In a country that treats cricket as a religion, Kabir Malhotra wasn't just a player; he was the god of the final over-a lethal, broad-shouldered storm in a blue jersey who broke records as easily as he broke hearts. But to Ananya Sharma, he was just the arrogant boy next door who had spent fifteen years perfecting the art of getting under her skin. He was her brother's best friend, her family's golden boy, and the man who currently occupied ninety percent of her intrusive thoughts. Kabir had plans. For him, the game didn't end at the stadium. He'd spent years playing a long, calculated game of cat-and-mouse, waiting for the girl who called him a "narcissist" to realize she was the only trophy he actually wanted. ****** "You think you're so powerful because you can hit a ball? You're just a narcissist with a fan club." "I'm a narcissist who knows exactly how you sound when I whisper in your ear. Keep using that sharp tongue, baby girl. I might just decide I want to feel it somewhere else. ******