Demon's Physco obsession

A Familiar Betrayal

The first light of dawn crept over the horizon like a thief, turning the Arabian Sea into a sheet of molten silver. Inside the villa's master bedroom, Adhiraaj lay awake, his body still tangled with Ankita's in the aftermath of the night. She slept soundly against him, her cheek pressed to his chest, one leg draped possessively over his thigh as if even in dreams she claimed him. Her breath was soft and even, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside his skull.

He traced idle patterns along her bare back, his fingers rough against her silk-smooth skin, but his mind was elsewhere—locked on the fundraising auction set to begin in just a few hours. It was a glittering facade, a high-society event in Mumbai's opulent Taj Mahal Palace, where the elite bid on art and artifacts to fund "charitable" causes that masked the real dealings underneath. For Adhiraaj, it was the endgame: the place where Malik would make his desperate play, lured by Volkov's fabricated urgency. Ankita was the unwitting centrepiece—the bait that would draw the vulture into the open.

But God, the thought of it gnawed at him like acid. How many eyes would rake over her tonight? How many whispers would follow her through the ballroom, sizing her up not as his wife, but as a prize in Malik's twisted auction? He knew the risks: a sniper's scope from a rooftop, a poisoned glass of juice, or worse—a snatch in the chaos of the crowd. Volkov's man, Dimitri, would be there, playing the role of the arrogant Collector to perfection, but even allies had limits. What if Malik struck first? What if Adhiraaj's carefully laid trap snapped shut on the wrong prey?

His grip tightened around her waist instinctively, pulling her closer until she murmured in her sleep, shifting against him. Possessiveness surged through him like fire—raw, unfiltered. She was his. Not a tool, not leverage, but his. The girl who'd laughed under fireworks, who'd come undone beneath him with cries that echoed the waves. He'd kill for her. He'd burn the world for her. But using her like this, even from the shadows... it twisted something deep in his chest, a vulnerability he despised. He was Adhiraaj Vashisth, the lion who devoured threats whole. Yet here, in the quiet before the storm, doubt crept in: Was he protecting her, or dragging her deeper into the abyss?

Ankita stirred then, her lashes fluttering open to reveal those wide, innocent brown eyes that always hit him like a gut punch. She smiled sleepily, stretching against him, her breasts brushing his chest in a way that sent heat pooling low in his belly despite the turmoil.

"Morning," she whispered, her voice husky from sleep. She nuzzled closer, oblivious to the shadows in his gaze, her hand trailing down his abdomen in lazy exploration.

He captured her wrist before she could go lower, bringing it to his lips for a kiss that was more bite than tenderness. "Morning, little dove." His voice came out rougher than intended, laced with the edge of his inner war. He rolled her beneath him in one fluid motion, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand while the other skimmed down her side, possessive and demanding. She gasped, arching into his touch, her body responding instinctively to his dominance.

He took her then, hard and fast, as if claiming her could banish the fear coiling in his gut. His mouth crashed against hers, swallowing her moans, his hips driving into her with a rhythm that bordered on desperate. She wrapped her legs around him, whispering his name like a prayer, completely unaware that this wasn't just morning passion—it was him marking her, reminding himself that no one would take her from him. Not Malik. Not the Collector. Not the goddamn auction.

When they both shattered—her first, clenching around him with a cry that tore through the room, him following with a growl buried in her neck—he collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms as if she'd vanish if he let go. Sweat-slicked and breathless, she curled against him, tracing the fresh scratches she'd left on his shoulders with a shy smile.