The gentle morning breeze drifted through the open window, making her eyelashes flutter. She had been awake for a while now, but her body refused to part with the warmth of her bed. It had been two years—two long, unbearable years—since she left him. And in doing so, she had taken away the very reason for his existence.

Their marriage, their time together—every single moment spent with him—had been the best thing to ever happen to her. The memories were still fresh, painfully vivid. She could recall it all—the sleepy morning banter when she’d steal his pillow, the way he’d pull her back into bed just to spend a few more minutes holding her, the late-night drives when they’d share stolen kisses under dim streetlights, the way he’d watch her with a look so intense it made her heart stutter. Every touch, every whispered word, every argument and every reconciliation—they were etched deep within her soul.

If only that night hadn’t changed everything. If only that one horrifying moment hadn’t torn her world apart.

She had no idea what he must have gone through in these two years. The thought made her throat tighten. She had been his entire world, his obsession, his reason for breathing. He had worshipped her with a devotion so consuming, so absolute, that it had been both intoxicating and terrifying. He was a man who controlled everything around him with an iron grip, yet when it came to her, he had surrendered—completely and willingly. And then she had left, leaving behind a void he had once told her nothing could ever fill.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she shoved those thoughts aside. They were the same thoughts that kept her alive yet drowned her at the same time.

Today was important. She had worked tirelessly for this presentation, pouring her heart and soul into it. If all went well, the company she worked for would secure a major deal. She couldn’t afford distractions—not today.

Dragging herself out of bed, she reached for the baby blue saree she had picked out last night. The chiffon fabric felt cool against her skin as she draped it around herself. The delicate silver embroidery shimmered subtly under the soft morning light. She paired it with a sleeveless blouse, the back elegantly tied with thin strings, accentuating her slender frame. A pair of silver jhumkas swayed gently against her neck as she moved, and a touch of kohl lined her green eyes, making them stand out even more. Soft curls cascaded down her back, and a hint of pink gloss on her lips completed the look.

Satisfied, she made her way to the dining table.

"Naashta laga do, please, didi," she murmured, exhaustion already seeping into her voice. (Can you please serve breakfast didi)

(Didi~househelp)

Maybe it was from the late-night work, or maybe… it was something else—something she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

She stared at the plate before her. Poha. Of all the things her didi could have made, she had chosen poha. She wasn't particularly fond of it, but she ate without a word of complaint, her mind too preoccupied to care.

With a final glance at the clock, she grabbed her keys and dashed out the door, moving with the urgency of someone racing against time—because, in Mumbai, traffic spared no one.

As she settled into the car, she dialed her parents, briefing them about her day. Her mother, as always, reminded her to eat properly, while her father simply told her to do her best. Their voices, their concern—it felt like home, like warmth, like something safe in a world that no longer felt familiar.

Before she knew it, she had arrived.

The building loomed before her—RSR & Co. It wasn't where she usually went for meetings. The clients had chosen this location, and now, standing before the towering structure, she felt an odd sense of unease. The glass façade reflected the morning sun, the sleek architecture exuding power and authority. It stretched high into the sky, at least fifty floors, maybe more. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming.

Shaking off the feeling, she hurried inside, making her way to the reception desk.

"The meeting is on the top floor," the receptionist informed her. Just as she rushed toward the elevators, the receptionist's voice stopped her.

"Not that one, ma’am. It’s reserved for one man only."

She halted. Probably for the owner. That made sense. She turned to find another elevator when a deep, authoritative voice cut through the air.

"She can. Do not stop her again if your job and life are precious to you."

The air seemed to shift.

A man—likely in his late fifties—stepped toward her. He was dressed in a sharply tailored black suit, the fabric exuding luxury. His crisp white shirt was buttoned up to his collar, a sleek black tie knotted perfectly. His shoes gleamed, polished to perfection, and the Rolex on his wrist spoke of quiet affluence. His silver-streaked hair was combed back neatly, and his sharp, assessing gaze held an air of authority.

"Apologies for the inconvenience, ma’am. This will not happen again," he said smoothly.

Confusion flickered across her face. What was happening? Who was this man?

But she didn’t have the time to dwell on it. The clock was ticking.

With hurried steps, she entered the private elevator, following the man inside—unaware that with each passing second, she was walking straight into a past she had spent two years running from.

Unbeknownst to her, a pair of piercing blue eyes tracked her every move.

From the dimly lit security room, a man leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on the CCTV monitor. His fingers tapped against the armrest, slow, calculated, almost bored—except for the dark amusement glinting in his eyes. The sight of her, after two excruciating years of absence, sent a rush of something primal through him.

And then, just as casually, he looked away.

A smirk curved his lips, predatory and knowing.

"Welcome back, Mrs. Rajvansh."

The words rolled off his tongue like a lover’s caress, but the menace beneath them was unmistakable.

"You didn’t really think you could escape me, did you, Jaan?"

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, but it didn’t stop there. It grew, deepened, filling the cold air around him like the whisper of the devil himself. The sound echoed, dark and haunting, as if the very walls trembled at the force of it.

Two years. 730 days. A thousand sleepless nights.

And now, she was back—walking straight into the lion’s den.

---

The soft ding of the elevator snapped Navya out of her thoughts. They had reached the top floor.

She barely spared the suited old man beside her a glance, offering a hurried, “Thank you,” before rushing toward the meeting room. Her heels clicked against the pristine marble floor, her heart pounding harder with each step.

As soon as she stepped inside, familiar faces turned toward her.

“Gosh, Navya! Where the hell have you been?” Diya, one of her colleagues, gasped, exasperation evident in her voice. “Your phone was unreachable too!”

Navya winced, rubbing her temple. “I know, I’m sorry. Let’s just set everything up before they call us in.”

They didn’t have to wait long.

Minutes later, they were ushered into the grand conference hall. It was bigger, grander, and far more intimidating than the ones she had been in before. She looked around, scanning the room—so many companies, so much competition. The weight of it all settled on her chest, pressing down, making it hard to breathe.

A nervous shiver ran down her spine. Sweat beaded at her forehead.

"It's okay, you've done this before, Laddoo. You can do it again." She murmured under her breath, her voice barely above a whisper.

But for some reason, this time… it felt different.

As if something unseen, something far greater than just a business deal, was looming over her.

Waiting.

Watching.

And then—just for a fleeting second—she felt it.

A phantom touch. An invisible weight. The strange, suffocating sensation of being caged.

Her fingers curled into fists. She shook her head.

You're overthinking. Focus.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and stepped forward.

Completely unaware that she was walking straight into the hands of the man she had spent two years running from.

She walked in, poised and composed, and took her seat.

As expected, stares followed. They always did.

It wasn’t just a glance here and there—it was an unspoken pause, a moment where people couldn’t help but take her in. A fascination, a lingering gaze, a hushed whisper. Navya had long stopped questioning it. Maybe it was her face—the kind that made people take a second look. Maybe it was her presence—the kind that left an impression without effort.

She never sought it, never craved it. If anything, it exhausted her. Compliments from strangers, admiration from acquaintances, the occasional longing looks—it was all the same. A cycle. A routine. A burden.

And yet, today, something felt… different.

She didn’t bother looking around, but an unsettling quietness wrapped around the room. Pin-drop silence. Too unnatural. Too suffocating.

A faint crease formed between her brows.

Why is it so—

But she didn’t know.

Didn’t know what had caused the air to still, what had seized the room in an iron grip.

Didn’t know that the source of the silence, the force that stole the breath from every throat, sat not too far away.

The man.

A presence that sent ripples of fear through the strongest of men. A storm in a suit, a ruler without mercy.

Executives who had spent years in cutthroat business, men who had built empires, sat frozen, their spines locked, their gazes refusing to rise. No one dared breathe too loud. No one dared meet his eyes.

Navya was too busy steadying herself, too caught up in calming the nervous rhythm of her heartbeat—completely oblivious to the fact that a pair of familiar, icy blue eyes had found her.

They weren’t just looking at her.

They were consuming her.

Tracing every delicate line of her face, mapping the curves of her form with the intensity of a man memorizing what was already his.

His gaze devoured, owned, imprisoned.

It was slow, unhurried. A predator watching its prey shift unaware in the dark.

His gaze zeroed in on the sindoor nestled in her hairline, the mangalsutra resting against her collarbone, its delicate gold chain rising and falling with each uneven breath she took.

Something stirred deep inside him.

A slow, dark satisfaction curled in his chest, spreading through his veins like a possessive fire. His.

Marked. Bound. Claimed.

The world could spin, she could run, fight, deny—but this? This was undeniable. The symbols of their marriage, of his name on her, were right there, visible to the world.

A smirk ghosted his lips.

Rudransh Rajvansh sat at the head of the table, a king in his domain, a god among mortals. And now, his lost queen had unknowingly walked straight back into his world.

He leaned back, fingers steepled, watching her—breathing her in, letting his hunger settle into something deeper, something far more dangerous.

And she… she didn’t even know.

---

Then came the announcement.

"Aureva Company’s Marketing Head, Mrs. Navya Rajvansh, please step forward to present your pitch."

The name echoed in the room, yet she barely heard it.

She stood, adjusting the soft fabric of her saree, pushing down the flicker of unease crawling up her spine. With slow, measured steps, she walked forward, each step deliberate, calculated.

She felt the weight of the room, the eyes watching her. But there was one gaze—a scorching, invisible burn against her skin.

A presence she hadn’t noticed yet.

A heat she hadn’t registered.

And then—it happened.

Something shifted.

The air turned thick, suffocating.

Like the world itself had tilted.

Like reality had cracked.

Navya sucked in a sharp breath. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her fingers curled at her sides.

And then—she saw him.

Saw those eyes.

That face.

That man.

A coldness spread through her veins, yet at the same time, her body locked in place, unable to move, unable to breathe.

The voices in the room faded, the colors blurred.

Nothing made sense.

The world had stopped.

And all that existed was him.

Rudransh.

Her husband.

The man she had spent two years running from.

And the man who had never stopped hunting her.

Silence.

Navya stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat, her pulse drumming in her ears. Her fingers twitched at her sides as her mind scrambled to process the sight before her.

No. No. This can’t be happening.

Yet, there he was. Rudransh Singh Rajvansh.

Seated like a monarch on his throne, exuding an aura so menacingly powerful that even the most seasoned businessmen in the room sat with stiff backs, not daring to move unless he allowed them to.

The air itself had shifted, thick with something unspoken, something suffocating.

His gaze hadn’t left her.

It burned, consumed, shackled.

But she couldn't afford to crumble. Not now. Not here.

With a shaky exhale, Navya dragged her eyes away, forcing herself to focus on the presentation.

"Just get through this. Just this."

Taking slow, steady steps, she reached the center of the room. Her hands gripped the remote, her knuckles white as she clicked the first slide open.

"Good afternoon, everyone." Her voice came out smoother than she expected, though her chest felt tight. "I am Navya Rajvansh, the Marketing Head of Aureva, and today, I will be presenting our proposal for a strategic collaboration that ensures—"

She kept speaking, relying on muscle memory, reciting facts and figures like they were stitched into her bones.

And still, she felt it.

That gaze.

Even without looking, she could sense it—heavy, possessive, like a touch without contact, an embrace without permission. It crawled over her skin, leaving behind a phantom heat she despised herself for feeling.

No one else in the room spoke. Not a single whisper.

Because everyone felt it.The power shift.

She knows now. The unspoken truth that the man at the head of the table wasn’t just here for business.

He was here for her.

---

Fifteen minutes later, the presentation ended.

Applause filled the room.

She barely heard it.

Her pulse pounded against her temples as the executives started murmuring amongst themselves, discussing the proposal. Every second felt like a countdown to something inevitable.

The meeting was adjourned. People began rising from their seats, papers shuffled, chairs scraped against the polished floors.

Navya swallowed. She needed to get out.

She turned, her fingers wrapping around the files, her feet moving fast but not fast enough.

"Mrs. Rajvansh."

Her spine locked.

The voice was rich, deep, laced with something that sent a shiver straight to her bones.

Slowly, too afraid of what she would find, she turned.

Everyone was gone.

Every single person.

Except for him.

He was still seated, fingers tapping against the table in a slow, rhythmic pattern. The click of his rings against the wood was the only sound in the massive room.

She gripped the file tighter. "Excuse me, I need to leave."

A ghost of a smirk played at his lips.

"You always do."

Her breath hitched.

Something in his eyes glinted—dangerous, amused, something else.

She turned swiftly, moving toward the door. Faster. Just a few steps away.

But before she could reach it—

Click.

The sound sent ice through her veins.

The lock.

Slowly, her gaze flickered toward the reflection on the glass door.

He had moved.

Not walked. Moved.

Like a shadow, like something inhuman, like a force of nature meant to consume.

And then—he was behind her.

So close she could feel the heat radiating off him, feel the weight of his presence pressing into her back.

Her fingers trembled against the door handle.

"No."

She turned.

Wrong move.

Because the second she did, his hands were on her.

Not rough. Not gentle. Just firm enough to make her stomach coil in fear, in something else she refused to name.

Her back met the door with a quiet thud as he caged her in, palms braced on either side of her head.

Trapped.

She sucked in a sharp breath, green eyes blazing into his cold, haunting blue.

"Let me go," she forced out, hating the way her voice wavered.

A slow, deliberate smirk curved his lips.

"Two years, Navya," he murmured, tilting his head, gaze never breaking. "Two years, I let you run. Let you pretend you could escape me."

She clenched her jaw. "I wasn't pretending."

His eyes darkened.

A heartbeat later, he moved.

Too fast, too sudden.

One hand curled around her wrist, the other slid to her waist, fingers pressing into her silk saree, dragging her closer, until she was flush against his chest.

She gasped.

His breath fanned against her ear as he whispered, low, possessive, utterly unshaken—

"Then why do you still shiver when I touch you?"

The world blurred.

Navya was drowning—not in fear, not in resistance, but in him.

His eyes, icy yet burning, dangerous yet consuming, locked onto hers with an intensity that made her knees feel weak. A storm trapped within blue irises, darkened with possession. She could feel it pulling her in, swallowing her whole.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered how close they were now—so close she could feel his breath ghosting over her lips, her skin prickling with awareness.

And then—warmth.

A sudden yet achingly gentle press of lips against her forehead.

She inhaled sharply, her fingers curling at her sides, her body going rigid yet melting at the same time.

"MINE."

The word was a vow, a warning, a brand. It wasn’t just spoken—it was etched into her soul, seared into her skin, whispered like a prayer.

Before she could recover, he moved.

His lips brushed against her cheek—soft, unhurried, claiming.

"MINE."

His deep voice, rippled through the empty conference room, vibrating in her very bones.

Navya’s breath stilled, her body betraying her. Her heart pounded, her pulse erratic, her skin tingling where his lips had touched.

She had spent --two years running.

But how could she have forgotten? Forgotten the way his touch unravelled her, the way his lips made her forget everything but him?

Then—he was at her neck.

She gasped, her head tilting back before she could stop herself, her body betraying her once again.

His lips pressed against the delicate skin of her throat, hot, demanding, possessive. He lingered, breathing her in, making sure she felt every second of his touch. Making sure he memorized every pore of her skin.

"MINE."

The whispered word sent a violent shiver down her spine.

Her resolve was crumbling.

She wanted to push him away, wanted to fight, wanted to scream that she wasn’t his anymore.

But when he finally captured her lips, every thought --vanished.

A shockwave surged through her.

His lips—familiar, intoxicating, overwhelming. The warmth, the fire, the unmistakable hunger made her stomach coil.

She could taste the desperation, the longing, the years of restrained madness.

And God, **she had missed this.**

Missed the way his lips moved against hers, the way he consumed her, like she was his last breath, his final prayer, his only salvation.

His lips skillfully moved over hers marking her over and over again, biting, sucking, licking every inch of her petals.

"ONLY MINE."

The words vibrated against her lips, sealing a truth she wished she could deny.