Dharsh's POV

The hospital had never felt so suffocating. Not even when he'd been rushed in years ago after the accident that nearly ended everything. Not even when his mother had collapsed and he had waited, helpless, outside the ICU.

No. Nothing compared to this kind of suffocation.

Because Dhwani Singhania was ignoring him.

And Dharsh Malhotra had never been ignored in his life.

Every morning, she walked past him without so much as a flicker of acknowledgment. Every time he lingered near the ER, hoping for a glance, a word-something-she breezed by like he was part of the furniture.

She had shut him out.

Completely.

And it was driving him insane.

He wasn't sleeping. Not well, anyway. Not since that night. The night when she pushed him away. The night when she slapped him-and something inside him didn't retreat... it burned. Craved more.

Her disgust hadn't diminished his obsession.

It had fueled it.

He wanted her eyes on him again, even if it meant hatred.

But this silence? This cold, surgical avoidance? This felt like death.

She was speaking to others, smiling at interns, managing patients like nothing had ever happened.

Was that kiss-their kiss-so forgettable?

No.

He had tasted her. Felt her tremble. He knew she felt it too, no matter how fiercely she was trying to erase it now.

And yet... she erased him like he was just a stain she scrubbed off in the shower.

He'd imagined that. Her scrubbing herself raw, trying to remove the trace of him.

He'd imagined it far too often.

Dharsh leaned against his car outside the hospital parking lot, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

His phone buzzed.

Dad.

He stared at the screen before answering.

"Yeah?"

Vikrant Malhotra's voice was sharp and to the point. "You're flying to London. Tomorrow morning. I've already arranged the jet."

Dharsh blinked. "What? Why?"

"Something's gone wrong with the Dubai investors. They're threatening to pull out unless you're there to renegotiate."

"I can't leave right now," he said before thinking.

"You will. You've already been too distracted, Dharsh. I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but it ends now."

Dharsh clenched his jaw. His father never yelled, but his calm disappointment hit harder.

"You're sounding like I've failed a board meeting," he muttered.

"You're acting like a man who's lost control," Vikrant said flatly. "And you never lose control, son. Not until her."

Dharsh said nothing.

"She's costing you focus. Time. Even your temper. I know that look in your eyes. I've had it. It's dangerous."

That made Dharsh's blood run cold.

His father had never spoken like that before. As if he recognized something of himself in his son's obsession.

Dharsh didn't respond. He hung up.

He stared at the darkening sky for a long moment, then walked back inside.

He needed to see her.

One more time before he left.

_________

Vikrant Malhotra's Study

Vikrant sat in his leather chair, swirling a glass of scotch slowly, eyes narrowed as he stared at the CCTV footage on his laptop.

Dharsh at the hospital. Dharsh watching her. Always her.

He didn't like what he saw.

Not because of Dhwani.

But because of Dharsh.

His son had the same look Vikrant once had.

And he knew what came next.

The line between obsession and love was paper-thin.

And paper burns fast.

____

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting harsh glows across the empty corridor. Dhwani moved swiftly, her sneakers squeaking slightly against the floor as she finished her shift. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, and her coat was unbuttoned in exhaustion.

Then she stopped.

He was there - leaning casually against her car.

Dharsh.

Sharp-cut suit, sleeves rolled up, a faint shadow on his jaw. As if he hadn't slept either. But his stance screamed control, composure. Like he'd planned this moment.

Dhwani's jaw tightened. "Move."

Dharsh lifted his eyes slowly, arms still crossed. "I told your dad I'd make sure you got to your car safely. It's late."

"I didn't ask for your concern."

"No, you didn't. But I do what I want, not what you ask."

She clenched her fists. "I don't want you anywhere near me."

He straightened slowly, walking toward her with quiet, deliberate steps. She didn't move back, but her body screamed to retreat.

"You've been avoiding me," he said bluntly. "Thinking if you bury your head in patients and paperwork, I'll disappear."

"I don't need to 'think.' You disgust me."

He tilted his head, smirking. "Liar. You're disgusted with yourself for wanting something that feels wrong."

Her breath hitched.

And he saw it.

She shoved him hard. "I don't want you."

"You will."

Her eyes flared.

He stepped closer, voice low and dangerous. "I'll deal with you later, little vixen."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned sharply and walked toward his car, the cold night wind catching the edge of his coat.

Dhwani stood there, burning with rage and confusion. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to forget him - but his scent, his words, his control - they clung to her like a shadow she couldn't shake.

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