VAIBHAVI:-Claimed By The Sultan

She was stolen. He will never be free again.
Vaibhavi wakes in chains. Her silk torn, her wrists bruised. Stolen from Aryavart, she is now a prisoner aboard an enemy ship-his ship.

Sultan Zaahir of Almashar.
Her captor. Her master. Her downfall.

"You are far from home, Rajkumari," he murmurs, his voice like smoke.
Vaibhavi swallows hard, her fingers curling into fists. "You will regret this."
Zaahir chuckles, dark and slow. "Oh, little mouse... I already do."
Because when she looks at him with hatred-he feels it too deep.
When she resists, when she fights, when she spits his orders back in his face-she is all he can think about.

She is making him reckless. Restless. Weak.

She should fear him. Instead, she is undoing him.
She is gentle where she should be sharp, kind where she should be cruel. She trembles when he steps close, but she does not run.

And it makes him mad.

He should want her on her knees. Instead, he wants-everything.

He wants to hear the way she gasps when he tugs at her chains.
He wants to see the way her lashes flutter when he tilts her chin up.
He wants to break her. And yet, every time she looks at him with quiet defiance, it is he who splinters.

"Kneel, Vaibhavi."
"I will not."
"You will."

And when she finally does-when she looks up at him with wide, uncertain eyes-he is the one who is ruined.

She was supposed to be his hostage. Instead, she is his undoing.
One glance.
One whisper.
One hesitant touch at a time.

He was supposed to own her. Now, he cannot breathe without her.
She was supposed to hate him. Now, she cannot stop wanting him.

She thinks she still has a choice.

Until the night she trembles for him.
Until the night he surrenders.
Until the night neither of them can turn back.

Because this is no longer about war.

This is ruin.

And neither of them... will ever escape.