Aradhya Singh has always been ambitious. Getting into Oxford University to study criminal profiling was supposed to be her biggest achievement. Instead, it becomes her biggest nightmare.
Because of him.
Anand Pandey-her professor. A man as brilliant...
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ARADHYA'S POV
I snapped back to reality, forcing myself to suppress the lingering warmth and affection threatening to consume me. It wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth it. But my body betrayed me—tears brimmed in my eyes, teetering on the edge of falling.
I wiped them away, irritated. I'd already shed too much over a man who no longer deserved my grief. The pain still sat in the back of my mind, locked away since the day I was no longer his tigress.
I turned my attention back to the television, relieved to see the screen had shifted away from him. Instead, it now focused on the Prime Minister, who was unboxing something with meticulous care.
I narrowed my eyes. Seriously? They were broadcasting this on national television? A grown man untying a ribbon like it was some grand event?
Ridiculous.
It had to be some obscenely expensive artifact—a diplomatic bribe dressed as a "gift" for the Chief of the European Union. A symbol of so-called loyalty between allies.
God, the waste.
Whatever it was, I was sure I could live off its worth for a lifetime.
The Prime Minister finally lifted the lid, revealing a wine cup—no, a relic. The moment I laid eyes on it, I was spellbound. It wasn't just expensive; it was history carved into something tangible, exquisite in a way that sent a chill down my spine.
Jade, maybe agate, its surface gleamed under the lights, adorned with elaborate Mughal-era designs—floral motifs, intricate patterns, craftsmanship so delicate it looked like poetry frozen in stone.
There was no doubt about it. This was an Indian artifact. A piece of history looted from my homeland, now being paraded as a token of "friendship."
How ironic.
Applause erupted as the Prime Minister raised the cup, letting the audience marvel at its beauty. Cameras flashed, shifting across the grand hall, capturing every angle—until one frame held him.
And just like that, my world stilled.
My breath hitched. My eyes locked onto the screen, taking in every detail. I needed to etch him into my memory.
The eyebrows that once furrowed with concern—for me.
The eyes that had held nothing but love.
The lips that had whispered devotion by daylight and stolen breath by moonlight.
The sharp jawline that had made my knees weak, my stomach flutter.
The stubble on his chin that used to irritate me—but I'd loved it anyway.
The messy black hair he raked his fingers through when stressed, a habit that had always made me melt.
