I watch him as he crosses the room, tall, sure, every step measured. His coat is draped casually over the arm of the couch, and he reaches for it, slipping a hand into the inside pocket. My curiosity stirs, but I don’t speak. I just watch, my pulse quickening for no reason I can explain.
When he turns back to me, something long and narrow rests in his hand. A box. A familiar kind of box. My heart stutters.
“I went to the bazaar today with Bhai-sa,” he says as he comes closer, lowering himself back down beside me. His voice is unhurried, almost careful, like he’s treading into fragile territory.
The box rests between us for a heartbeat, unopened. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch it, but I don’t. Instead, I look at him, at the way his eyes soften as though he already knows my reaction.
Finally, he opens it.
Silver glimmers against the dark velvet inside, delicate and intricate, catching the light with every small movement. Payal. Anklets. My breath catches in my throat, and I know he hears it.
“I want you to wear this,” he says, his voice low, steady, but there’s an undertone there that makes my stomach flip.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “Why?”
He doesn’t look away, doesn’t hesitate. “So that I can hear you from anywhere.”
The words are simple. But something in the way he says them—like he’s confessing more than just that—makes heat bloom in my chest. No one has ever wanted to keep me close like this. No one has ever said something so tender, so achingly possessive, without making me feel trapped. But with him… it feels safe.
I look down at the anklets, the delicate silver bells that promise to sing with every step I take. My lips curve without my permission. “Then, can you put it on?”
For a moment, he just looks at me. Something flickers in his eyes—dark, deep, something that makes me feel like the air between us has shifted. Then he nods.
His fingers are steady as he lifts one anklet from the box, the bells chiming softly. He gestures toward me, and I hesitate only a moment before stretching out my leg, the hem of my lehenga falling back just enough to reveal my ankle. My pulse hammers as his hand comes closer, steady, sure.
The brush of his fingertips against my skin is feather-light, almost reverent, as he fastens the clasp around me. The cool silver warms instantly against my skin, but it’s his touch I feel more than the ornament itself. His thumb lingers just a fraction too long at the curve of my ankle, and I shiver despite myself.
His lips curve in that subtle way of his, as though he’s both amused and undone at the same time.
When he lifts his gaze back to mine, my breath stutters. The air feels charged, and suddenly I’m all too aware of how close we are, how his hand still rests lightly against me.
He leans in, so close that his breath brushes against my ear, warm and unhurried. And then, in that husky whisper of his, hesays, “And I can’t help but imagine how beautiful they will sound while I make love to you, meri jaan.”
The words crash into me like a wave, stealing the air from my lungs. My eyes widen, heat floods my face, and my heart is beating so wildly I’m sure he can hear it.
“Vihaan—” I gasp, half in shock, half in something else I can’t bring myself to name.
His lips don’t touch me, but they’re close enough that every nerve in me feels alive, burning.
I push at his shoulder, not hard, but enough to put some space between us. “I—I’m going to sleep.” My voice trembles, betraying me.
He leans back finally, and to my utter mortification, I hear him laugh. Not a mocking laugh, not cruel. Just soft, low, full of that rich amusement that makes his eyes glint.
“Not so soon, Poorvi,” he says, and my chest tightens at the way he says my name, like a caress.
I shoot him a glare, or at least I try to, but my face is still hot and my pulse hasn’t calmed, and he knows it. He knows exactly what he’s done to me.
I yank the blanket over myself and hide inside, but even then I can’t hide my smile. The silver bells tinkle softly with the movement, betraying me just as much as my racing heart.
And I realize… maybe that’s exactly what he wanted. I hear him lie down next to me, his arms circling my waist as he pulls me towards him, my back against his chest. Guess I won't be sleeping tonight.
CHAPTER 46
Stay Out of My Way
POORVI
The hall is ablaze with light. Gold drips from the chandeliers, bouncing off the marble floor and gilded arches, filling the air with an almost dizzying glow. My heels click softly against the polished stone as Vihaan and I enter together, his hand warm at the small of my back, guiding me with that quiet authority only he seems to have.
