The illegitimate daughter of a powerful businessman, she was sent to live with her six half-brothers after her father's sudden death.
The boys were born from privilege, pride, and perfectly manicured bloodlines. No one welcomed her. No one cared.
De...
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His fingers clasped mine without a word.
Firm. Warm. Intentional.
Veeransh tugged gently, and I followed. The crowd parted as if sensing something—perhaps the gravity between us, or maybe just him.
Either way, we stepped into the heart of the dance floor like we belonged there.
And then, both of his hands settled lightly on my waist.
My breath hitched. The music was soft, a slow rhythm humming in the background, making my heartbeat echo louder than it should.
His fingers flexed slightly, pulling me just an inch closer.
But just when I began to melt into that moment, the music shifted.
A sharp beat cut through the air, upbeat and wild—a jazz track, reckless and energetic. Totally wrong for a slow dance.
I blinked, startled, but Veeransh didn't step back.
Instead, his brows lifted, and a boyish grin spread across his lips. God, those lips.
Before I could say anything, he adjusted—effortlessly, smoothly—his fingers tapping a playful rhythm on my waist as he began to move with the beat, urging me to follow.
His movements were teasing yet elegant, like a man who knew exactly how to make a crowd watch without trying.
"Come on," he whispered, "don't let me be the only one making a fool of myself."
And just like that, he rolled his hips, twirled me around, and caught me back like a scene straight out of an old movie.
A surprised laugh escaped me. The initial awkwardness dissolved as he made me match his steps, easing me into the rhythm.
I started enjoying. Actually... really enjoying.
The music pulsed through our bodies, and our laughter blended with the drums.
Carefree yet intimate, reckless yet elegant—we forgot the world.
I threw my arms around his shoulders without a second thought, fingers lacing behind his neck as I moved in sync with him.
His hand trailed up my back, resting just below the open curve of my bare shoulder blades.
That's when I looked up.
And froze.
Veeransh looked unreal under the golden lights.
His tousled hair, the way his lips curled when he danced, his eyes never leaving mine—it was all too much.
Too perfect. Too tempting.
I stared at his lips.
Pink. Soft. Almost sinful. I wondered... were they really as silky as they looked?
