He grabbed her then, his hands rough on her arms. "Is that what you want? Your final payoff?" She was crying in earnest now, but a defiant, desperate heat was rising to meet his anger. "Yes," she choked out. "If that's all I can have. Yes." She cried out, a sound of pain and overwhelming sensation. He was too big, too sudden, and the friction was almost too much. He didn't pause. "This is for the lies," he growled, pulling out and slamming back into her. The bed rocked. "This is for the game." Another thrust, deeper, harder. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. The pain was blurring into a terrible, addictive pleasure. Her body, traitorously, was welcoming him, clenching around him, getting wetter for him. "And this," he said, his voice breaking slightly as he set a punishing rhythm, "is for making me believe, even for a second, that you were someone I could love."

At seventeen, Shiri Sharma made one mistake she fell for the one person she was never supposed to. Her teacher. Five years later, fate has a sick sense of humor. Same man same office except darker now, colder, carrying wounds she knows nothing about. But the way he looks at her? That's new. She thought distance would kill what she felt. She was wrong. And now with every stolen glance, every accidental touch, every moment the air between them gets too thick to breathe She is starting to wonder if fate brought them together to finally give her what she always wanted. Or to destroy her completely. Some love stories are beautiful. Some are dangerous. This one is both.