Dharsh's car slid into the driveway of his sleek, modern home. The city's distant hum felt muted, as if the world had shrunk down to the chaos swirling inside his mind.

He sat still for a moment after switching off the engine, breathing heavily. His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary. It wasn't just a glance, a fleeting thought-no, it was something deeper, more consuming.

Her.

Her lips. Soft, yet so commanding in their quiet strength. The way they had briefly curved into that tired smile when she thanked him. Her eyes-those fierce, steady eyes-had burned into him like fire on ice, refusing to be ignored or tamed.

He could still feel the faint scent lingering in the car-the delicate mix of vanilla and chocolate, with an earthy hint of sandalwood-that was hers, wrapping around him and driving him mad.

This wasn't love. Not even close.

It was obsession.

A relentless craving to possess, to control, to break through whatever walls she had built and claim her as his own.

He wanted to tame her wild spirit, to hold her fiercely yet gently at the same time.

Dharsh closed his eyes, the image of her standing on that balcony, commanding an emergency call with calm authority, flashing through his mind. She was a storm disguised in silk and strength-and he needed her.

Needed to have her.

The cold, indifferent businessman was melting away. All that remained was a man consumed by a dangerous desire.

His jaw clenched. This wasn't a weakness.

It was power.

And Dharsh Malhotra never let go once he set his sights on something.

The soft hum of the car engine faded as Dhwani parked near the Malhotra mansion. The sky had turned amber with dusk, and she was exhausted from the double shift. But Diya had been insistent-"Just an hour, please, I need this break. You owe me ice cream!"-so here she was, still in her hospital scrubs, hair tied up, eyes slightly tired but smile intact.

A warm smile spread across her face when Indira Malhotra herself opened the door.

"Dhwani," Indira greeted her with open arms. "What a pleasant surprise."

Dhwani returned the hug, slightly awkward but touched. "I just came to pick Diya up. She wanted to go out."

Indira chuckled. "As usual. That girl won't sit still. She's upstairs. Why don't you go check on her? She's been taking forever."

"Sure," Dhwani nodded politely, slipping her shoes off and heading up the grand staircase.

The house was quiet, the kind of silence that whispered wealth and control. Each corner looked pristine, untouched-until she reached the wrong door.

She tapped it gently.

"Diya?" she called, but there was no answer.

Curious, she pushed it open.

But the second she stepped inside, she knew.

This wasn't Diya's room.

Dark wooden shelves lined the walls. Heavy books. A glass of water on a sleek black desk. A blazer hung neatly on a chair. The room smelled like him-deep, expensive, masculine. And it felt like him. Cold. Controlled. Still.

Her eyes flicked to a wall where a series of sketches were pinned-floor plans, designs, deals. Papers arranged like a ritual. One glance, and she turned to leave-but her foot caught on the edge of the rug.

The next second, she stumbled.

The glass tipped.

Water spilled-directly onto the neat stack of documents.

"No no no-" she gasped, grabbing tissues from the nearby shelf, trying desperately to blot the pages. Her heart hammered. These looked... important. Too important.

She was still frozen in panic when the door clicked open.

And there he was.

Dharsh.

Eyes sharp, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, shirt sleeves rolled up, jaw tight with disbelief.

"What the hell," he said quietly, voice dangerously low.

Dhwani turned to him, lips parting. "I-I'm so sorry, I thought this was Diya's room, I just-"

But his eyes weren't soft. They burned.

"You came into my room," he said, stepping forward slowly, voice rising, "and destroyed my work."

"It was a mistake-"

"Yeah," he snapped. "You are."

She blinked. Her heart dropped.

"I said I was sorry," her voice cracked, backing away from his towering presence.

His eyes were dark now, unreadable. "Do you think an apology fixes this? Do you know what you just ruined?"

Tears welled in her eyes. She hadn't expected this-this level of hatred. "I didn't mean to-"

"Of course you didn't," he mocked, taking another step forward. "People like you never mean to ruin things. But you do anyway."

Her lips trembled. She hadn't cried like this in years. But he didn't stop.

His hand shot out and gripped her arm-tight.

Her breath hitched.

"You don't belong here," he whispered, harsh and cold. "You shouldn't even be near me."

"Let me go," she said softly, voice quivering as a tear rolled down her cheek.

He stared at it-her tears-as if they annoyed him.

But slowly, he released her.

As if she burned him.

Without another word, she turned and bolted out of the room.

Her feet thundered down the hallway, her chest aching, her throat raw.

Dhwani didn't stop running until she reached the end of the corridor. Her cheeks burned with humiliation, tears spilling silently as she clutched the edge of the wall for support. She felt small, humiliated-not just by his harsh words, but by the way he made her feel so powerless, so exposed. Why did it hurt so much? Why him of all people? It wasn't just anger. It was something deeper, something crueler, and it left a wound she couldn't name.

She paused at the top of the stairs, trying to wipe her tears before anyone saw her. But her hands were trembling.

"Dhwani?"

It was Diya.

She looked up, swallowing the pain, trying to force a smile. "Hey... I was looking for you."

Diya took one look at her face and frowned. "What happened? Did someone say something?"

"I... I just walked into the wrong room. Your brother was-" She shook her head, voice falling. "Never mind."

Diya's eyes narrowed. "He said something, didn't he? I swear-he's such an ass sometimes."

Dhwani didn't respond.

She couldn't.

She just gave a small shake of her head and looked away.

"Come on," Diya softened. "Let's go. Ice cream still waits for queens like us."

Dhwani nodded weakly, and the two of them made their way down.

But behind them-unseen-Dharsh stood in the shadows of the corridor, his eyes locked on Dhwani's retreating figure.

He hadn't meant to lose control like that.

But seeing her in his room, touching his things-it had sent a bolt of something dark through him. Not anger. Not really.

Possession.

Her scent was still lingering.

Vanilla and chocolate. Soft and sinful. Sweet and dangerous.

His jaw clenched.

It wasn't love.

It was obsession.

A sick need to tame her, to own her.

And worst of all?

He wasn't planning to fight it.

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