Samaira lay in bed that night, the darkness thick enough to feel against her skin. The ceiling above was just a vague outline, the kind you could lose yourself in if you stared too long. But her mind refused to surrender. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him — Advait — the curve of his lips, the ice in his eyes.
The silence was not comforting. It was heavy, pressing into her ribs. She shifted under the sheets, heart hammering against the quiet, when a soft knock broke through her thoughts.
Aarav stepped inside, his silhouette framed by the faint hallway light. He carried two mugs of steaming tea.
“You look… restless,” he said, setting one on the bedside table.
“I am,” she murmured, sitting up. “I just… I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he said, lowering himself into the chair beside her. “Jo ho raha hai… tumhari galti nahi. (What’s happening… it’s not your fault.)”
Her lips twitched into a bitter smile. “Then why does it feel like I’m paying for someone else’s sins?”
“Because you’re scared,” he said, voice steady. “And fear makes every shadow look like a monster.”
She looked away. “I’m not just scared, Aarav. I’m… tired. Every time I think I’m safe, something happens. Someone finds me.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Main yahan hoon. (I’m here.)”
Her gaze flicked back to him. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can,” he said firmly. “And I will.”
Silence stretched. The tea sat between them, untouched, the steam curling into the cold air.
“Sometimes I wonder if this is it for me,” she whispered. “Running. Hiding. Waiting.”
“It won’t be forever,” Aarav replied. “One day, we’ll end it. Once and for all.”
Her brows drew together. “End it how?”
A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “You’ll see. For now… trust me.”
But trust was an expensive currency, and she was running out of it.
The next afternoon, the lounge was washed in sunlight from the large windows, yet the warmth felt like a lie. Aarav sat across from her, flipping through a thick folder of documents. She tried to focus, but every small sound felt amplified — the rustle of papers, a door clicking somewhere far away, the faint whir of the AC.
Then it happened — that shift. A heaviness in the air. Aarav’s fingers stilled on the papers. Samaira’s pulse quickened.
The door opened and a tall man in a dark suit stepped in. His voice was deep and precise. “Mr. Shekhawat is here.”
Samaira’s head snapped toward Aarav.
“Send him in,” Aarav said smoothly. Then he looked at her with an almost casual smile. “It’s fine. Don’t look so tense.”
“How does he even know I’m here?” she asked sharply.
“I told him,” Aarav said.
The words landed like a stone in her stomach. “You… what?”
“We can’t keep running forever,” he said calmly. “Better to face him now. And I promise — main usse tumhe choone bhi nahi doonga. (I won’t even let him touch you.)”
She stared at him, unsure if she was hearing him right. “And you think inviting him here is the way to keep me safe?”
“It’s the only way to end this,” he said, his tone final.
The door opened again. This time, it wasn’t just a man entering — it was a storm. Advait stepped in, sunlight at his back, his sharp gaze pinning her where she sat.
His lips curved into that dangerous, mocking smile. “Samaira,” he said, the syllables curling off his tongue like silk over a blade. “Still beautiful… even when you’re afraid.”
Aarav rose to his feet, stepping slightly in front of her. “Stay behind me,” he murmured.
Advait’s eyes didn’t move from her. “Protecting her, are we?”
“Not protecting,” Aarav said coolly. “Negotiating.”
From the folder, he pulled a file and tossed it onto the table. “Sign it.”
Advait’s gaze slid to the file. “Share transfer. Forty percent of Shekhawat Group holdings… to you.” He let out a short, amused laugh. “You’ve been busy.”
Aarav’s jaw tightened. “I was angry when you married her. You knew I wanted her, Advait. And you still took her. At gunpoint.” His voice dropped, low and sharp. “But then I realised something — the man who could marry her under a gun is obsessed enough to give up a little empire for her life.”
Advait tilted his head. “And if I refuse?”
Without hesitation, Aarav drew his gun and pressed the cold barrel against Samaira’s temple.
She gasped, eyes wide. “Aarav—”
“I said I wouldn’t let him touch you,” Aarav said, his voice like ice. “I never said I wouldn’t use you.”
Betrayal was a knife twisting in her chest. “You’re no better than him.”
“Maybe not,” Aarav admitted. “But I’m smarter.”
Advait’s gaze finally left Samaira, settling on Aarav. “You think she means that much to me?”
“You married her,” Aarav said with a smirk. “That tells me everything.”
The tension was thick enough to choke on. Advait reached for the file, his movements unhurried. He flipped through the pages, scanning each line, each clause. Samaira could hear the faint scrape of paper against paper, her heartbeat thudding in her ears.
“Interesting,” Advait murmured finally. “Very generous… to you.”
“Sign it,” Aarav repeated, finger tightening on the trigger.
Advait looked up, his eyes like molten steel. “Or?”
“Or she dies,” Aarav said simply. “Yahan, abhi. (Here, right now.)”
Samaira’s breath was coming in shallow bursts. She felt the press of the gun, the heat of Aarav’s presence, the chill of Advait’s gaze.
Advait held his stare for a long moment, then — to her shock — he picked up the file and set it on the table. Slowly, he reached into his coat pocket and drew out a small lighter.
“Agar tum samajhte ho main tumhare rules pe khelunga… tum galat ho. (If you think I’ll play by your rules… you’re wrong.)”
The flame flared, hungry and bright. Without breaking eye contact with Aarav, Advait touched it to the corner of the papers. The dry sheets caught instantly, curling black at the edges.
The crackle of burning filled the room, the smell of scorched paper winding through the tense air. Samaira’s eyes widened in disbelief. Aarav’s face hardened, but his hand didn’t waver on the gun.
Advait just stood there, the firelight flickering across his face, watching the words, the clauses, the signatures vanish into ash.
Not a word. Not a blink.
Only the burn.
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UNWILLINGLY HIS
Roman d'amour**Her wedding day was supposed to be the start of forever. Instead, it became the day her world collapsed.** Samaira had it all-until Advait, the man she trusted, shattered her dreams on their wedding day. Left standing at the altar, humiliated and...
