Arnav's POV

My fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the steering wheel, a faint percussion in the otherwise dead-quiet night. Every few seconds, I’d check the dashboard clock — twenty minutes had passed since she’d disappeared into her room. Twenty minutes of waiting in this damned car. I’d even called her once, but all I got was a curt text:

I’m coming.

A lie, clearly.

I leaned back in my seat, my jaw ticking. From where I sat, I could see the faint glow of light spilling from the balcony on the fourth floor. She was still up there. Still making me wait. And the worst part? She knew exactly what she was doing.

The corner of my mouth twitched — not quite a smile. I liked the audacity, even if it grated on my nerves.

I bit down on my lower lip and exhaled sharply. My fingers drummed once more against the leather wheel. Just as I was about to close my eyes and breathe through the irritation, a sound cut through the night — the crisp, deliberate click of high heels against the pavement.

My eyes opened instantly.

She emerged from the shadows of the building, walking with an elegance that demanded attention. Clad in a strapped black dress that hugged her frame until the waist, where the fabric loosened and spilled to the ground in smooth, flowing folds. A high slit on the right teased the toned length of her leg with every step. The neckline dipped just enough to draw the eye, accentuating the lines of her collarbones and the soft curves beneath.

The heels were black, their sharp staccato the only sound in the still neighborhood. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail, the simple style revealing the gleam of pearl studs in her ears.

Her eyes — sharp, unwavering — locked on mine, even through the tinted glass. I hadn’t realized I’d been staring until she stopped at my window and knocked.

Rolling it down, I met her gaze.

"Mind opening the door for your date?" she said, her voice smooth, velvety — the kind that slipped into your ears and stayed there.

I smirked. "Sure."

I got out, circling to her side, and opened the door with a polite flourish. She walked past, her perfume hitting me in a slow, intoxicating wave — sweet vanilla, with something darker beneath. Addictive. Too addictive.

No. I wasn’t here to admire her. I had a purpose. And women — especially this one — were distractions I couldn’t afford.

I shut the door firmly and returned to my seat.

The car rolled forward, the city lights flickering across the windshield. Silence wrapped around us, thick and unbroken, until I spoke.

"What are your thoughts on this marriage, Ms. Anika?"

She turned to look at me, then back at the passing road. "An unwanted marriage." No hesitation. No warmth. Just the bare truth.

I nodded once. "What about you?" she asked.

"My benefits," I replied.

Her head tilted, confusion flickering across her face. "What benefits? I didn’t sign any deal with you for your benefits. As far as I know, my family isn’t involved in anything of that sort."

I smirked. "There’s more beneath the surface than you can see."

Taking a sharp right, I added, "Don’t stay confused. You’ll know everything after the marriage."

"Bastard," she muttered.

I chuckled. "I don’t tolerate misbehavior, princess."

She laughed — not with amusement, but defiance. "Mr. Rai Mehrotra, I’m not your secretary or personal maid to follow orders. I’ll behave how I want."

"We’ll see," I said, my grip tightening on the wheel. She was infuriating — and tempting in a way I hated to admit.

"Why bring the proposal to my family out of millions?" she asked suddenly, her voice sharp.

"Because I wanted to."

"You don’t even know me."

"I do what I want, Mrs. Rai Mehrotra."

Her eyes widened, but her mask returned quickly. Humari shaadi abhi tak hui nahi hai, she shot back, nails digging into her palms.

"It’s nineteen days away. Seven until our engagement. We’re each other’s fiancés, sweetheart."

"Stop with your nicknames. I’m not a teenager craving attention. Call me Anika. Or shut up."

Damn. She had a bite to her words.

"Oh, my lady," I murmured, "Aap janti nahi… main wahi karta hoon jo mujhe pasand hai. Awaz neeche rakhiye."

(You don't you… I do what I like. Keep your voice low.)

Her glare could have cut glass. And yet, I couldn’t look away. Had she entered my life under different circumstances, maybe I would have worshipped her. But this… this was war.

"Stop eye-fucking me, or I’ll fuck you against the backseat," I said flatly.

Her curses were inaudible, but the faint flush on her cheeks wasn’t. I smirked.

Love was cruel. It came when you least expected it, and it destroyed you just as quickly. She’d done exactly that — not to me, but to Dhruv. My family’s heart.

I hated her. And I’d make sure she paid.

She was fragile from inside, I knew. No matter how fast and far she ran, because now, the more she was nearer to her nightmares. She'll see her nightmares in daylight, that's what I've promised to Dhruv.

The hotel came into view — Royal Jaipur, a seven-star gem glowing against the night. Outside, a crowd of reporters swarmed the entrance.

"Stay here," I muttered, stepping out.

•

Anika's POV

I watched him approach from my seat in the car, his strides measured, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He opened my door without a word, offering his hand. I hated the idea of taking it — but I also hated the idea of falling on live television.

He wore an iron-grey suit over a black shirt, the fabric clinging to his chest in a way that made it clear he didn’t need a gym membership — he was the gym. A silver chain rested against his collarbones, holding a deep green sapphire that caught the light every time he moved. The YSL brooch on his coat gleamed like a quiet threat. His hair was brushed back, the ends tied loosely. Infuriatingly attractive, damn him.

I placed my hand in his, ignoring the heat of his skin against mine.

"Are you going to eat and sleep there tonight?" he murmured, his grey eyes meeting mine. There was something in them I couldn’t name.

The flashing cameras greeted us the moment we stepped out. Voices rose over the clicks — match made in heaven, secret relationship, special occasion tonight? — all meaningless chatter to feed their headlines. I kept my expression neutral.

Inside, the rooftop restaurant was a quiet contrast. We sat near the railing, the city stretching out below us in a sea of golden lights. The wind was soft, almost warm, but it did nothing to thaw the ice across the table from me.

I twirled my fork through creamy pasta, savoring its richness. Across from me, he ate his Italian salad with mechanical precision. Of course he’d be the type to order leaves while I tried to enjoy a meal.

The truth? I had no appetite. Not for food, not for conversation, not for this engagement that had been shoved down my throat.

He set down his fork, his plate already clean. I realized mine was still half-full.

"Are you done?" he asked, his tone unreadable.

I nodded, and he signaled a waiter to clear the plates. Wine arrived next, deep red and gleaming under the soft light. He poured, then set his phone down after a quick text.

"Today I’m not here for a date," he said.

The space around us felt suddenly emptier. The other tables on the rooftop had been cleared without my noticing. Above us, the sky was scattered with stars — no moon tonight.

I sipped my wine, keeping my voice even. "Go ahead."

"Sign a contract for this baseless marriage."

The words hung in the air, heavy as stone.