The echo of music and laughter still lingered in the corridors as Darsh climbed the stairs, loosening his collar, his mind no longer on the party. Diya had kept the guests entertained. Her smile never faltered, even when she had whispered, "She's in your room. Please... just don't let her get caught like that."

Dhwani.

He pushed open the door to his bedroom with slow precision. And stopped.

There she was.

Sprawled across his bed, as if she belonged there.

Her saree was undone at the pleats, slipping low on her waist, the pallu half off her shoulder. The blouse clung like a second skin, the curves of her body now more of a whisper than a secret. One of her legs was bent, exposing too much, and her hair tumbled like ink over his pillow.

She was a mess of chaos and sin.

And she was fast asleep.

Drunk, soft, completely unaware of the storm she'd invited by just existing like this-in his bed, in his space.

Darsh's throat tightened.

He should leave. Should call Diya. Should pull the blanket over her and go sleep somewhere else.

But he didn't.

Instead, he walked in, shutting the door behind him.

His footsteps were quiet, measured, but his pulse was not. It thundered in his ears, fed by the sharp contrast of her hate and her helplessness. She hated him. Burned with it. And yet-she was here. Like this. In his world. In his bed.

He sat at the edge, just near her knees.

Watching.

Her skin shimmered under the low light-her waist exposed, the smooth slope of her hip teasing the edge of his sanity. She sighed in her sleep, lips parting slightly, hair sticking to her cheek.

He leaned closer. Not to touch. Just to breathe her in.

Vanilla.

And something soft, something entirely her.

He shut his eyes. Dark thoughts clawed their way up-possessive, wild, brutal in their hunger.

She wasn't his. Not yet.

But someday, she would be.

Even if it meant burning the whole world to claim her.

He just stood there, jaw clenched, watching the rise and fall of her chest. The way her bare waist peeked through disheveled fabric, careless and exposed. Like temptation draped in innocence.

His hands itched.

"What are you doing to me, my little vixen..." he whispered under his breath.

She stirred slightly-murmuring something incoherent in her sleep.

Darsh's control frayed at the edges.

He sat down slowly beside her. The mattress dipped, but she didn't wake. His gaze scanned the curve of her hip, the slight arch in her back, the vulnerable softness of her.

Every damn inch of her screamed weakness. Trust. Helplessness.

And that made him burn.

Not just with desire-but with something far more dangerous.

Possession.

Obsession.

He reached out-barely letting his fingers graze the silk near her shoulder. Not her skin. Not yet. Just the fabric. Just to remind himself he still had some kind of restraint left.

"I should send you home," he said quietly, voice rough. "Should do a lot of things... but none of them include letting you out of this room."

His thumb hovered above the hollow of her throat, close but not touching. His control was a thread-frayed, knotted, about to snap.

"I want to ruin you."

The confession left his mouth like a vow, low and bitter.

"You make me insane."

She murmured again-then turned slightly, arm brushing his thigh by accident.

Darsh shot to his feet.

Because another second, and he would've crossed a line he couldn't uncross.

He ran a hand down his face, jaw tense, storm swirling in his eyes.

He looked at her again-sprawled, soft, trusting in the most dangerous place she could ever be.

His fingers itched to trace those curves, to feel her skin beneath his touch, to make her tremble beneath him. But tonight, he held back-only just. The hunger simmered under his control, twisting tighter with every breath.

Watching her sleep, he thought, The more you fight me, the more I want you. The more you push me away, the closer I'll pull you in. You don't even know, darlin', how deep this obsession runs.

He leaned closer, voice barely a whisper against the silence. "You're mine-whether you want it or not."

"Sleep" he muttered with a bitter smile. "Dream of anything but me."

And with that, Darsh stayed there, in the dark, watching the woman who haunted his every waking thought.

____