SIRF TUM.....💓❤ (only you)

CHAPTER 17 - WHISKEY & WOUNDS

The tension between them coiled tight, thickening the air like an impending storm. The moment Yazmin wrenched free from Hariday's grip, her dark eyes burned with unchecked fury, laced with something far more dangerous—obsession.

She took a deliberate step forward, her heels clicking against the polished marble, a predator cornering its prey.

"What the hell were you two doing inside the study room all alone?" Her voice was sharp, a blade wrapped in silk, but the tremor of insecurity beneath it was impossible to miss.

Hariday exhaled sharply, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. He was exhausted, not just from the confrontation but from the sheer weight of Yazmin's relentless possessiveness.

"We were working on the flyers for the poetry battle—Rachna Raas." His tone was clipped, restrained. He wasn't in the mood for one of her theatrics.

But Yazmin wasn't having it. Her lips curled into a sneer, her breath coming out fast and shallow.

"Rachna, what??" she echoed mockingly, stepping even closer. "Harry, I'm repeating my question. What were you two doing inside the study all alone?"

The deliberate repetition of his name was no coincidence—it was a warning.

A muscle in Hariday's jaw twitched. He had endured Yazmin's dramatics for years, but tonight, there was a different kind of madness glinting in her eyes.

"I told you," he bit out, his patience unraveling. "I was helping her make the flyers."

Yazmin's hands curled into fists at her sides. She inhaled deeply before closing the remaining distance between them, her perfume—heady and intoxicating—snaking into his senses like a poisonous trap.

"You will not go anywhere near that woman, understood?" Her voice was low, deceptively sweet, but her eyes were wild, almost unhinged.

Hariday didn't flinch. Instead, he held her gaze, his expression darkening with warning.

"You don't get to tell me who I can or cannot be around, Yazmin." His voice was calm, deliberate—a razor's edge just before the cut. "Mahalaxmi is a close friend, and you are in no position to dictate my choices."

For the first time, Yazmin faltered. Just for a second.

Hariday didn't wait for her to recover. He turned on his heel and walked away, his departure an unspoken dismissal, leaving Yazmin standing alone in the dimly lit hallway.

Her breaths came in ragged bursts, her fingers twitching at her sides. He had never spoken to her like that before. Never defied her so openly.

Her eyes narrowed, dark with something vicious.

Yazmin paced the length of her room, her hands clenched into tight fists. Rage burned in her veins, every fiber of her being seething with fury. The mere thought of Mahalaxmi and the attention Hariday showered upon her was a slap to her face, a wound to her pride that refused to heal. She had traveled this far, played her game so well, and yet, Mahalaxmi still stood in her way like an immovable obstacle. The frustration boiled over, and with a snarl, she grabbed a pillow, hurling it across the room. But the soft thud against the floor did nothing to ease the storm raging inside her.

A sudden knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. It was hesitant, almost uncertain, and for a moment, she hesitated. Wiping away the faint trace of tears that clung to the corners of her eyes, she steeled herself. No one could see her like this. She pulled the door open with a sharp yank.

Sanjay stood there, his face lined with the weight of his turmoil. Before she could sneer a greeting, he pushed past her, slamming the door shut behind him. The force of it sent a tremor through her chest, but she refused to let him see any hint of weakness.