His heart twisted painfully. He cupped her cheek with his free hand, eyes wide with a flicker of panic.
"I'm so sorry," he rasped, his voice breaking. "Did I hurt you?"
Her lips curved into a faint, sorrowful smile that pierced him deeper than any...
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Yuvan's POV:
Leaning back in my chair, I dragged lazily on my cigarette, smoke curling around me like a shroud. My mind wandered again, only to her. Suman. My little one. My obsession. The girl who had ripped through my armor and left me exposed in ways no enemy ever could.
She had no idea what she did to me. The way her lashes fluttered when she looked away, the way her lips trembled when she was trying to hold her ground, the soft flush that painted her cheeks when she was caught off guard. Even the careless curses she spat under her breath felt like poetry carved just for me. She was chaos wrapped in innocence, a living contradiction that drove me insane. Fragile yet defiant. Naive yet sharp enough to wound me without even trying.
And God, I could not stop thinking about her.
Every word she spoke clung to me, haunting me long after she was gone. The way her voice sharpened with irritation, the way she once muttered through gritted teeth, "One day, I'll kill this caffeine-powered control freaky bastard with my bare hands."
And I smiled. Because if her hands were the ones to end me, I would welcome it. I would bleed for her. I would let her tear me apart and carve her name into my bones. She could be the knife, and I would be the willing victim.
She does not know it yet, but she has become my everything. The air I breathe tastes of her. The silence in the night echoes with her laughter. Even the ashes on my lips carry the ghost of her name.
Suman. My ruin. My salvation. My beautiful damnation.
The door creaked open, and I looked up to find Divya sauntering in uninvited, her blood-red lips curling into a smug smile. Divya. A name I barely tolerated and a presence I despised.
Divya was my father's best friend's daughter. Our families had known each other for decades, she also have the tag of manager in one of our departments, my family always pushed the idea of us being a couple. It was a sick joke.
To the world, Divya was the perfect heiress-educated, sophisticated, beautiful. But I knew better. Beneath her polished manner, she was a fucking mess, always clawing for attention, always desperate for my validation.
At one point, I'd indulged her. She'd been a convenient way to scratch an itch. Nothing more. Just another body to fuck when I needed to release the chaos inside me. But she had clung to those moments like they meant something, deluding herself into thinking she could be more.
Now, she was just a nuisance.
"Yuvan," she purred, dragging out my name like it was supposed to turn me on. "You've been avoiding me."
