The office exuded power, its air crisp with subtle notes of leather and coffee. I sat on the plush leather couch, my fingers absently tracing the metal studs along its arm, while Bhaiya occupied his high-backed chair behind the sleek glass desk. The evening sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the charcoal gray carpet where my younger brother Veer sat cross-legged, looking absurdly out of place in his perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit.

"Veer, can you please sit on the couch like a human?" I snapped, my patience wearing thin as he flashed that signature mischievous grin of his. The same grin that had gotten him out of trouble countless times , yet now only served to fuel my irritation.

"I'm human only, you can ask Google cause I have chosen bridges in puzzles and Google itself declared me as human," he retorted with childish logic that seemed jarringly incongruous with who he was. This was the same man who handled our family's more delicate business matters with ruthless efficiency, whose calculated decisions often left me in awe. Yet here he sat, on the floor like a schoolboy, his expensive suit getting wrinkled.

"You are irritating," I muttered, rubbing my temples where a headache was beginning to form.

"I'm not irritating bhai, after eating those bitter pills you have become grumpy," he observed, his playful tone carrying an undercurrent of genuine concern. My jaw clenched at the mention of the pills - a constant reminder of my vulnerability. My wife's worried face flashed before my eyes, the way she meticulously ensured I never missed a dose. This morning, she had slipped one into my blazer pocket, her delicate fingers lingering there as she promised to remind me. The memory of her concern only intensified my anger toward the person who put me in this position.

Bhaiya leaned forward in his chair, the leather creaking softly. His eyes, sharp and observant like always, studied my face. "Manyu, tell us what happened?" he prompted gently, his voice carrying calmness.

I nodded, gathering my thoughts as my fingers unconsciously traced the scar hidden beneath my shirt. "Well, I was in the hotel," I began, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. "The Peninsula, to be precise, where I was expecting the state fund files." The memory of that moment crystallized in my mind - the soft hum of the air conditioning, the faint scent of coffee from my untouched cup, the manila envelope that would change everything.

"But what I found instead was that file you saw earlier." My voice caught slightly. "I kept thinking there must be another Abhimanyu, but the Chauhans... that name hadn't crossed our paths in years." The tension in the room thickened as I continued, "The last page promised the whole truth, dangling like bait I knew I shouldn't take."

I paused, noticing how Veer had abandoned his playful demeanor, his eyes now serious and alert. "I was furious, confused... my judgment clouded by questions that had haunted our family for years. I followed the address to that warehouse in the old industrial district."

The memory of that encounter made my fists clench involuntarily. "The place was shrouded in darkness, save for a single figure - Sanjeet Chauhan, standing there like he'd been waiting decades for this moment. He had aged, but I didn't recognized him instantly - he had Papa's build, that same commanding presence, but there was something... poisonous about him."

I felt Bhaiya's steady hand on my shoulder, grounding me. His silent gesture spoke volumes - a reminder that I wasn't the naive young man who had walked into that trap. When I looked up at him, his slight head shake carried years of wisdom and protection. No, I wasn't weak anymore, but the weight of that encounter, those crocodile tears in Sanjeet's eyes as he spun his web of half-truths about Papa, still haunted me.

"He was the epitome of manipulation," I continued, my voice tightening with suppressed anger. "The kind of man who could sell poison wrapped in honey. His crocodile tears seemed rehearsed, like he'd practiced them in front of a mirror, waiting for this moment." I felt Bhaiya's reassuring hand on my shoulder, his touch carrying years of protective brotherhood. When I met his eyes, his subtle head shake spoke volumes - a reminder that I wasn't that vulnerable man anymore.

My voice cracked slightly as I continued, raw emotion seeping through. "But I was so afraid, Bhaiya. Every word he spoke felt like a knife twisting deeper. I found myself praying, actually praying, that none of it was true." The confession hung heavy in the air, laying bare the fears I'd carried since that day.

Veer, displaying one of those rare moments of emotional intelligence that always caught me off guard, slid across the carpet until he was sitting by my feet. The expensive fabric of his suit rustled against the carpet as he looked up at me with those earnest eyes of his. "It's ok bhai," he said softly, all traces of his earlier playfulness gone. "We are your brothers. We are family. Papa, Mummy, us, and now our wives and Buddy as well." The simple truth in his words made me smile despite myself.

Bhaiya leaned forward, his expression serious. "But how did you get shot?" The question brought back a flash of that night - sharp and crystal clear in my memory.

"It happened so fast," I replied, unconsciously touching the spot where the bullet had entered. "I was walking out of the warehouse, my mind still reeling from everything Sanjeet had said. Then came the shot - sudden, like a crack of lightning." I closed my eyes, remembering. "I turned back, but there was nothing but shadows. Then Rishi appeared, saw the blood..." I trailed off, the memory of his panicked face still vivid. "The rest you know. It wasn't until Papa confirmed it that I knew who was behind the trigger."

My eyes suddenly narrowed as I remembered something else, focusing on Veer who was trying his best to look innocent - and failing miserably. "And you - why did you try to threaten my assistant?" I demanded. Beside me, Bhaiya's annoyed exhale told me this was news to him too.

Veer gulped, looking like a schoolboy caught passing notes in class despite his expensive suit and our family's reputation. "I was just trying to find the truth," he defended, flashing that disarming smile that had gotten him out of trouble since childhood.

Bhaiya shook his head, a mix of exasperation and fondness in his voice. "You are still childish." I nodded in agreement, watching Veer's face morph into an exaggerated pout that seemed completely at odds with the gravity of our conversation.

But then Veer's expression shifted, a glint of something darker, more serious appearing in his eyes. "You know what I found about Sanjeet Chauhan?" he asked, his tone making my irritation fade into curiosity. Even Bhaiya straightened in his chair.

"What, Veer?" Bhaiya asked, as our younger brother's lips curved into that knowing smirk that usually preceded either brilliance or chaos. The setting sun cast long shadows across his face, adding an almost theatrical drama to the moment as we waited for him to continue.

The tension in the room shifted, the earlier familial warmth giving way to something more dangerous. Despite my annoyance with that smirk of his, I found myself leaning forward, drawn in by the promise of answers about the man who had turned our world upside down.

"What, Veer?" Bhaiya asked, as our youngest brother's smirk grew wider, his eyes dancing with the satisfaction of someone holding a winning card.

"His political party name was Rastriya Ekta Party," Veer announced with theatrical flourish, letting the words hang in the air like smoke.

The revelation hit me like a physical blow. My mind reeled as the pieces clicked into place - I wasn't just any party leader, I was heading the very party that once belonged to Sanjeet Chauhan. The irony of it all left a bitter taste in my mouth.

"It's your party," Bhaiya said, his deep laugh filling the office. The sound carried a hint of satisfaction, perhaps even justice. Everything crystallized in that moment - Papa hadn't just defeated the Chauhans, he'd systematically dismantled their empire, piece by piece, until even their political legacy had ended up in our hands. In my hands.

Veer, ever the opportunist, seized the moment with characteristic enthusiasm. "Bhai, let's visit one of the bars of Chauhan's," he paused, correcting himself with a playful grin, "I mean, yours." The suggestion hung in the air, tempting and dangerous all at once. I found myself nodding - why not indeed? Sometimes victory deserved a toast.

"I'm not going," Bhaiya declared, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "My wife will get angry." His words carried the weight of a man who had learned his lessons about domestic harmony the hard way. The mention of wives sent my thoughts spinning to Drishti - my beautiful, caring Drishti who had never seen me lose control. The realization struck me that in all our time together, she'd never witnessed me drunk. The thought both intrigued and unsettled me.

"I too," Veer chimed in quickly, then added with that characteristic gleam in his eye, "But at least we can visit." The compromise seemed reasonable enough, and both Bhaiya and I found ourselves nodding in agreement.

"Okay, come on, let's go," I said, pushing myself up from the couch. Veer, still seated cross-legged on the floor, extended his hand upward like a child asking for help. Despite my earlier irritation, I couldn't help but smile at his antics. With an exaggerated sigh that barely masked my amusement, I reached down and pulled him up. He bounced to his feet with the grace of a cat, his expensive suit somehow still immaculate despite his floor-sitting adventures.

"Grow up, both of you," Bhaiya called after us as he headed for the door, his tone carrying that familiar mix of exasperation and affection that only elder brothers can master. We followed him out, Veer practically bouncing on his feet while I walked with measured steps, my mind already racing ahead to what we might discover at the bar that was now, surprisingly, mine.

The evening light painted long shadows in the corridor as we walked out, three brothers bound by blood, secrets, and now, a legacy that had come to us through the twisted paths of fate and our father's calculated moves. The weight of this new revelation sat heavy on my shoulders, yet somehow, with my brothers flanking me, it felt manageable. Tonight would be about reconnaissance, about understanding just what exactly I had inherited from the man who had tried to destroy everything I believed in.

The silence in the room was a living, breathing entity, punctuated only by the soft rhythm of my anxious breathing. Moonlight spilled through the balcony, casting silvery tendrils across the floor, a stark contrast to the turbulent emotions churning inside me. My fingers, restless and trembling, absently clutched the edge of my saree's pallu - a delicate silk border now twisted and bunched between my nervous fingers.

Manyu's earlier outburst echoed in my mind like a haunting melody. The phone lay discarded on the table, its cold surface a silent witness to our fragmented conversation. His voice - distant, disconnected - had sent shivers down my spine. Just moments ago, I had attempted to remind him about his medication, but his distracted hum felt like a whisper from another world.

The memories of Sanjeet Chauhan flickered in my consciousness. My father, with his intricate web of connections to every shadowy corner of our country's criminal landscape, had spoken of him before. Those conversations now seemed like cryptic warnings, pieces of a puzzle I was struggling to comprehend.But if Sanjeet Chauhan was unwanted then how he was meeting my father?

The room felt simultaneously expansive and suffocating. I had turned off the air conditioning, yet a profound chill permeated the space - a cold that seemed to originate from within, not from the temperature. My eyes remained fixed on the balcony, where the moon hung like a pale, watchful guardian, its luminescence both comforting and unsettling.

"I just want Manyu here," I murmured to myself, the words dissolving into the charged atmosphere. "Otherwise, I'll lose my mind."

A sudden click - sharp, metallic - shattered the stillness. My body knew before my mind could process. No confirmation was needed. I whirled around, my movement fluid yet trembling, and our eyes collided.

Manyu stood before me, but something was profoundly, undeniably different.

Time seemed to suspend the moment he appeared in the doorway.

Manyu stood silhouetted against the soft background light, his presence filling the room with an electric intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.

His dishevelment was not mere disorder, but a profound statement of emotional turbulence. His hair - usually meticulously styled - now fell in wild, untamed waves across his forehead, soft strands casting shadows across his intense eyes. Those eyes - deep, liquid pools of unspoken emotions - held a raw vulnerability I had rarely witnessed.

His shirt, crisp white now slightly rumpled, hung loosely with its top button undone. The fabric draped against his body, revealing glimpses of his collarbone and the strong line of his neck. There was something primal in his appearance - a mix of vulnerability and masculine energy that made my heart race unexpectedly.

I found myself tracing every minute detail of his form - the slight lean of his body against the doorframe, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers slightly curled at his side. Each detail spoke of an internal storm, a narrative far more complex than words could capture.

My gaze traveled from his eyes - stormy, intense - down to his slightly parted lips, then back to the depth of his gaze. Something shifted in the room's atmosphere, a charged electricity that seemed to pulse between us.

And then, almost involuntarily, a thought flickered across my consciousness: *God, he looks breathtakingly beautiful.*

The realization both thrilled and unsettled me.

The moment stretched between us like a delicate thread of tension, vibrating with unspoken emotions. As Manyu closed the door, the soft click echoed through the room like a punctuation mark to our unfolding drama.

I quickly shook away the inappropriate thoughts, forcing myself to focus on the present moment.

My steps towards him were measured, deliberate - each movement carrying the weight of unasked questions and simmering concerns. As I approached, he leaned in, his body language a mixture of vulnerability and desperate need. His head found sanctuary in the curve of my neck, and I felt the warmth of his breath, laden with an unmistakable hint of whisky.

"Manyu," I whispered, my voice a blend of concern and tenderness, "Are you drunk?"

He snuggled closer, his lips brushing against my ear - a touch so intimate it sent shivers cascading down my spine, electrifying every nerve ending. The proximity was intoxicating, dangerous in its raw vulnerability.

"I took medicine," he murmured, his words slightly slurred, "Those bitter pills have... side effects." There was a childlike petulance in his tone, a stark contrast to his usual composed self.

When I made him look at me, his eyes met mine - wide, slightly unfocused, but achingly beautiful. He pouted, and in that moment, he looked so adorably vulnerable that my heart clenched with a complex mixture of love, worry, and exasperation.

"You took medicine with...?" I prompted, already sensing the answer.

"Whisky," he declared, as if it were the most logical solution in the world. Before I could protest, he encountered.

"I masked the bitter taste," he explained, his logic comically serious despite his inebriated state. "Less bitter now."

"It's harmful," I said, my protest weak against the wall of his determined logic.

He interrupted me, his voice cutting through my words with surprising clarity. "I know bitter pills are harmful, Jaana."

The irony wasn't lost on me. Here was my husband - brilliant, controlled, methodical - reduced to this beautifully broken version of himself.

His hand rose with a deliberate, almost hypnotic slowness, fingers tracing a path of electricity against my skin. When he cupped my cheek, the world around us seemed to dissolve, leaving only the charged space between us. His touch was both a question and an answer, demanding and surrendering simultaneously.

The kisses began like a carefully choreographed dance of intimacy. First, my forehead. Then my left cheek- The right cheek followed - Each touch was a word unsaid, each brush of his lips a confession too complex for language.

When his lips grazed my nose, time seemed to suspend. The anticipation built like a crescendo, my breath catching in my throat. His lips traced to my chin, lingering with an intensity that made my body respond in ways beyond my control. The corner of my lips - a deliberate tease.My breath escaped in shallow, urgent gasps. Each inhalation was a mixture of his intoxicating scent - a complex blend of whisky, his signature cologne, and something raw to and uniquely Manyu. The alcohol was present, but it was his essence that truly intoxicated me.

His satisfied smile spoke volumes. He watched me - flushed, breathless, utterly vulnerable - with a mixture of desire and something deeper. Possession? Longing? Protection? The emotions were too intricate to name.

Our foreheads touched, and the world narrowed to the point of contact. Breath mingled, heartbeats synchronized. "You don't know what you are doing to me right now," he whispered, his voice a ragged thread of emotion.

In one fluid motion, he pulled me closer. No space remained between us - not physically, not emotionally. I was suspended in a moment of absolute surrender, my body pressed against his, feeling every nuanced shift of muscle, every unspoken emotion.

"I'm feeling more intoxicated due to you," he murmured, and the words were both a confession and a caress.

His expression shifted - a mercurial change that spoke of depths I was only beginning to comprehend. Before I could process the transformation, a surprised gasp escaped my lips as he lifted me effortlessly, my world turning on its axis. He's out of his mind he's injured and picking me up.

"Manyu, what are you doing? put me down you're hurt, your stitches will open" I said worried, my heart pounding in my ears as he held me down, his eyes smoldering with unspoken desires. He hovered above me, his breath mingling with mine, sending shivers down my spine.

"I feel like eating you," he whispered, his voice a tantalizing promise. I tried to protest, but my words were lost as he captured my lips in a searing kiss, his mouth moving with a fierce urgency that left me breathless.I looked at him and then his arm , it's not bleeding. Thank god.

My body trembled beneath him, every nerve alight with anticipation.His eyes glinting with mischief. "I'm going to savor every inch of you," he murmured, his lips brushing against my jawline, sending sparks of pleasure through my veins.

With a swift motion, he removed the pin holding my hair in place, and it cascaded down onto the mattress like a silken waterfall, framing my face in soft, dark waves. He leaned down, inhaling the scent of my hair, his breath warm against my neck, which only fueled my blush to an uncontrollable hue. "Your scent is driving me insane," he murmured, and my heart fluttered as he started kissing the base of my neck, trailing soft, lingering kisses that sent shivers racing down my spine.

He deftly moved the pallu aside, his lips nibbling and teasing the soft flesh, making me gasp and tremble at his every touch. My mind became a haze, stripped bare of all thoughts except for him as he tantalizingly traced my clavicle with his tongue. "Manyu... we should stop. You're not in your senses. You'll regret this later. Please..." I pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper, but it was drowned out by the intoxicating rhythm of our bodies. He ignored my protests, his ministrations igniting a desperate need within me, pleasure coursing through me like electricity as he found a sensitive spot.

"Who says I'm drunk? It's just you who are intoxicating." He whispered, and as I looked into his eyes, I felt my body responding in ways I had never known before, setting off a delightful whirlwind within me. His gaze was smoldering, filled with a desire so primal it made my breath hitch.

I arched my back, inviting him to continue his exploration. He obliged, trailing kisses down my neck, each touch sending a wave of goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed, gently caressing my skin, making my body hum with desire.

With deft fingers, he unfastened my pallu, revealing my cleavage. He paused, his eyes darkening with passion as he took in the sight. Then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the swell of my breast.

I gasped, my body trembling at the intimate touch. He looked up, his eyes holding mine, a silent question in their depths. I nodded, unable to speak.

He smiled, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and then lowered his head, his lips seeking the sensitive skin of my cleavage. He kissed a path along the curve, his breath hot against my skin, making me squirm beneath him.

"Manyu," I breathed, my voice hoarse with need. He responded by sucking gently on the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing the surface, sending shocks of pleasure through my body. I moaned, my hands tangling in his hair, urging him on.

He left a trail of kisses and light bites, each one making me shiver, until he reached the valley between my breasts. There, he lingered, his tongue swirling in slow circles, making my senses spin.

"Please," I whispered, my voice a plea. He chuckled softly, the vibrations of his laughter sending delightful tremors through me. Then, he gently nipped the skin, leaving a mark-a hickey, a brand of his passion.

I cried out, my body bowing beneath the sensation, a mix of pleasure and slight pain. He lifted his head, his eyes glittering with satisfaction as he took in the mark he'd left, a vivid reminder of his possession.

His hand traveled down my waist, fingers grazing my skin like fire, and when he grabbed my backside, I yelped, but he just grinned into the kiss, an electric charge zapping between us. His hands roamed my body with a gentle fervor, leaving no part untouched, and I moaned involuntarily, surrendering to the sensations that consumed me.

His fingers danced near my navel, sending quirky sensations racing through me, and as he trailed upwards to my breasts, rubbing his thumb across my hardened nipple, I couldn't help but arch my back, desperately craving more contact. My mind swirled, consumed by him-his touch, his breath, his kiss, his heat, and the way his hands seemed to know exactly where to explore.

He broke the kiss, both of us panting like we'd just run a marathon. "You have no idea how long I've waited to touch you like this. You have no idea how much it takes to control when you're so tempting " he rasped, his voice low and husky, and shivers ran down my spine at his words, igniting a fire of longing deep within me.

"Manyu, you're drunk. It's not right. I don't want you to regret tomorrow," I exclaimed, attempting to push him away, but I might as well have been trying to shift the sun.

"You think I'll ever regret it? Never, jaana," he breathed, his tongue tracing the shell of my ear, sending delicious shivers down my spine before he captured my lips once more. Our tongues entwined, the world around us melting away, engulfed by the heat of our connection, our bodies moving in a rhythm that felt destined.

My mind and body ignited, overwhelmed by the sheer depth of his touch. I felt a desperation to pull him closer, hands weaving into his hair, deepening the kiss beyond what I ever thought possible, our breaths mingling in a dance of unrestrained passion.

I was lost in him-the sensation of his every caress, the way he made me feel, and all control I had slipped like grains of sand between my fingers. The world outside faded, leaving only the two of us in this cocoon of warmth and longing.

But then, suddenly, he broke the kiss and gazed deeply into my eyes, our breaths mingling in a tantalizing dance. In a heartbeat, his eyes fluttered shut, and then he collapsed atop me, the weight of him a comforting pressure against my body.

Oh , the alcohol must've taken its toll on him.

As I lay there, my heart thundering against my ribcage. What madness had possessed you, Drishti? The remnants of desire still coursed through my veins like molten gold, my skin tingling where his touch had branded me. If he had not fallen asleep, I knew with devastating certainty that I would have surrendered completely, letting my carefully constructed walls crumble to dust.

Manyu's warm weight pressed against me, his breathing deep and even, his face peaceful in repose. The scent of his cologne mingled with the scent of rainy weather blooming outside our window, creating an intoxicating symphony that made my head spin. I tried to steady my racing breath, each inhale a desperate attempt to anchor myself to reality.

How could I reconcile this moment with the promise I'd made to myself? The vow to keep him at arm's length echoed hollowly in my mind, mocking me. But how could I maintain that distance when he had been my beacon in the darkest storm, the hand that pulled me from the depths of despair? Memories cascaded through my mind like autumn leaves - his unwavering support, his gentle smile, the way his eyes held infinite patience even when I pushed him away.The way he lifts my all tauntram, when I myself find it cringy.

A tear escaped, tracing a silvery path down my cheek as I gazed at his sleeping face. My fingers trembled as I reached out, cupping his cheek in my palm. The rough stubble beneath my fingertips grounded me to this moment, this truth I could no longer deny.

"I'm sorry, Manyu," I whispered into the velvet darkness, my voice barely a breath. "But I can't bear to see you in pain - not ever." The words felt like a confession, a surrender, a beginning.

With gentle movements, I shifted beneath him, carefully arranging his sleeping form on our bed. The silk sheets whispered against his clothes as I removed his shoes, placing them quietly beside the bed. The domesticity of the action brought fresh tears to my eyes - how had I been blessed with this man? He was a gift from the divine, sent to heal my broken pieces with his unwavering love.

Taking the edge of my silk pallu, I tenderly wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. The crimson fabric stood out against his skin like drops of blood against snow. I leaned down, pressing my lips first to his forehead, then his cheeks, each kiss a silent prayer of gratitude, a pledge of devotion I could no longer deny. The scent of him - a mixture of his spicy cologne, clean sweat, and something uniquely Manyu - enveloped me like a warm embrace.

Thunder growled in the distance as I stood by the window, watching charcoal clouds gather like my own dark thoughts. My father's silence echoed louder than any storm - a predator's pause before the strike. I knew him too well; this quiet was calculated, a spider weaving its web in shadows. The thought of my former fiancé made my skin crawl, memories rising unbidden like bile in my throat.

I could still feel his eyes on me from that cursed engagement day - hungry, possessive eyes that stripped away my dignity. How much I felt disgusted by his gaze? Even now, months later, I could recall the way his clammy fingers had lingered too long while sliding the ring on, his tobacco-stained breath hot against my face. The memory alone made me wrap my arms around myself, seeking protection from a ghost.

Only Manyu's arrival at the wedding had saved me from that fate. I turned from the window to look at him now, sprawled across our bed like an innocent child. His dark lashes rested against his cheeks, his usual sharp features softened by sleep. One hand was tucked under his chin, the other stretched across the space where I should be lying. My heart clenched painfully at the sight.

Moving silently across the room, I switched off the lights, leaving only the storm-dark sky to paint shadows across our walls. The silk duvet whispered as I pulled it over his shoulders, tucking it around him with a tenderness that made my chest ache. He stirred slightly, mumbling something incomprehensible, his face seeking warmth like a sunflower turning toward light.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and in that brief, brilliant moment, I saw our framed wedding photo on the wall - his genuine smile, my forced one. The thunder that followed seemed to mock my plans, my cowardice. My final exams loomed ahead like an escape route, a deadline for my departure. Until then, I would have to master the art of distance, build walls with careful precision, brick by bitter brick.

"It's better this way," I whispered to myself, though the words tasted like lies. Each planned moment of coldness, every calculated silence would be another wound to his gentle heart. Manyu, who wore his emotions like a badge of honor, would feel each slight like a physical blow. But wasn't that kinder than the storm my father would bring to our door? Wasn't emotional pain better than the danger that lurked in my past?

Rain began to fall, fat drops striking the windowpanes like tears. The rhythm matched the turmoil in my heart - a symphony of duty, fear, and something dangerously close to love. My fingers itched to brush back the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead, but I forced them still. Every touch now was a weakness I couldn't afford, every moment of tenderness a betrayal of my resolve.

In the darkness, lightning flashed ,The thunder rolled once more, nature's drumbeat counting down the moments until I would have to break both our hearts to save us both.

In the soft glow of streetlight filtering through the haveli's ornate windows, I carefully adjusted the woven puppy basket, my hands gentle as I helped little Oreo settle in. The plush cushioning yielded beneath his tiny body as he snuggled deeper, seeking warmth. His coal-black fur with patches of pristine white made him look like a living piece of art against the cream-colored bedding. As my fingers found their way to his head, scratching softly behind his ears, his eyes drifted closed in pure contentment - a sight that made my heart melt.

Watching Oreo's peaceful face, memories flooded back of another small creature who once brought light to my darkest days. My neighbor's cat, barely bigger than a large kitten, who would mysteriously appear in my room during those terrible times, as if sensing when I needed comfort most. She would curl up beside me, her gentle purring drowning out the sounds of arguments that often echoed through our house. Like a guardian angel in feline form, she became my ray of hope, my silent confidante in a world that seemed to be crumbling around me.

Leaning down, I pressed a soft kiss to Oreo's forehead, inhaling his sweet puppy scent. A small smile tugged at my lips as I thought of Veer's unexpected fondness for him- another layer to the complex man I was slowly discovering beneath his formidable exterior. The morning's events had cast a heavy pall over the haveli, its grand corridors unusually silent without Malhotra brothers commanding presence. The ancient walls, adorned with generations of Malhotra family portraits, seemed to hold their breath, waiting.

Earlier today, when my eyes fell upon Maa and Abhimanyu bhaiya, their faces etched with concern, my heart constricted painfully in my chest. Thoughts of my own mother crashed over me like waves - her absence a constant ache that never quite subsides. My fingers absently traced patterns on Oreo's fur as I contemplated asking Veer for just one glimpse of her, even if from afar. The possibility seemed as fragile as a soap bubble, ready to burst at the slightest touch. Would he understand this yearning, this desperate need to see her face just once more? Or would the request only serve to remind him of the circumstances that brought me into his life?

The thought of college resuming next week weighed heavily on my mind - four months of lectures missed, a gap that seemed to mock my attempts at normalcy. But how could I focus on studies when my world had been spinning out of control? The memories of those dark days rose unbidden: my father's gambling debts to the Spanish syndicate, the terrifying sound of fists pounding on our door at all hours. Strange men with cold eyes would barge into our home, their voices raised in threatening tones as they beat my father until he was barely recognizable. And then, like a wounded animal, he would turn that pain and humiliation on us - my mother and me bearing the brunt of his frustrated rage.

Everything shifted the day Veer first appeared at our door. Something in my father changed that day - his brutality dimmed, as if he sensed a greater predator in his territory. But nothing could have prepared me for that final, horrific night. The image is forever seared into my mind: my father stumbling through the door, clothes disheveled, reeking of alcohol and fear, with shadowy figures lurking behind him. The words he spoke next shattered what remained of my world - he had sold me to the Spanish mafia, trading his daughter's life to save his own worthless skin.

As I sat there in the growing dusk, Oreo's steady breathing provided a gentle rhythm to anchor me in the present. These walls that now surrounded me, though grand and imposing, had become more of a home than I ever expected. And Veer, despite the fear his name inspired in others, had shown me glimpses of a man capable of both fierce protection and surprising tenderness. Perhaps, like this tiny puppy sleeping trustingly beside me, I too had found an unexpected sanctuary in the most unlikely of places.

My husband, Abhiveer - the name itself carries weight in the underworld, a man whose reputation makes hardened criminals tremble. Yet here I am, finding myself drawn to him despite, or perhaps because of, the complexity of his nature. His mafia persona strikes fear into hearts across cities, but in quiet moments, when it's just us, I discover a different kind of intensity. Though my heart still flutters with apprehension at times, there's an undeniable truth I can no longer deny - I like him. The realization doesn't shock me as much as it once would have. In his arms, wrapped in his embrace, I find a peace that defies logic, a sanctuary I never expected to discover.

Through the haveli's grand windows, I watched storm clouds gathering in the twilight sky, their dark masses promising rain. A smile curved my lips unbidden - there's something magical about rain, the way it cleanses everything it touches, the way it transforms the world into something new and fresh. The first distant rumble of thunder sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.

The marble stairs felt cool beneath my feet as I descended toward the kitchen, my footsteps echoing in the empty hall. Most of the staff had departed after nine, leaving only the vigilant guards patrolling the haveli's perimeter. The vastness of the space, usually bustling with activity during daylight hours, now held a different kind of energy - expectant, almost intimate. Veer wasn't home yet, but something in me wanted to wait up for him, a feeling I wasn't quite ready to examine too closely.

The kitchen's warm lighting cast a gentle glow across the modern appliances that contrasted with the haveli's traditional architecture. As I reached for the crystal water jug, my mind wandered to earlier moments with Veer, the way his eyes sometimes softened when he looked at me, the gentle touch of his hands that seemed at odds with their strength...

The sudden touch on my shoulder sent electricity racing through my veins. I spun around with a startled gasp, the water in my hands transforming into a glittering arc through the air. Time seemed to slow as I took in the scene before me - there stood my husband, water droplets cascading down his face, his usually impeccable appearance delightfully disheveled. The shock in his dark eyes, the way his white shirt now clung to his broad shoulders, the entire tableau was so unexpectedly comical that laughter bubbled up from deep within me, bright and unrestrained.

His expression shifted from surprise to something more dangerous, yet playful, as my laughter filled the kitchen. "Finding this very amusing, are you?" he questioned , his deep voice sending shivers down my spine as he began stalking toward me with predatory grace.

"Well, you shouldn't sneak up on people without warning," I managed between giggles, backing away even as I couldn't suppress my smile. Water dripped from his black hair onto his chiseled features, making him look younger, more carefree - and devastatingly handsome. Each backward step I took matched his forward motion in an intimate dance until the cool marble counter pressed against my back, leaving me no escape.

"You've quite effectively sobered me up," he murmured, placing his hands on either side of me, effectively caging me between his arms and the counter. The scent of rain and his cologne mingled intoxicatingly as he leaned closer.

"You... you were drinking?" I stammered, distracted by a water droplet that traced its way down his strong jaw. My heart thundered in my chest as he moved even closer, his presence overwhelming my senses.

"I broke one promise," he said softly, his eyes intense as they held mine. "But that doesn't make me the pathetic man you might think." The vulnerability in his voice, so rare from this powerful man, made my heart ache. I shook my head vigorously, wanting to erase any doubt from his mind. Despite his fearsome reputation, despite the violence that surrounded his world, I had glimpsed the man beneath the armor - and that man was far from pathetic.

"I didn't mean it that way," I protested, my words cut short as his lips claimed mine with an intensity that stole my breath. The kiss was passionate, demanding - a storm of emotions conveyed through the fierce press of his lips against mine. His expertise left me struggling to match his fervor, my fingers finding purchase in his water-dampened hair. I felt his smile against my lips at my desperate attempt to keep pace, a brief moment of triumph in our intimate dance. When he finally broke away, his thumb traced the sensitive skin of my lower lip, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the passionate kiss we'd shared. His lips found my jaw next, trailing fire across my skin. A moan escaped me as he tasted the sensitive area, my body arching instinctively toward his.

"You make me, Abhiveer Malhotra, weak, sweetheart," he confessed, his voice rough with emotion. The admission from this powerful man, whose very name struck fear in hearts across the city, made my own heart stutter. "The thought of ending any day without seeing you..." he trailed off, vulnerability flickering across his features. "It's become unthinkable."

I stood transfixed, lost in the intensity of his dark eyes, my mind struggling to process the depth of emotion in his words. This man, who commanded empires from shadows, was laying his heart bare before me. The realization left me breathless, unable to form coherent thoughts as my world narrowed to just us, just this moment.

"I killed your father," he continued, his voice steady despite the weight of his confession. "And I feel no remorse." The words should have horrified me, should have made me recoil, but instead, I felt a complex mix of emotions I couldn't quite untangle. Before I could process this revelation, his lips captured mine again in a searing kiss, claiming, marking, possessing.

"They call me the devil," he murmured against my skin, his breath warm and intimate. I shook my head in immediate denial, my hands clutching at his shoulders. How wrong they all were. Yes, I too had once seen him as a demon in human form, a creature of darkness and fear. But marriage had revealed his true nature - beneath the fearsome exterior beat a heart capable of profound tenderness. He was no devil, but rather an angel of protection, whose wings might be dark but whose shelter was absolute.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, his words carrying a reverence that made my heart ache. Beautiful? Me? The word seemed to float between us like a delicate bubble, too fragile to grasp. My mind struggled to process this softer side of him, this gentle warrior who could bring empires to their knees yet looked at me as if I were something precious.

In this moment, trapped between his powerful body and the kitchen counter, I saw the duality of him with perfect clarity - the feared mafia don and the tender lover, the merciless avenger and the protective husband. Both were equally real, equally true, and somehow, impossibly, both were mine.

"I married you because I wanted you completely for myself," he confessed, his dark eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "As mine. My wife." His voice dropped lower, intimate and raw with emotion. "But somewhere along the way, I became yours just as completely as you became mine." The confession sent waves of warmth through my body, painting my cheeks with a rosy blush that had nothing to do with the humid air.

In one fluid motion, he swept me into his arms, cradling me against his broad chest as if I weighed nothing. Through the grand hall we went, past ancient tapestries and family portraits that seemed to watch our passage with silent approval. The veranda's marble columns stood like sentinels as we passed, leading to the garden where the night air hung heavy with the promise of rain.

The first drops fell like divine blessing, cool against my heated skin. Each step he took was measured, purposeful, as the rain began to paint his white shirt translucent, clinging to the muscled planes of his chest. The water droplets caught in his dark lashes, making him look almost otherworldly in the garden's soft lighting. My heart swelled with an emotion too big to name as he gently lowered me onto the rain-kissed grass, the wet blades cool against my skin.

My breath caught as he knelt before me, this powerful man who brought rivals to their knees now voluntarily dropping to his own. "Veer, what are you-?" The question died on my lips as he produced an exquisite anklet from his pocket, its delicate silver chains catching the light like captured starlight.

With reverence that brought tears to my eyes, he lifted my foot, placing it on his thigh. The intimacy of the gesture, this proud man touching my feet with such tenderness, made my heart flutter wildly in my chest. His fingers were gentle as he secured the anklet, each touch feeling like a promise.

"For my beautiful baby wife," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him - rain-soaked hair falling across his forehead, white shirt now completely drenched and molded to his powerful frame, eyes dark with an intensity that made my soul tremble.

"Will you believe me if I say I like you?" The question hung between us, weighted with vulnerability I never expected to hear from Abhiveer Malhotra. My throat went dry, pulse racing as my chest rose and fell rapidly, struggling to draw breath under the weight of this moment.

As he rose to his full height, I reached for him instinctively, my arms finding their way around his neck like coming home. His hands gripped my waist, strong and sure as he lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around him, completing our embrace. This time, when our lips met, it was me who initiated the kiss, pouring every unspoken feeling into the connection. His lips moved against mine with deliberate slowness, savoring every moment. The taste of him mingled with fresh rainwater created an intoxicating mixture that made my head spin.

"I like you too," I whispered against his lips, the confession feeling both monumental and inadequate to describe the depth of what I felt. His answering smile was radiant as he pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, and I rested mine against his, our breaths mingling in the rain-soaked air. His arms tightened around me, holding me close as if he never intended to let go.

The anklet chimed softly with each movement, a melodious accompaniment to the rainfall, as we stood there in our private paradise. The feared mafia don and his bride, finding love in the most unexpected place, beneath a sky that wept with joy for our union. In that moment, surrounded by rain and wrapped in his embrace, I understood that sometimes the greatest magic lies not in grand gestures, but in the simple truth of two hearts finding their way to each other against all odds.

Life is indeed a beautiful mess, especially in these quiet hours past midnight when the world feels softer somehow. Rudra, my precious bundle of chaos, sits on our plush cream carpet near the weathered leather couch, illuminated by the warm glow of table lamps that cast long shadows across the room. The night's feeding and diaper change routine has transformed into an impromptu game of his own making, his energy seemingly untouched by the late hour.

The  room has become his playground, moonlight filtering through gossamer curtains, creating silver patches on the floor that he occasionally crawls through. His toys—bright plastic shapes and soft stuffed companions—fly through the air in graceful arcs, scattered like stars across the darkened room. With each throw, his eyes light up with triumph, and his determined crawl to retrieve them shows the unstoppable curiosity that knows no bedtime.

The day's heaviness still lingers in the air like a midnight fog. Maa's sadness is a quiet thing, settling in the corners of her eyes, but Papa's pain cuts deeper—visible in every line of his face. Abhimanyu's anger burns justifiably hot; how does one process the revelation that their life has been built on shifting sands of untruths? Yet here I am, paradoxically blessed in my misfortune, finding solace in my son's innocent play while Maan remains at the office with Abhimanyu and Veer, their absence more pronounced in these late hours.

The crash comes suddenly—a sharp sound that seems louder in the night's stillness, followed by the most delightful giggle I've ever heard. My gaze follows Rudra's, landing on the shattered remains of my favorite perfume bottle. The crystal pieces catch the lamplight, spreading tiny constellations across the hardwood floor. His wayward toy had found an unintended target on the side table, but his pure joy at the spectacle makes it impossible to be upset, even at this hour.

"Kitni badmashi karte hai, Rudra?" I ask softly, mindful of the sleeping household, unable to suppress my own smile as he throws his head back in unbridled glee, his baby laughter a melody in the quiet night. His innocence is a balm to my worried heart, a reminder that joy can exist alongside sorrow, even in the darkest hours.

With careful steps, I navigate around the scattered toys to scoop him up, feeling his warm weight against my chest as I place him on the bed. The city lights filtering through the window cast a gentle glow across the duvet as I meticulously collect the glass shards, aware of his attentive gaze following my every move. His fascination with the simple task touches something deep within me—how wonderful it must be to find magic in the mundane, even past midnight.

Returning to the bed, I sink into the soft mattress beside him, and without hesitation, his little arms wrap around me like ivy seeking its trellis. I lift him onto my lap, breathing in his sweet baby scent—a mixture of powder, milk, and something uniquely Rudra.

"Chaliye so jayiye ab, bahut badmashi ho gayi ab kal kariyega baaki," I whisper into the night, noticing his heavy eyelids and the way his energy finally begins to fade. As I pat his back in a gentle rhythm, his breathing slowly deepens, matching the peaceful cadence of the midnight hour. His surrender to sleep is gradual—first his tiny fingers relax their grip, then his head grows heavier against my shoulder, until finally, he drifts off to dreams, carrying with him the pure joy of a night well played.

As I laid Rudra on the bed, his tiny form curled into a peaceful slumber, my own exhaustion began seeping into my bones. The soft moonlight spilling through the curtains cast gentle shadows across his cherubic face. I settled beside him, my maternal instincts keeping me close despite my heavy eyelids. The quiet of the night wrapped around us like a cocoon, broken only by his soft, rhythmic breathing.

In that space between wakefulness and dreams, I felt it—the familiar touch that sent warmth cascading through my tired body. Strong fingers slid beneath my waist with practiced tenderness, and before I could fully process the moment, I was enveloped in his scent—and something uniquely Maan, a fragrance that had become synonymous with safety and love in my mind.

As he lifted me into his arms, my body naturally melted against his chest, seeking the comfort I'd been craving all day. The worry that had been gnawing at me surfaced through my drowsy haze. "Maan, kya kar rahe hai. Utariye hume aur itni der kyu hui. Abhimanyu theek hai na?" My arms found their way around his neck, fingers unconsciously playing with the soft hair at his nape. His silence spoke volumes—not of anger or distress, but of an intensity that made my heart flutter.

He began walking with purposeful steps, each movement deliberate and sure. My maternal instincts surfaced again as we passed our sleeping son. "Maan kaha ja rahe hai, Rudra so rahe hai unki need khuli tho vo dar jayenge," I whispered against his neck, though my protest lacked conviction. There was something magnetic about his quiet determination, something that made my pulse quicken despite my exhaustion.

The few steps to the adjacent room felt like an eternity and a split second all at once. The moment we crossed the threshold, the energy shifted—the air became charged with unspoken words and suppressed longing. His grip tightened fractionally, possessively, before he laid me on the bed with a gentleness that contrasted beautifully with his obvious restraint.

"Maan," I breathed his name one last time, more a surrender than a protest now. The moonlight streaming through the windows painted silver streaks across his features as his fingers moved to his shirt buttons. The simple action held such intensity that it made my breath catch.

He began removing his shirt, revealing his toned chest. As I watched him with anticipation as he lowered himself on top of me. His face hovered above mine, his lips just barely touching mine, sending a shiver down my spine. Then he retreated, his hands slowly moving to my waist while his mouth moved to my earlobes, his lips trailing a path of warm, soft kisses along my sensitive skin making me hot and bothered.

As he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, his hot breath sending jolts of heat straight to my core, he whispered in me ear, "Kabhi hamare baare mai bhi puch liya kariya, Biwi," his voice low and gravelly. My body reacted to his words, a shiver running through me as I tried to respond, but the only sound I could manage was a soft "Humm...," interrupted by a sharp gasp as he bit down on my neck. His mouth left my  neck and traveled upwards, his tongue tracing a path along my  jawline and then again back to my neck.

"Humm...," I tried to speak, my mind muddled by the sensations he was stirring in me. But before I could say anything else, he bit down hard on my neck, making me wince. The pain quickly faded as he licked and kissed the area, soothing the mark he had just left.

"Maan,Kya.." I again tried to speak but my husband is upto something else tonight.

He pulled back again, his eyes roaming over my body. I could feel his gaze on my cleavage, his fingers slowly tracing a path down my torso. I shivered under his touch, desperately wanting him to touch me more.

He leaned forward, his breath hot on my skin as he moved towards my ear. He whispered something in my ear, his words lost as they were swallowed by the sound of my own breathless gasps. I couldn't focus on what he was saying, my body aching for his touch.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me, my body pressed against his. His lips found my neck again, his tongue tracing a path down to my collarbone. I arched my back, offering myself to him, my mind a hazy mess of desire and need.

He continued to kiss and bite at my skin, marking me as his. I could feel his hands roaming all over my body, claiming every inch of me. I was lost in pleasure, my body responding to his every touch, every kiss.

Finally, he pulled back again, his eyes meeting mine. His look was intense, filled with hunger and desire. I could feel the heat radiating off of him, and I knew that I was completely at his mercy.

"Humm..." I tried to speak again, but my words were caught in my throat. I could barely form a coherent thought, the sensations he was stirring in me overwhelming my senses.

He smiled at my attempt to speak, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on me. He slowly moved his fingers towards the buttons of my blouse, his eyes locked onto mine. One by one, he undid the buttons, revealing more and more of my skin to his hungry gaze.

My breasts were only covered by thin bra as he licked my buds over it and my hand grabbed his hairs tightly at the pleasure. He slided his hands on my back opening my bra as he removed it and threw it somewhere in the room.

When his mouth found my nipple again, sucking it in like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, I let out a low moan I couldn’t stifle. His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, teasing me until I was squirming under him. His other hand wasn’t idle either—his fingers pinched and rolled my other nipple, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me. How was he so good at this? My chest heaved as I struggled to keep my thoughts coherent, but the sensations were overwhelming, intoxicating.

“You’re so responsive, like always” he murmured against my skin, his voice low and husky. The words sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through me, and I felt my cheeks flush. He lifted his head just enough to meet my gaze, his dark eyes glinting with amusement and desire. “I love the way you fall apart for me, only for me”

I wanted to protest, to tell him he was too much, but the words caught in my throat when his hand slipped lower, skimming over my waist. His fingers dipped beneath the edge of my panties, and I sucked in a sharp breath as his warm palm brushed against my clit. “Oh!” The sound escaped me before I could stop it, a gasp of surprise and pleasure that seemed to echo in the quiet room. His touch was firm but not rough, his fingers exploring with a precision that left me trembling.

"You're mine, darling. And I'll be damned if I let anyone else have you. Not even in your dreams."

He didn’t rush. Instead, he took his time, rubbing slow circles over that sensitive bundle of nerves until my hips began to move on their own, seeking more of his touch. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, but it was useless. Every stroke of his fingers sent shocks of pleasure radiating through me, tightening the coil deep in my belly.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “Let go. I want to feel you come undone for me.”

His words were almost too much, but it was the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing in the world he wanted—that pushed me over the edge. I arched into his hand, my breaths coming in short, shallow gasps as the pressure built inside me. His thumb pressed harder against my clit, and I whimpered, my legs trembling as the first wave of pleasure crashed over me.

But he wasn’t done yet. Even as I shuddered beneath him, his fingers continued their steady rhythm, drawing out every last second of my release until I was boneless and shaking. “Fuck,” I breathed, my voice barely audible as I collapsed back against the pillows.

He chuckled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. “You’re beautiful like this,” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Completely wrecked because of me.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him he was arrogant, but the truth was, he was right. He had unraveled me with nothing but his mouth and his hands, and I was powerless infront him. When his lips found mine again, I kissed him back with all the desperation I felt, my hands tangling in his hair as I pulled him closer.

“More,” I whispered against his mouth, the word slipping out before I could think better of it. “Please…”

He groaned, his body shifting against mine as he moved to hover above me. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, but there was no real frustration in his tone—only hunger. His hands slid under my thighs, urging them apart, and I could feel the heat of his arousal pressed against me, almost unbearable in its intensity.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice rough now, edged with something darker. “Say it.”

I hesitated for a moment, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. But then I met his gaze, saw the raw need in his eyes, and I knew I couldn’t hold back. Not anymore.

“I want you,” I said, my voice trembling but clear. “All of you.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and then his mouth was on mine again, claiming me with a ferocity that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed over my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and I clung to him, my nails digging into his shoulders as he—

He stopped. Pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t name. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice quieter now, softer. "It's been long since we "

My breath hitched at the unspoken question hanging between us. I could see the hesitation in his expression, the way he was holding himself back, and it only made me want him more. “Yes,” I whispered, reaching up to cup his face in my hands. “I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, his eyes wide with something that looked almost like wonder. And then he smiled—a slow, wicked smile that sent a thrill racing down my spine. “Then you’ll have me,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Every last piece.”

His lips came down on mine again, harder this time, more demanding, and I melted into him, giving myself over completely to the storm of sensation he stirred inside me. His hands were everywhere, touching, stroking, teasing, until I was dizzy with need. And when he final

And just like that, the dam broke. His mouth crashed into mine, hungry and desperate, and I gasped as he thrusted deep inside me making me off guard. I cried in pain and pleasure as he continued to thrust , After about 5 rounds he found me tired and decided to Stop as he finally kissed my lips.

He rose gently from the bed, movements deliberate and careful. When he returned, a soft cotton towel in hand, he had changed into comfortable shorts. The moonlight filtering through gauzy curtains cast everything in a dreamy silver glow. With gentle devotion, he helped me clean up and then dressed me in his oversized t-shirt and shorts, the familiar scent of his laundry detergent wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

My limbs were heavy with exhaustion, words beyond reach. The world had narrowed to just this - his strong arms lifting me with such care, as if I were made of porcelain. The short journey back to our room felt like floating through a peaceful dream.

He placed me on the bed where our precious Rudra lay sleeping. I gazed at our baby's peaceful face, his tiny features relaxed in slumber. Dark eyelashes fluttered against cherub cheeks as he dreamed his sweet baby dreams. Unable to resist, I pressed a feather-light kiss to his forehead, my heart overflowing with love for this miracle we had created.

The mattress dipped as Maan slid in beside me, his presence solid and reassuring. The warmth of his chest against my back felt like coming home. His lips brushed my forehead in a tender goodnight kiss that spoke volumes of devotion without a single word. As my eyes fluttered closed, I was enveloped in a cocoon of absolute contentment - my husband's protective embrace, our baby's peaceful breathing, and the profound blessing of being together.Sleep beckoned like a gentle tide, and I drifted off, perfectly at peace.