t understand what this does to me. It's disgusting, humiliating even," I said, voice breaking.

"I do. I understand it so well, I’ve dreamt about it."

With my wrists pinned behind me, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the space above my heart—where the bra stretched too tight, where I knew the fabric had already begun to stain.

I wanted to die.

But I didn’t stop him.

He kissed along the curve of my breast, slow and reverent. My breathing was jagged now, shallow. I was trembling, but not in fear. Not anymore.

"You think I want to humiliate you?" he said into my skin. "No. I want to worship you."

"No one worships something they want to break. No one worships something that's disgusting."

"Then let me show you."

His tongue traced over the swell of my breast, his mouth so close to the place I was trying desperately to hide. I turned my face away, ashamed, lost, but still not stopping him.

This wasn’t romance. This was claiming. It was a man building a temple from my shame—and kneeling inside it.

When his mouth finally closed around my nipple, warmth flooding out of me into him—I gasped. Half in shock, half in something I couldn’t name.

"Kaaryaksh—" My voice cracked.

He groaned against me. "I’ve waited to taste your secrets, Anvaya."

I let out something between a sob and a moan. I should’ve screamed. I should’ve pulled away.

But all I could do was sink.

The shame of being exposed with the vulnerability I always hid, to his eyes, felt more than the anger of knowing he'd left no limit left to break.

Mouth, hands, breath, him — every part of him was consuming the part of me I never wanted anyone to see. And the worst part? He didn’t flinch. He devoured it.

"You knew," I whispered again. My voice trembled from the tears threatening to spill. "You always knew."

He released my wrist and pressed his forehead to my sternum, arms now wrapping around my waist. "I know you better than you know yourself. I didn’t need to force you, Anvaya. I just needed to wait."

I buried my face into his hair, trembling, hollow, undone.

And in that moment, I couldn’t tell if I hated him more for knowing—or if I hated myself more for letting him.

Then he stood up straight and just looked into my eyes before crashing his lips against mine.

He kissed me, because I'd started it all. I broke the restraint I was supposed to tighten. So he took that chance. Tears slid down my cheeks, but I remained still, letting him kiss me slowly.

And then, I kissed back.

The urge in me to kiss back was screaming at me. So maybe, just to get rid of those screams, I gave in. I didn't lose, I just submitted myself to him.

His hands slid down, rough palms against the inside of my thighs. He didn’t lift the skirt yet. Just gripped my bare thighs. My breath grew ragged.

He kissed his way down my stomach, one slow inch at a time. His fingers danced just beneath the hem of my skirt like before, like he was waiting—for me to pull away.

I didn’t. My eyes were closed, cheeks were test stained, yet, I was taking what he was giving me. He wasn't even touching somewhere as forbidden, but his fingers were dancing at the precipice. And that was dangerous.

"I hate you for doing this to me." I said, clutching his shoulder. "I hate you."

"Do you?"