||| ARYAMAN MALHOTRA |||
CEO of India's oldest jewelry empire. Ruthless. Cold. A man driven by the need for vengeance.
Ever since the brutal murders of his fiancée, Naseria Oberoi, and his best friend, Karan Shergill, he's been hunting for answers...
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I could feel my blood boil just thinking about it. How could he have done that? How could he have gone and dug up all those memories of that night? Like, what was the point? Why did he have to yell at me again and drag me through the mud once more? And that crap about me being "turned on"? Are you kidding me? How could he even think something like that? It was disgusting, and honestly, I was sick of it.
He had given me an hour-an entire hour-to make up my mind, so why the hell did he have to pull all that bullshit? I was already going to accept his damn proposal, but no-Aryaman Malhotra just couldn't help himself. He thrived on making things difficult, on twisting the knife even when it wasn't necessary. He did it this time too. Classic Aryaman, right?
I got that he was pissed about the wrong signatures on that contract, but the way he yelled at me, the way he made me feel like I was nothing-it was beyond ridiculous.
Aryaman is breaking me. He's tearing apart this strong front I've built, and I can feel it. He's chipping away at this new soul I've tried so hard to forge, and worse, he's succeeding. He's letting that old soul, the one I swore I'd left behind, crawl its way back into my life. And I hate that he's doing it, but I hate even more that it's working.
I don't know what it was about the way he spoke to me, but something felt off, strange. The words he used were like sparks, igniting something inside me, something I wasn't ready to face. It's like there's this fire deep within me, and it's desperate to break free, begging me to let it out. And I hate that it's happening, but I can't ignore it. I've started feeling this way ever since Aryaman came into my life. He's doing something to me, something I don't fully understand yet.
But then there was that moment when he squeezed my hands, so tightly it felt like my heart was about to leap out of my chest. The way his warm breath fanned against my cheeks, the way his rough, calloused hands gripped mine with such intensity-it did something to me. It was like all my senses were on high alert. His jaw clenched, his muscles ticking like he was holding something back, and that masculine scent of his-so overpowering, so consuming-it was all too much.
For a split second, I found myself wishing his hands weren't just gripping mine. I wanted them to touch my face, to feel the warmth of his skin against mine. I imagined him gently caressing my cheeks, cupping my face in those same rough hands, and looking into my eyes-my hazel ones locking with his intense emerald gaze. And in that moment, I wanted him to say that everything would be alright, that it would all pass, and that I'd get over it. I wanted him to tell me it was going to be okay, that I wasn't alone in this.
But that's just it, isn't it? He won't say those things, and even if he did, I wouldn't believe him. Because Aryaman Malhotra doesn't do 'comfort.' He doesn't do 'reassurance.' He's all about control, about dominance, and I'm just another piece in his twisted game. And yet, despite everything, here I am, wishing for something more from him, something that I know deep down he'll never give. It's ridiculous, and I hate myself for even thinking it. But I can't help it. Because for some insane reason, he's gotten under my skin, and I don't know how to make it stop.
