DHWANI

The scent of toasted bread and cardamom chai drifted through the open bedroom door before the sun had fully risen. Dhwani stirred under the soft quilt, blinking against the pale light leaking through the curtains. For a brief moment, there was peace-fragile, almost convincing.

She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest, her mind replaying fragments of last night.

Darsh.

The wall.

His breath against her skin.

His voice in her ear.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Stop it," she muttered, dragging herself out of bed.

The kitchen was warm. Safe. Her mother stood by the stove, pouring tea into two clay cups, humming a familiar old tune. The kind that used to calm Dhwani as a child after a nightmare. Today, it wasn't working.

"Good morning, beta," her mom greeted with a smile, placing a plate of parathas on the table. "Sit. Eat. You didn't come home happy yesterday."

Dhwani managed a soft smile. "Just tired. ER is... draining."

Her mother didn't push, just handed her a cup and gently ran her hand over Dhwani's hair. "You've always been strong. But even strong girls need rest."

"I'm okay, Ma," she lied, taking a bite.

Her mother didn't believe her-but she let it be.

When Dhwani left for the hospital an hour later, the sun had risen fully, the streets buzzed with life, and for a few seconds, she convinced herself that the world was ordinary again.

Until she stepped into the hospital-and saw his name on the private shift schedule.

DARSH

He wasn't supposed to be here.

CEOs didn't show up for graveyard shifts. They didn't lurk in corridors or loiter near supply rooms. But Darsh was here. He'd been here since 9 PM. Just watching.

Waiting.

She tried to avoid him the moment she walked in-he could tell. Her shoulders tensed, her jaw set, and she made the conscious choice not to meet his gaze at the nurse station.

He smirked.

Coward.

But even when she avoided his eyes, he watched her-closely. The way her coat clung to her waist. The tendons in her neck when she faked a smile at her colleagues. The twitch of her lips every time someone mentioned his name.

She hated him.

It thrilled him.

He didn't want her to run anymore.

Tonight, he would make her stay.

DHWANI

The first half of the shift passed quietly. A few minor emergencies. Some stitches. A broken wrist. Routine. She didn't see him-but she felt him.

He was somewhere near. Always.

When she turned a corner, he'd just left. When she entered a room, he had just exited. His shadow moved ahead of her like smoke-taunting, teasing.

And then it happened.

The supply closet door clicked shut behind her.

A whisper of air.

And a presence.

She turned sharply.

Darsh.

Close.

Too close.

"You need to stop following me," she snapped, backing into the shelves.

He didn't speak. Not at first. Just stepped closer. His gaze moved over her like silk laced with knives-cutting, lingering.

"Not following," he murmured. "Waiting."

"For what?" she snapped.

His lips curved slowly. "For the moment you stop pretending."

She tried to push past him, but he stepped into her space, backing her against the door. One hand braced beside her head. The other casually slid down the edge of her coat, brushing her waist.

"You're insane."

"Maybe," he said, voice low, amused. "But you're here. With me. Again."

DARSH

He could smell her.

Vanilla again. This time tinged with lemon. Fresh. Innocent. Dangerous.

He wanted her.

Not just to touch. To own. To ruin.

The way she flinched when he got too close. The fire in her eyes every time she pushed him. That fire... it called to something savage in him. Something he'd locked up for too long.

He wanted to press her against the wall and make her scream.

He wanted to hear her whisper his name when no one else could.

He wanted to taste the edge of her fury and twist it into something darker.

His fingers grazed her hip. She froze.

Her breath came faster now.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.

"And yet..." His lips brushed her hair. "You didn't scream."

She shoved him back with all her strength. "Because I don't want pity. I don't want to be the victim in your twisted fantasy."

He paused. Then stepped back, just enough to let her breathe.

"I don't pity you," he said, voice dark. "I crave you. That's worse."

She stared at him, heart pounding.

"I will never want you," she spat.

He smiled.

"You already do," he said. "You just hate yourself for it."

Then, without warning, he left.

No threats.

No touches.

Just that smug, dangerous smile lingering in the air.

DHWANI

She stood there for a long moment after the door shut, the world pressing down on her.

She hated him.

She hated what he made her feel.

But more than that... she hated that part of her wanted him to do it again.

And that was the most dangerous part of all.

---

DARSH

1:07 A.M.

The hospital had settled into a fragile silence-the kind that only lived in the dead of night. The kind that made every footstep echo, every breath feel louder than it should. Darsh hadn't moved from his office. Not for hours. His light was off, the blinds cracked open just enough for him to see her.

Dhwani.

Still working. Still refusing to acknowledge the heat that burned between them.

But now... now she was slumped over the desk in her tiny cabin.

Sleeping.

Or trying to.

Darsh's jaw tightened.

So vulnerable. So unaware. So beautifully unguarded.

He rose without a sound. His coat remained on the chair. His steps were deliberate, slow. Quiet as death.

Her door was slightly ajar.

He pushed it open.

Soft light from the hallway spilled across her face.

Her lips parted slightly. One hand curled under her cheek. The other lay limp across her lap. A few strands of her dark hair had fallen into her face.

She looked so... untouched.

So dangerously his.

He didn't enter. Not yet.

He just stood there, leaning one shoulder against the frame, drinking her in like a starving man denied his only meal. His gaze traced every curve, every dip, every fold of fabric clinging to her body.

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

He could walk in.

He could close the door behind him.

He could touch her.

Take what he wanted.

She wouldn't even know-until it was too late.

But he didn't.

Not yet.

Because what burned inside him wasn't just lust-it was control. Obsession. The need to own her in every way. Not just body. Mind. Will.

He wanted her awake. Wanted her trembling. Wanted her begging not to want him-and wanting him anyway.

His eyes locked onto the way her thighs pressed together under the fabric of her scrub pants. His thoughts went dark. Dangerous. Sinful.

She stirred.

Just a twitch. A shift of her fingers.

He didn't move. Barely breathed.

Her lips murmured something in sleep.

A name.

Not his.

His fists clenched at his sides.

No. She didn't get to dream of someone else.

He stepped into the room, finally, quietly, each step muffled by the hum of the AC unit.

Her breathing changed. Slower. Shallow.

She was still asleep.

But not for long.

He leaned down. Inches from her face.

His voice was a whisper. A ghost.

"You really shouldn't fall asleep alone, baby."

He whispered it like a confession, but his voice carried the weight of sin.

She didn't stir this time.

He let his fingers hover-just above her cheek. Not touching. But almost. His knuckles clenched with restraint. The way her lashes fluttered in sleep. The rise and fall of her chest. The vulnerable curve of her neck.

She didn't know what she did to him.

Didn't understand how badly he burned.

And she hated him. Loathed him. That only made it worse. More addictive.

Because he saw through her.

Saw how she trembled when he got too close.

Saw the fury hiding a storm of confusion. Want. Rage. Heat.

He leaned in just a little more. His nose almost touched her temple. The faintest scent of her shampoo-vanilla and something floral-drove him mad.

His hands slid into his pockets, a silent scream of control. Because if they were free-he'd touch her. He'd tilt her head and make her see. Make her feel every bit of the chaos she left in him.

His voice, again, soft against the quiet:

"You think you hate me, Dhwani," he murmured, lower this time. "But you don't even know what hate is... not yet."

She shifted-slowly. Her head moved, her brows twitched. A soft exhale pushed through her lips.

His eyes snapped to her face. Watching.

Her lips parted again.

A moan? A name? He couldn't tell.

His gaze dropped-locked on her mouth.

He had kissed so many. Tasted power, pleasure, sin-but he hadn't touched her. Not yet.

And that not yet had started to feel like a threat.

He took one step back. Barely.

His pulse was brutal in his throat.

He wanted to wake her.

Wanted her to see him there, in the dark, standing over her.

To hear her whisper "monster" in a voice just shy of a whimper.

To see her flinch-while her breath betrayed her with need.

But tonight wasn't for taking.

Tonight was for watching.

For wanting.

For letting the hunger rot him from the inside.

He turned just as her fingers twitched again.

Walked out.

Closed the door behind him without a sound.

But in his mind-he never left.

Because Darsh wasn't just obsessed.

He was losing control.

---