Dhwani barely looked up from the files spread across her bed when her phone buzzed again-three times in a row. She sighed, snatched it up, and saw Diya's name lighting up the screen.

She hesitated. Diya wasn't the problem. She never had been. In fact, there had been a time they'd shared endless late-night conversations and secret jokes about Diya's "overbearing brother." But things were different now. Everything was different. Especially when her brother was Darsh Malhotra.

Still, guilt tugged at her as she swiped to answer. "Hey, Diya."

"Dhwani!" Diya's voice was a rush of warm excitement. "I've been trying you all day. Don't say you're ignoring me."

Dhwani exhaled. "I'm just... busy."

"Well, then this will be the perfect break for you," Diya declared. "I'm having my birthday party this Friday. Nothing too dramatic-just a little evening garden thing, close friends, family... and I want you there. Please say yes. It's been forever."

Dhwani froze. Her instinct said no. Hell no. But Diya's voice was so hopeful. And declining would only bring more attention. Besides, her parents liked the Malhotras-they wouldn't understand a refusal.

"I'll come," she said quietly.

"Yay! Come in something gorgeous. I want you to feel like a goddess."

But even as Diya cheered on the other end, Dhwani felt her stomach sink.

---

The night came too fast.

The Malhotra estate was dressed in candlelight and strings of soft golden fairy lights that twinkled through the trees. A live string quartet played at one corner of the garden, and waiters in black moved around with silver trays. Laughter floated through the crisp air like perfume.

Dhwani stepped out of the car in a navy-blue saree that hugged her curves too well for her comfort. Her mother had insisted she dress up-"it's a high-society party, Dhwani"-but now she felt like every eye was on her.

Including his.

She didn't have to look to know Darsh was there. Somewhere.

Diya appeared in a champagne gown, rushing over to greet her. "You came!" she beamed, pulling Dhwani into a hug. "You look... stunning. Like seriously."

Dhwani smiled politely. "Happy birthday, Diya."

"I missed you," Diya added softly, then looked over Dhwani's shoulder. "Come on. Let's get you a drink."

They moved deeper into the garden, weaving through clusters of guests. But Dhwani felt it then-a stare. Not casual. Not curious. Predatory.

She turned her head slightly-and there he was.

Darsh Malhotra.

Standing near the bar, dressed in a black-on-black suit. A slow sip of whiskey in his hand. His gaze locked on her, heavy and dark. Unflinching. Not a single expression on his face, and yet it screamed one thing:

Mine.

Dhwani looked away sharply, her throat tightening.

She hated this.

She hated him.

But her skin prickled anyway.

---

Dhwani barely sipped at the drink in her hand. Diya had dragged her to the bar corner with an excited grin, gushing about how much she missed her and how they hadn't had a proper girls' evening in ages.

"Come on, one drink," Diya coaxed. "It's just a cocktail. You'll be fine."

Dhwani frowned. "I don't usually-"

"It's light! Barely anything in it."

Trusting Diya, she took a sip. Then another. It was sweet, fizzy, and smooth. Deceptive.

The music felt louder. The lights dimmed. Her head swam before she even realized.

---

Thirty minutes later, Diya cursed under her breath as she half-carried a now giggly, slurring Dhwani across the corridor upstairs. "Oh my god, Dhwani, you're such a lightweight."

Dhwani stumbled, mumbling something unintelligible, then giggled and leaned on Diya again. "Shh... too noisy... want sleep..."

"No, you can't sleep here. Not in the hallway. My mom will have a heart attack," Diya hissed, panic rising. She checked her phone-more guests were arriving downstairs. Her parents would be asking for her soon.

Then she did the only thing she could think of.

She called Darsh.

---

Darsh opened his room door with a cold stare. "What?"

Diya pushed Dhwani toward him. "She's drunk. I didn't mean to-I just thought it was one cocktail. I need to go back downstairs. You take care of her. Please."

He stiffened.

Then his eyes dropped to the girl barely holding herself up, leaning on the wall, her earrings crooked, her saree slightly disheveled.

Dhwani looked up at him through glazed eyes. "Don't... touch me," she slurred.

Darsh's jaw clenched. "Are you serious, Diya?"

"She'll be fine. Just let her lie down. Lock the door. Make sure no one comes in. I owe you. Bye."

And then Diya vanished before he could argue.

---

The door clicked shut behind him.

Dhwani was inside his room now. Alone with him.

She stumbled toward the bed, flopping down onto the edge, half-laughing, half-mumbling. "This... this is soft. Mmm... comfy."

Darsh watched her.

Watched the way the blouse had shifted slightly, showing just a bit too much skin. The way her breath came unsteady. The way her legs crossed unconsciously, as if she had no idea how dangerously beautiful she looked when she wasn't trying.

She was in his room. In his space. Her scent was already curling around him like poison.

His fists curled at his sides.

He shouldn't.

But he couldn't look away.

He moved closer, quietly. Predatory. His voice low. "You should've stayed away, Dhwani."

She blinked up at him. "I hate you," she whispered.

"I know," he replied.

And yet he sat beside her.

Every second a temptation. Every breath he took laced with control that cracked more and more with every innocent blink of hers.

She leaned toward him suddenly, her forehead brushing his shoulder. "I hate you," she said again, softer now.

Darsh didn't move.

But inside, something twisted.

Dark.

Possessive.

Dangerous.

The music outside thumped faintly like a dying heartbeat. Inside, the silence was thick - broken only by Dhwani's soft, uneven breathing.

Darsh stood near the door, jaw tight, as he stared at the girl on his bed.

Correction.

The woman.

Her saree clung to her like second skin, damp at the hem from spilled champagne, the folds twisted and half-undone from when she'd collapsed onto the mattress. Her blouse had slipped off one shoulder, exposing too much skin. Her waist-bare, smooth, temptingly exposed-rose and fell as she muttered something incoherent in her sleep.

Darsh didn't move.

He just watched.

Like a storm waiting to break.

His fingers flexed at his sides. He had only meant to get her a blanket. Nothing more. Nothing dangerous.

But now?

Now she was lying there like a dare. A wicked, infuriating temptation sent to shred his last thread of restraint.

"Fk,"** he muttered under his breath, stepping closer.

She shifted.

A soft moan escaped her lips-painful, confused, vulnerable.

He paused.

His control was fraying. Every inch of his body screamed to reach out. To touch. To run his palm down that exposed curve of her side. To taste that warm skin just above her hip.

"Hate me, don't you?" he whispered, eyes never leaving her form. "Even drunk, I bet you'd scratch my face off if you knew I was here."

But she didn't stir. Just curled further into the bed, her lips trembling as if caught in some nightmare.

That broke him a little.

His obsession wasn't soft. It wasn't romantic.

It was raw.

Possessive.

He wanted to own her hatred. Her rage. Her fear. Every emotion she threw at him only pulled him deeper. Like barbed wire around his throat-tight, bloody, addictive.

He sat beside her. Not touching. Not yet.

Just watching.

Her breath hitched in her sleep.

He leaned in. Close enough to feel her exhale brush against his jaw.

"You smell like fire wrapped in sugar," he murmured. "Sweet enough to ruin. Wild enough to burn me alive."

And still, he didn't touch.

Because when he touched her-he wouldn't stop.

And this wasn't the night to break her.

Not yet.

He stood, tossed the blanket gently over her form, careful not to wake her.

Then walked out. To balcony

With clenched fists, a haunted expression, and a hunger that refused to die.

She shifted on the bed, a soft groan escaping her lips. Her saree had ridden up her thigh, strands of hair stuck to her forehead, and her eyes fluttered open in a haze. Confused. Blurry.

She get up "Shhh," Dhwani hissed dramatically, her finger pressed to her lips as she stumbled into the room, guided by Darsh's firm hand at her back. "You're so loud... and shiny."

Darsh's jaw ticked. "You're drunk."

"Noooo," she slurred, plopping onto the edge of his bed, her saree slipping scandalously low across one shoulder. "I'm just... floaty."

She blinked up at him, grinning like a fool. "You have two heads."

He crouched in front of her, eyes roaming over her flushed face, the bared skin of her waist where the saree had ridden up, the way the silk clung to her thighs. God, she was unraveling right in front of him - and it was driving him mad.

"Dhwani," he said tightly. "Why didn't you tell anyone you can't handle alcohol?"

She giggled, waving a hand. "I did! I told Diya. But she looked so happy, so I drank it. One. Only one!" She held up three fingers. "Maybe two."

He almost smiled.

Almost.

But then her blouse strap slipped slightly, and that smile died in his throat.

His gaze darkened. She was glowing - flushed and soft and loose-limbed. Her hair a mess, eyes heavy-lidded, innocence slipping into something dangerous without her even knowing it.

She looked like sin, wrapped in silk and vulnerability.

And she was in his room.

"I should take you back to your parents," he muttered.

Dhwani leaned closer suddenly, her fingers brushing his chest. "You always talk like that. So serious. Why don't you smile more, Mr. Bossy Malhotra?"

His breath hitched.

She didn't know what she was doing. But he did.

Every smile she gave, every tease, every innocent brush of her fingers was gasoline to the fire already raging inside him. His obsession, his hunger - it was clawing up, demanding he claim her.

"You need to sleep," he ground out, standing before he lost control.

She pouted, blinking lazily. "You're boring."

"Dhwani." He snapped her name like a prayer about to be broken. "If you keep looking at me like that..."

"Like what?" she whispered.

"Like you want me to touch you."

She blinked. Then giggled, hiccupping as she fell back on the bed, her saree shifting again - dangerously high over her thigh now. "You're so dramatic."

He turned away, fists clenched.

Because if he didn't - if he even glanced one more time at the curve of her waist or the exposed skin peeking beneath the saree - he wouldn't stop.

His voice was rough, low. "Sleep. Now."

Behind him, she was already mumbling nonsense into the pillows, oblivious to the fire she'd ignited.

And Darsh? He stood there in the dark, breathing hard.

Obsession had a name now.

And it was Dhwani Singhania.

Dhwani staggered backward, her laughter echoing down the hallway. "You're... you're walking like a villain, Darsh," she slurred, pointing at him dramatically as she stumbled into the wrong room.

His room.

Darsh shut the door behind them with a soft click. His jaw clenched.

She didn't even notice. She was spinning around, arms out like she was balancing on air. Her silk saree had slipped low on her waist, clinging in all the wrong places, the pleats barely holding on. Her blouse was far too snug, every inch of exposed skin an unbearable temptation.

"You're drunk," he said, voice dark.

She pointed a finger at him. "You're obsessed."

He stilled.

She giggled. "Caught you, Mr. CEO. I can see it in your creepy villain face."

"You should sit down," he growled, trying to ignore the fire building under his skin. "Before you fall."

She skipped backward toward the bed. "Why? Are you scared I'll break something?" she teased, then collapsed dramatically on his mattress, laughing into the pillow. "Oh nooo, Darsh Malhotra's bed... scandalous."

Darsh's nostrils flared.

Her saree had shifted even more. Her toned waist gleamed under the room's low light, the pallu nearly off her shoulder. Her hair was a wild mess of curls, her cheeks flushed, lips parted - completely unaware of the chaos she was causing inside him.

"Get up," he said tightly, taking a slow step forward.

"Nooo," she sang, curling up like a cat.

"Dhwani."

Her eyes snapped open, mischief and heat warring in her gaze. "What, Malhotra?" she mocked. "You gonna pin me again? Slam my wrists to a wall? Growl a little?"

His jaw flexed. That memory had lived rent-free in his head for weeks.

She giggled again. "You want to. I know you do. It's in your eyes. You're like a-what's that thing? Tiger? Wolf?" She gasped. "A werewolf!"

He moved.

She squeaked and scrambled off the bed, laughing as she bolted to the other end of the room, barefoot, clumsy, her pallu trailing behind her.

"Come here," he snapped.

"No!" she yelled, hiding behind a chair.

"You're testing me."

"And you're losing!" she taunted.

His patience snapped. He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed her waist, and hauled her up like she weighed nothing.

"DARSH!"

Over his shoulder she went, squirming, laughing, hitting his back with her fists. "Put me down! You brute! You cave man!"

He did.

Onto the bed.

She bounced, flailed-and her saree loosened completely. Her blouse rode high on her ribs, her midriff bare, hair tangled across the sheets. She looked up at him-lips parted, eyes wide, still dazed with laughter.

Then she froze.

Because Darsh wasn't smiling.

His chest heaved. His hands fisted at his sides. And his eyes-God, those eyes-they devoured her.

"This is torture," he said, voice low and ragged. "You... are torture."

She blinked. "Why?"

"You walk in here like chaos in silk. You say things you don't mean. You laugh like you don't know what you're doing to me."

"I don't," she whispered, suddenly breathless.

He leaned closer. Not touching. Not yet.

"You make me insane, Dhwani Singhania."

She swallowed.

And for the first time, a quiet tension fell between them. No laughter. No insults. Just heat and restraint and want.

"Then why aren't you doing anything about it?" she whispered drunkenly.

His breath hitched.

And then, just before the world tipped too far-

He stepped back.

"You're drunk," he said tightly. "And I'm not touching you like this."

Her brows furrowed. "Coward."

He exhaled sharply. "If I start, Dhwani... I won't stop."

She stared.

And for the first time, her laugh didn't come.

He left her there - sprawled, breathless, still reeling - his obsession threatening to consume them both.

---