Her Deviant Husband

Chapter 16

Reyansh's pov.

Athira.

She was like fire, chaos, and infuriatingly stubborn—a storm wrapped in silk and ambition.

Her taste was still on my tongue, sweet and maddening, like the ecstasy of the damn chaos she brought into my life. I gripped her thigh tighter, pulling her closer, my mouth moving against hers with a desperation that betrayed my self-control. Every tremble of hers, every gasp and moan, was an addictive fuel to the storm raging inside me.

She didn't even know what she'd done this time.

The project with the Shekawats. The fucking real estate garden project.

She had to pick that piece of land—land tied up in the blood-soaked history of two families who had been at each other's throats for generations. Land that carried the weight of secrets, sacrifices, and sins she couldn't begin to understand.

And here she was, completely unaware—or worse, defiant—about the damn minefield she'd waltzed into with that infuriatingly righteous determination of hers.

This woman can't pass a day without inviting trouble.

The Shekhawats weren't exactly some rich, well-connected family with shiny deeds and lawyers at their beck and call. No, they were the kind of people who ruled with fear and fire. The kind who didn't blink before pulling a trigger if it meant protecting their claim. They were like my family—exactly like us.

Did she even know? Did she even care?

Her lips parted against mine, and I took the moment to bite down on her bottom lip, pulling a gasp from her swollen mouth. My hand flexed on her thigh, the heat of her skin under my palm driving me insane.

I broke the kiss just long enough to mutter, my voice dark and breathless.
"Do you even know what you've done?"

Her lashes fluttered as her dazed eyes met mine.
"What the hell are you talking about?"

God, she looked wrecked. Lips bruised, cheeks flushed, her breaths short and uneven.
A beautiful, infuriating disaster.

"I'm talking about your damn garden, Athira," I hissed, my hand still cradling her jaw, forcing her to hold my gaze. "The one you're planning on the Shekhawat land."

Her brows knitted together, confusion giving way to defiance.
"It's their land. Legally—"

My laugh was bitter, sharp, as I cut her off.
"Legally, yeah. But do you know who they are? What that land is?"

She tried to pull back, but I wouldn't let her. My grip on her thigh tightened, anchoring her to me.

"Did you even bother to ask yourself why that land's been untouched for years? Why no one dared touch it? Or are you so blinded by your righteous little plans that you missed the stench of blood beneath your precious garden?"

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"Do you even know, Athira, that the Shekhawats are as much a mafia family as my family? That beneath the roots of your flowers, there will be blood? Innocent blood, spilled by hands that don't forget, hands that don't forgive. Can your righteous little heart handle that?"

Her silence was deafening, but the fire in her eyes flickered. I knew her now. Knew how she worked, how her mind turned at a million miles an hour. She was trying to piece it together, trying to figure out if I was lying or exaggerating.