⚜ ─── AUTHOR ─── ⚜

Three hours later, the grand old Rathore Mansion looked nothing like it had that crisp morning.

The entire sprawling estate had been transformed into a breathtaking, warm spectacle of flowers-creamy white roses intertwined with deep, rich red ones, delicate strings of fresh jasmine cascading from the carved stone balconies, and thick floral garlands framing the heavy oak grand entrance.

Every corner of the mansion seemed perfectly prepared for the bride's arrival, as though the old house itself had been quietly waiting for years to welcome its newest daughter-in-law home.

One after another, ten sleek black cars rolled through the iron gates and came to a smooth halt in the curved driveway of the mansion. Mr. Rajdev Rathore stepped out of the first car, followed by his wife, Barkha Rathore. Soon, the remaining car doors opened, and their family members and close friends stepped out one by one.

Laughter, soft tired post-wedding conversations, and the quiet thud of footsteps on the stone driveway filled the crisp evening air. Everyone was there, gathered to greet the newlyweds.

Everyone except the one car they had all been waiting for-the car carrying Ayansh and Aadhya, the bride and groom themselves.

At first, no one inside paid much attention to the newlyweds' absence. Everyone assumed the couple had simply been delayed by the crowd of well-wishers back at the Raichand estate, that they'd pull through the gates any minute.

Inside the mansion, everyone settled into the sprawling marble-floored living room, the maids quickly appearing with silver trays of chilled juices and cold refreshments, placing glasses in front of the exhausted post-wedding guests. After such a long, busy day, everyone welcomed the cold drinks gratefully.

Everyone except Dadi.

Her sharp old eyes kept drifting back toward the large oak entrance door, again and again, a quiet prickle of unease niggling at the back of her neck. Something didn't feel right. Finally, she leaned closer to dadu, her bony fingers tightening around her glass until her knuckles went white.

"Did you see what time it is? Why haven't they arrived yet? They left the Raichand place ten minutes before we did. They should be here by now. What if something's happened?

Dadu's expression tightened, worry creeping into his furrowed brow. "You're right. They should be here by now. I'll call Ayansh..."

His hand had barely reached for his phone in his pocket when Dadi stopped him, shaking her head hard.

"No. Ayan, you call Anshuman. He's the one driving the car, right? Please call him right now and ask where they are."

Ayan immediately nodded, already pulling his phone out of his suit pocket.

"Yes, Dadi. I'll call him straight away. No need to worry yet, okay? They probably just stopped for something on the way."

He tapped Anshuman's contact and lifted the phone to his ear, waiting for the line to connect. The call connected after a few long, slow rings.

"Hello?" Anshuman's voice came through the speaker, crackling softly over the line, but something about it was immediately wrong.

There was thick hesitation in his tone, a strange, tight tension that instantly caught Ayan's attention.

Ayan frowned, "Anshuman bhai, we all reached Rathore Mansion ten minutes ago. Where are you guys? Dadi's been waiting."

Before Ayan could ask anything further, Rajveer spoke up from where he stood by the fireplace, his voice sharp and tight.

"Put the call on speaker. Now."

Ayan immediately tapped the speaker icon, holding the phone out so everyone in the room could hear. For a long, heavy moment, nobody spoke. Then Anshuman finally answered, his voice low and careful.

"Ayan... we're at ASR Villa."

Dead, heavy silence settled over the entire living room. Ayan frowned, confused.

"ASR Villa? But why the hell would you guys go there? We've all got the griha pravesh ritual ready for you here."

Anshuman hesitated again, shifting on his end of the line. "Boss told me to drive straight to the villa after leaving the Raichand place. He didn't give no other reason. Just said to go."

The words settled over the room like a sudden, cold storm. Dadi's face immediately lost all its color, going pale as paper. Dadu's expression became completely unreadable, his jaw tightening so hard the muscle jumped. A few younger family members exchanged confused glances, while older ones who knew what ASR Villa meant gasped softly.

They had all been expecting Ayansh and Aadhya at the main mansion for the traditional griha pravesh welcome, but apparently, Ayansh had taken his new bride somewhere else entirely, somewhere no one expected.

And judging by the tight strain in Anshuman's voice, something was terribly, terribly wrong. Ayan's frown deepened immediately, his thumb tapping the edge of his phone.

"Anshuman bhai, why do you sound so tense? Is everything alright? Is Bhai okay? Is Bhabhi okay out there with him?"

Rajveer leaned forward from where he sat against the mantel, his expression hardening into sharp stone, every muscle coiled.

"Anshuman, tell me straight. What the hell happened?"

Another long, heavy pause. Longer this time, stretching so long Ayan thought the call had dropped. When Anshuman finally spoke, his voice had dropped to a near whisper, like he was scared someone would overhear.

"No. Everything is not alright."

That single small word changed the atmosphere of the entire room, turning the warm, post-wedding air ice-cold. Anshuman continued quietly, his voice shaking a little.

"Boss is extremely angry. I've never seen him this angry before. He already dragged one man down to the dungeon... and he killed him himself, right in front of me. I don't know what set him off... but right now... Boss isn't himself."

"Enough." Rajveer was already on his feet before Anshuman finished speaking. "I'm going to the villa. I can't leave that man alone with my sister when he's in this state. She doesn't even know anything about that place. I don't care what happened. I don't care why he's angry. And I'm not going to sit here and wait to find out what happens next."

Ayan immediately stood as well, already grabbing his keys off the side table.

"Yeah. You're right, Rajveer. We don't know what state Bhai's actually in right now. She shouldn't be there alone."

Rajveer didn't waste another second. He walked straight toward the front door, with Ayan following close on his heels. Neither of them cared about the confused, questioning looks flying around the room. Neither stopped to explain what was going on. Right now, there was only one thought running sharp and fast through their minds-Aadhya was alone with an enraged Ayansh, and they needed to reach her before something happened.

Behind them, Dadi abruptly rose from her seat, her old bones creaking but her spine straight as an arrow. "I'm coming too."

Dadu immediately caught her hand, holding her back. "You're not going anywhere."

Dadi slowly looked down at his hand wrapped around hers, then back up at him, her jaw set. "Let go of my hand, Dev. Now."

Dadu's expression tightened, his voice softening. "Barkha, think about this-"

Dadi yanked her hand free hard and turned toward him, her old eyes blazing with anger and worry. "You're stopping me from going? After everything we've done?" A bitter, sharp laugh escaped her lips. "she is the daughter-in-law of our family. When we took her in after her wedding, we took full responsibility for her. And now, when she's standing somewhere else instead of coming to our home... you expect me to sit here and wait for her? She's at ASR Villa, Dev."

She turned toward the family driver waiting by the door, her voice sharp and steady despite the worry in her eyes. "Bring the car around right now. I'm leaving."

Dadu's voice followed her, tight with frustration and fear for her safety. "You don't understand. Going there right now isn't safe-"

Dadi stopped mid-step and slowly turned around, her head held high, her cheeks flushed with emotion. "What's wrong with it, Dev? Going to check on our own daughter-in-law? Or leaving her alone out there with a man whose own trusted men are afraid of his temper when he's this angry?"

Dadu fell silent, his mouth closing tight. Dadi's voice trembled with equal parts anger and worry, her hands clenched at her sides. "She doesn't even know anything about that place. She doesn't know anyone there. There isn't a single other woman in that entire isolated villa. How could I just sit here and leave her there alone like that, Dev? Tell me."

Dadu remained silent, his jaw working but no words coming out. But Dadi wasn't finished. "Is this how we treat the daughter-in-law of our family? When she hasn't even stepped foot into this main house yet? What will she think of us? How can we call ourselves her family if we do that?"

No one answered her. The room fell heavy with silence, everyone too stunned by her outburst to speak.

Dadi's voice softened, but somehow became even more powerful, cutting through the heavy silence in the room. "I'm not going there to fight with Ayansh. I'm going there to bring my daughter-in-law home. Because marriage isn't simply about handing her to Ayansh and calling it done. After marriage, she becomes our responsibility too, this whole family's. And if my grandson has forgotten that Aadhya isn't just his wife... she is the honour of the Rathore family... then I'm going to go there and remind him myself."

She turned toward the front door, her head held high. "I expected that after his wedding, Ayansh would finally understand the value of coming back to his family. I thought marriage would make him realise that this house is still his home, that there are people here who have been waiting for him all these years. But no. He is still the same stubborn boy he has always been. If Ayansh refuses to come back to this house himself... then I will go to him and bring him back."

With that, Dadi turned toward the waiting family driver standing by the door. "Driver, bring the car around right now."

The driver immediately nodded and hurried outside to get the car started. Trisha and Chacha-Chachi exchanged a quick, worried glance before stepping forward together. "Maaji, we'll come with you too. You shouldn't go alone."

Chachi immediately nodded, grabbing her shawl off the arm of the sofa. "Absolutely. Aadhya is like a daughter to us too."

Dadu watched them silently, his face tight with worry. Dadi simply stood there, her jaw set, waiting for him to accept what she'd decided. He knew there was no stopping her now-when she made up her mind about something, no one could change it. Finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Fine. Go on. I won't stop you." Dadi looked at him, and his expression softened, worry lines deepening around his eyes. "But be careful when you talk to him. He's not himself when he's angry."

Dadi gave him a sharp, pointed look, not backing down an inch. "I'm not going there to be careful, Dev. I'm going there to make him understand. He needs to understand what he's doing, and I'm not leaving until he does. And i know... He'll listen to me. He always has."

Within minutes, another line of cars moved out of the Rathore Mansion gates, headlights cutting through the darkening evening. The mansion still looked as though it were waiting patiently for its bride to arrive. But the warm, soft glow of celebration had disappeared completely, drained out of the rooms and the air.

Because somewhere far from that beautifully decorated house, behind the thick high walls of ASR Villa, something far darker had already begun. And no one in the cars rushing toward the villa knew what exactly awaited them when they got past those gates.

On the other side,

In the front car speeding toward ASR Villa, Rajveer's fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned bone white, his jaw tight enough to crack.

"If anything happens to my sister in that villa, I swear to God, I'll kill your brother myself. I don't care that he's my best friend. I don't care how much I owe him or how many times I've stood beside him. If he hurts her, I'll forget every fucking bond between us and end him with my own hands."

Ayan didn't flinch at the threat, his hands gripping the steering wheel steady, his eyes turned cold, dangerously still as he kept them locked on the road ahead. He scoffed low, sharp and serious.

"As if I'll let him walk free if he hurts my bhabhi. You think I care more about him than I do about her now?" Rajveer froze, his finger tapping nervously against the door handle stopped mid-tap. He looked over at Ayan, surprised. "You think I'll spare my brother if he lays a single finger on her? Just because he's my brother doesn't mean I'll ignore what's right. She's family now... and I protect what's mine. Always have, always will."

Rajveer stopped for a beat, stunned into silence by those words. Ayan-who worshipped Ayansh more than anyone else in the world, who'd followed his brother's lead since he was kid-never spoke like this. Rajveer knew how fiercely loyal Ayan was to him. Ayansh was his everything. His older brother. His idol. Ayan had treated him like something untouchable, almost godlike. But this... this was something completely different. Something had shifted, changed, right in front of his eyes.

Ayan noticed his silence and arched a brow, not taking his eyes off the road. "What?"

Rajveer looked away quickly, shaking his head to clear the surprise. "Nothing. Just... drive faster. We don't have time to waste."

⚜ ─── AYANSH ─── ⚜

I sat silently in the back seat while Anshuman drove us toward my villa.

Yes, I knew everyone was waiting for us at the Rathore Mansion. They were probably expecting the newlywed bride to arrive there, surrounded by the whole family, welcome rituals, and loud, crowded celebrations.

But she wasn't going there. She was coming home with me. My wife belonged beside me. Close enough that I never had to let her out of my sight.

She sat beside me now, finally out of that unbearably heavy bridal lehenga I'd watched her wear all day. She changed into a soft, flowing red silk saree, her red bridal dupatta still draped loose over her head.

The red made her look almost unreal, like a goddess someone had accidentally delivered straight into the hands of a man who should have been kept far away from anything pure. Me.

I couldn't stop looking her. How could I? She's mine now. Finally, after waiting so long, she's mine.

Kya ajeeb jurm hai... qaatil main hoon, aur marne ko dil aap par aa raha hai.

She was scratching her palm again, the short edge of her nail brushing soft over the skin, over and over. Then her fingers curled into a tight, controlled fist at her side.

I noticed it immediately.

I notice everything about her. The smallest twitch of her mouth. The slightest shift in her expression when she's annoyed. The way her shoulders stiffen when someone gets too close and she's uncomfortable but doesn't want to make a scene. The way her fingers curl tight whenever something disgusts her but she keeps it to herself. The tiny crease that forms between her brows whenever she wants to escape.

People think obsession means just staring, drinking in the way she looks. They're wrong. Obsession is memorizing. I know the small details of her face and her habits that even she probably doesn't realize exist.

And the sharpest, most bitter irony? She doesn't know me at all. Not really.

I had been something far worse than furious an hour ago. Furious wasn't even close. I had been something much worse. And even now, my blood boiled whenever I thought about what had happened.

She still didn't know what kind of monster she had married. This beautiful, irritated, stubborn woman sitting beside me had stepped into my life and somehow convinced the most fucked-up part of my brain that the entire world now needed permission to exist around her.

Perhaps that was the problem-I no longer knew where protection ended and obsession began. Somewhere along the way, the line between them had blurred beyond recognition. And honestly? I didn't care enough to find it anymore.

My eyes drifted toward her again.

She still didn't know what had happened in that dungeon. She didn't know how much blood had been spilled because of her. She didn't know that the moment she stepped into my life, someone else had already paid the price for making the mistake of wanting what belonged to me.

The moment she became mine, someone became a sacrifice in her name. And the terrifying part? I didn't regret it. Not even for a second. Instead, a darker thought slipped into my mind. How many more sacrifices would her name demand? One? Five? A hundred? Would there ever be a number that made me stop? I honestly didn't know. Maybe there wasn't.

I glanced down at her feet. For one fleeting second, I imagined washing them with his blood. A ridiculous thought. Almost romantic, in my own twisted fucking way.

Would she smile if I did that? Would she understand what she meant to me? No. I dismissed it immediately. His blood was filthy. I wouldn't let it touch her. Not even a drop. She deserved better than that bastard's blood. She deserved mine. At least mine belonged to her.

My mind returned to that night. The bottle breaking. Her hand. Her eyes. The way she had stood over him with her foot pressed against his chest.

She had looked terrifying. Beautifully fucking terrifying.

And that bastard had been lucky. He had received something from her that I would have killed to have-her anger, her attention, her hatred.

I almost envied a dead man. How pathetic was that?

Then again, I had never been particularly sane where she was concerned. He got to see that side of her. I wanted to be the only person who ever did. I wanted every version of her. Her soft, accidental half-smiles when she thinks no one's watching. Her quiet, hidden tears she wipes away before anyone can see. Her sharp, burning anger that makes the room go cold. Her cold, cutting hatred that cuts deeper than any knife. Even her fear.

Especially her fear.

Because if she's afraid of the world, she'll run straight to me. And I'd simply have to make sure she remembered that there's nowhere safer in this whole world than wrapped in my arms.

Because The most dangerous attachment isn't to someone who makes you feel safe. It's to someone who makes you believe you can't be safe without them.

He should have listened to Rajveer. He should have listened to the police. He should have stayed in jail. At least that would've saved him from me.

But no.

The stupid fuck had to get out on bail early. He had to walk right into my wedding, into my territory, like he had any right to be there. He had to look at my wife. And then he had the audacity to speak about her with his garbage friends as though she were some cheap fucking object to pass around.

I saw everything from across the lawn. I saw her reaction when she recognized him-the sharp widening of her eyes, the cold disgust crawling across her face, the way her fingers curled tight into a fist when he offered her his dirty hand. She didn't want to touch him. I noticed. I always notice everything when it comes to her.

And when his eyes lingered on her body for a beat too long, something inside me snapped clean in half.

How fucking dare he? How dare any man even breathe the same air as my wife, let alone look at her as if he has the fucking right to?

She wasn't a prize to be won. She wasn't an object to be passed around. She was something far more dangerous than that. She was the only thing capable of making me destroy anyone without a single moment of hesitation, without any regret at all.

And perhaps that was even worse. Because I didn't just want to protect her from the world. I wanted to own everything that could ever hurt her. I wanted to control every threat before it even got close enough to touch her. Who could stand near her. Who could speak her name. Who could even look at her. Who deserved to breathe the same air as her.

And the truly disturbing part? I knew exactly how insane that sounded. I simply didn't care. Insanity is worth it if it keeps her safe.

I knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to walk straight toward him, make him pay for every disgusting word he'd said about her. But she held herself back, for the sake of the wedding, for the family watching.

So I did it for her. That's what a husband does, doesn't he? Takes care of his wife's problems before she has to lift a finger. I handled mine rather thoroughly.

A slow, cold smile touched my lips when I thought about it.

Yeah. I cut him into pieces while he screamed and begged for mercy. Then I fed those pieces to Lucifer. My boy had been hungry today. He finished every last bit. Not a trace remained. No one would ever find him. And that was exactly how I wanted it.

I glanced toward the darkness outside the window, a quiet chuckle escaping me.

At least the bastard finally proved useful for something.

I could have done it in the dungeon beneath my villa. That would have been easier. That place had seen worse. Much worse. But I had closed it. Because things were different now.

She was going to live here. My wife. My goddess. I couldn't have her stepping into a house where the walls still remembered screams, could I? Technically, none of it was a sin-not in my world. Men like him deserved whatever hell I had given them. But she didn't belong to my world. Not yet. Maybe never. And perhaps that was the only line I still cared enough not to cross.

Because what would happen if she knew? What if she found out that the man holding her hand at the wedding was the same man who could calmly watch someone beg for his life and feel absolutely nothing? Would she be afraid? Would she look at me differently? Would she run? Would she hate me? Would she look at me with the same disgust she'd shown him?

My jaw tightened.

No. I couldn't let that happen. She was too clever. She noticed too much. One wrong detail. One wrong question. One wrong door opened at the wrong time, and she'd start putting everything together. And then what? If she ever looked at me and saw the monster instead of her husband... would she stay?

That was the only question that mattered.

I could survive anything she threw at me-as long as she stayed. Her anger. Her hatred. Even her silence. Anything. But the thought of her walking out that door and leaving me? That was something I didn't know if I could survive. The mere thought of her gone-out of my sight, out of my reach-was unbearable. My mind simply refused to accept a world where she wasn't mine to come home to.

No.

I wouldn't let her go. I couldn't. And if she ever tried... I'd have to remind her that some cages are built so beautifully that the prisoner doesn't even realize they're locked in until it's already too late to escape.

She had married me tonight. She just hadn't realised yet that she hadn't married just a man. She had married everything I was, all the dark and bloody parts no one else ever got to see.

And sooner or later, I'd make her crave every dark, twisted piece of me until my darkness felt like home. And then, even if she wanted to run, she'd find herself longing for the very darkness she was trying to escape.

The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of the high iron gates of my villa, then pulled up to the main entrance, but she remained lost in her own thoughts for a few seconds, staring straight ahead through the windshield as though she had completely forgotten I was sitting right beside her. I stepped out of the car first, walked around the front to her side, and pulled open the heavy car door for her.

Her eyes finally lifted to me, before moving past me toward the dark silhouette of the villa, reality slowly seeping back into her expression. I extended my hand to help her out, but she looked at my hand, then up at my face, and slapped it away without a single moment of hesitation before stepping out herself and walking straight past me toward the entrance.

I stared at my open palm for a beat, the faint sting of her slap still lingering. A small, cold smile tugged at my mouth.

Should I break that pretty little wrist for that? But I dismissed it just as quickly, tucking my hand into my pocket. No. Breaking it would just mar that perfect skin. I'd rather break every other bone in every other person's body than touch a single hair on hers wrong.

I shook my head, closing the car door soft behind me, and followed her up the stone steps. She walked ahead as though she already owned the whole place, her head held high, while I followed behind her like a stranger in my own home. It doesn't feel like mine anymore, anyway. Not when she's here. It feels like hers.

Her saree pallu flowed soft behind her over the polished black marble as she stepped inside and stopped dead in the middle of the enormous, vaulted hall, her eyes traveling slow over the towering high ceilings, the sweeping grand staircase, the crystal chandeliers, the dark stained oak panels and the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows lined with heavy velvet curtains.

She had her own villa but mine was larger. Colder. More imposing. More thoroughly mine, every inch stamped with who I am.

I leaned one shoulder against the carved oak doorframe and watched her take it all in, my eyes fixed on the back of her neck.

"Welcome home, wife."

She turned toward me fast, her face completely unreadable, that sharp little crease already between her brows.

"This isn't my home."

I held her gaze steady, didn't look away for a single second. "It is now. You're my wife. Your home is wherever I am."

She froze for a beat before looking around the empty hall again, her brows knitting together at the thick, heavy silence surrounding her. No family. No bustling servants. No familiar faces. Just her, me, and the quiet that settled over my house like a blanket.

"Doesn't anyone else live here?" She sounded surprised, almost uneasy.

I pushed away from the doorway and walked slowly toward her, my boots tapping softly against the marble, getting closer step by step. "Why? Are you scared of being alone with me, wife? You sound scared."

She looked at me like I'd just insulted her deepest core, her chin lifting high. "Scared? Of you? Please. Don't flatter yourself."

I shrugged one shoulder slowly, a dark smirk tugging at my mouth. "Fine. I'll believe you. For now."

A silent butler in a crisp uniform appeared, placed a bottle of aged whiskey, a thick-cut crystal glass, a hand-rolled cigar, and a marble ashtray on the coffee table, then disappeared just as quietly, closing the heavy oak door behind him without a sound.

My anger still hadn't completely settled, the hot boil of it still thrumming under my skin, and I needed something to quiet the bloody thoughts circling nonstop in my head.

I'm already fucked up enough beyond repair. What if I end up corrupting her too?

I walked slowly toward the royal velvet sofa and sank into it like I owned every inch of this house-and every inch of her. Which, technically, I did. I poured myself a generous finger of amber whiskey, watching as her eyes followed the silent butler with a faintly raised brow.

Confused, she turned back to me. "Who all actually lives here? It's too quiet. Like a tomb."

"Just me, Ayan, Lucifer... and from today, you. That's all." I took a slow sip of the whiskey, the burn searing down my throat, and caught her eyes fixed on me, her nose crinkling slightly as she watched me.

"Lucifer? Who is he? Another hitman on your payroll?"

A slow, mad, sharp smile tugged at my mouth, I set my glass down hard enough to clink, and called loud enough for the whole house to hear: "Lucifer!"

A deep rumbling growl rolled through the hallway, vibrating the marble under our feet, low and hungry. She froze solid, every muscle locking. Slowly she turned, and a massive coal-black panther stepped out of the staircase shadow, glowing yellow eyes locked straight on her, tail flicking slow and predatory.

Her breath caught sharp in her throat before she looked back at me, wide-eyed and disbelieving. "HIM? You keep a fucking panther in your house?!"

I chuckled low and dark, swirling my whiskey, leaning back fully relaxed into the madness. "Pet's too soft. He's my oldest partner. Only one who never judges what I do, never asks stupid questions. Never betrays me. Isn't that right, boy?"

The panther rumbled again, padded one step closer, and I grinned, sharp and unhinged.

"See? He agrees. He's been waiting to meet his mummy, actually." I leaned back, swirling the whiskey in my glass, utterly calm in the chaos. "Don't worry. He only hurts people I tell him to. You're safe... for now."

She stared at the panther, then at me, then back at the panther, her eyes wide with disbelief. "That is your boy?"

I nodded slowly, swirling my whiskey in the glass. "Hmm. Got him when he was just a cub. Raised him myself."

She blinked several times, like she was trying to process what she was hearing. "You never thought it was important to mention before we got here that you have a full-grown panther living in your house?"

My smirk deepened, the corner of my mouth tugging up higher. "You never asked me. Can't blame me for that."

Her mouth fell open in shock. "Who asks that?! ! Who walks up to a stranger and goes, 'Hi, nice to meet you. By the way, do you keep any dangerous wild animals living in your house?' That's not a normal question people ask!"

A low, quiet laugh escaped me, rumbling deep in my chest. God, she was fucking entertaining when she was riled up. I could sit here and watch her like this all damn day.

Lucifer took a slow, deliberate step toward her, and she immediately stepped backward, "Mr. Rathore..."

"Hmm?"

"He's coming closer. Right toward me."

"I can see that. My eyes work fine, wife."

She looked at me completely bewildered. "Then do something! Call him back!"

I crossed one leg over the other, completely relaxed. "Why would I? He's just curious about the new lady in the house."

Her eyes widened even further. "Because he's terrifying! That's why!"

I took another slow sip of whiskey, not rushing. "He's harmless, I told you. He only hurts people I tell him to hurt."

Lucifer rumbled another low growl, and her entire body stiffened up, every muscle locked. "That didn't sound harmless! That sounded like he wants to eat me!"

I chuckled low, leaning back against the sofa. "He's just saying hello. He's never met a new person in the house before. And for the record..." I took a slow sip of my whiskey, never taking my eyes off her, my voice dropping to a low, rough purr. "He's not the one who gets to eat you. That's my privilege. Only mine. He knows better than to touch what's mine."

Her mouth fell open completely, shock and hot anger flaring in her eyes before she grabbed the small decorative vase off the side table and hurled it straight at my head. I ducked easily, it crashed against the wall behind me and shattered into a hundred pieces, and I barked a loud, dark laugh. She shot me an angry look, her cheeks flushed, her voice trembling with fury.

"You are such a fucking pervert! I can't believe I married this shit! What the actual fuck is wrong with you!"

I tilted my head, watching her glare at me with those flushed cheeks. God, she looked tempting when she was furious. A slow smirk tugged at my lips as I patted my thigh, inviting her closer.

"Nothing's wrong with me. Never has been. Come here. Sit on my lap like a good wife. I promise I won't bite... Unless you give me a reason to."

She curled her fingers around another small decorative vase when Lucifer gave a sharp warning growl from beside her feet. She flinched, the vase slipping from her hand and shattering across the marble. I took another slow sip of my whiskey, hiding the faintest hint of a smile behind the glass. Lucifer stepped toward her again, deliberate and unhurried, making her stumble back until her spine met the cold windowpane.

"Okay, I'm not doing anything, hehe... good boy." She forced it out, nervous laughter tight in her throat. Lucifer tilted his massive head, like he was curious about the sound of her voice. She pushed a tiny, trembling smile onto her face. "Very good boy. Stay right there, okay?"

He moved another step closer, claws clicking softly against the polished stone. Her smile vanished completely. "I said stay there!"

Another step. She looked over at me, openly betrayed, her voice rising sharp. "Why isn't he listening to me? He's your goddamn pet!"

I lit the cigar and took a slow drag, watching her in silence. "Maybe he doesn't like being ordered around. Same as me."

She shot me a blazing glare, her dark eyes burning with raw fury. Lucifer rumbled another low, warning growl from the doorway, and she jumped so hard that the heavy wedding dupatta slipped right off her head, pooling softly around her shoulders and down her back. The fabric slid slowly down the curve of her spine, baring the smooth, warm skin of her back down to the dip of her waist. Her long, loose black hair fanned out over the exposed skin like silk.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe.

I had never seen anything this perfect in my whole life. She had always been beautiful, but like this-wild, angry, and unguarded-she looked like something out of a dream I had never dared to dream.

"Oh, come on!" She twisted back to me, hands clenched tight at her sides. "Are you seriously just going to sit there and watch him corner me? Aren't you going to do anything?"

I leaned back deeper into the leather sofa, one arm slung over the back, legs spread loose and comfortable. "Absolutely. Why would I stop the best entertainment I've had in years?"

Her mouth dropped open, shock and anger painting her cheeks bright red. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

I smiled slowly, sharp, my eyes darkening as they dragged over her exposed shoulder. "Immensely. I haven't enjoyed anything this much in my whole life."

I'd burn the whole world down just to keep seeing this fire in her eyes.

She glared daggers at me, her chest heaving. "You're horrible."

I took another slow drag, tapping ash into the black marble ashtray, my smile never fading. "I've been called a lot worse than horrible."

Lucifer started toward her again, big paws clicking softly on the marble, and she retreated another step, her back pressing flat against the window glass.

"I swear, Mahadev, if I die today... please write this down in your divine register-this psycho man will have so many sins to pay for, don't let him get away with it."

I almost choked on my cigar smoke trying not to laugh loud. Lucifer kept moving slowly, his growl deep and rumbling, just putting on a show for her. She pressed herself farther back against the glass, like she could melt right through it.

"I'm too young to die," she whispered, then muttered under her breath so quietly I barely heard it, "Damn it! I didn't even get to collect all my wedding cash from the guests!"

I stared at her, shaking my head. Her fucking priorities. A three-hundred-pound panther was ten feet away from her, ready to pounce as far as she knew, and she was worried about missing out on wedding money. She had enough money to buy half the damn city, yet knowing her, if she ever got the chance, she'd probably try to buy me too.

God, this woman is going to be the death of me, and I'll die smiling.

She looked at Lucifer again and slowly raised both hands in surrender, palms out. "Hey... listen, kitty. Okay, chill. We're both confused, right? You didn't expect a new bride today. I didn't expect a giant panther in the living room. We don't have to do this. I'm sure you're lovely and misunderstood. I'm lovely and misunderstood. We're even. We can totally be friends."

Lucifer blinked his big yellow eyes, and I watched his tail move lazily behind him, no more growling. My boy already liked her.

She leaned forward slightly, breathless with small victory, a tiny shaky smile tugging at her mouth. "See? Eye contact. We're bonding already."

Lucifer rumbled another low growl. She immediately straightened back up, hands flying up again. "Okay, never mind! No bonding! I get it! Territorial issues. I respect that, totally!"

I couldn't stop the wide, amused smile spreading across my face. Lucifer had the same wicked streak I did. He didn't want to hurt her-he simply enjoyed making her nervous, watching her struggle between fear and fury.

Lucifer circled her slowly, not attacking, just playing, his big paws silent on the marble, before catching the soft end of her saree pallu between his sharp teeth. She tugged it back quickly, voice panicked.

"Look, baby, it's a designer piece. Very fucking expensive. Please don't ruin it. I didn't even get a good full-length photo in it at the wedding yet!"

I stared at her in disbelief, slowly shaking my head. She was actually negotiating with a full-grown panther over her saree. Of fucking course she was.

Lucifer loosened his grip just a little, and she snatched her pallu back before turning and bolting straight for the staircase. Lucifer immediately bounded after her, excited by the chase. She turned too quickly on the marble, caught her foot in the edge of her saree, and landed on the floor with a soft, surprised thud.

"Ouch! God damn it!"

Lucifer stopped right beside her, gave an almost playful little hiss before nudging his cold, wet nose against her bare foot. She yelped and pulled her leg back fast, like he'd burned her. "Don't touch my toe! It's just been pedicured!"

I pressed my lips together, barely holding back my laughter as my shoulders shook. Watching her scramble back to her feet, her saree completely askew, was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. I would've given anything to freeze that moment and keep it forever.

Her expression went blank for a split second before her eyes narrowed into sharp, murderous slits at the panther. Lucifer rumbled a playful growl, and she immediately scrambled to her feet and ran.

I laughed low under my breath as she stumbled backward over the rug, trying to put as much distance between herself and Lucifer as possible, until her foot caught the thick edge of the wool rug and she lost her balance, and fell back toward me.

I caught her around the waist quickly before she could hit the floor, and she landed soft and warm right in my lap, one hand flying to grip my shoulder while the other clutched hard at the front of my shirt.

Fuck.

For one suspended, quiet second, everything in the room went dead silent. That sweet cherry perfume she wore wrapped around me, and I was already half drunk on it. Her body pressed tight against mine, her breath coming fast and uneven against my neck, her fingers tightening into my shoulder, but her eyes remained fixed on Lucifer, still stalking toward us.

Of course they did. She was still more scared of him than she was of me. That would change soon enough.

I looked past her and saw Lucifer walking slowly toward us, clearly knowing exactly what he was doing, that little troublemaker.

Her eyes widened so much they looked huge. "Mr. Rathore!"

I finally laughed properly, loud and deep, unable to remember the last time something had amused me this much, not after years of just blood and silence. She turned toward me fast, still clutching my shoulder hard, her face flushing bright red with anger and embarrassment, her mouth open to snap at me.

"Main aapko bata rahi hoon..." Her grip tightened on my shoulder, fingers digging in hard through the thin fabric of my shirt. "...agar isne mujhe chhoo bhi liya na, toh aaj aapki khair nahi."

(I'm telling you... if he even touches me, you're going to regret it today.)

I looked down at her small hand curled tight around my shoulder, then back up at her furious, flushed face, my smirk softening just a little, something she didn't even notice.

She was threatening me with death while sitting right in my lap, holding onto me like I was the only safe thing in the whole goddamn room, like I wouldn't let anything hurt her even if I had to die to protect her.

She'd rather cling to the monster than get closer to my panther. I almost laughed out loud at the irony.

The hand holding my cigar lifted slowly, brushing a stray strand of hair back from her warm cheek, my thumb brushing softly over her heated skin. She froze under my touch, her eyes going wide, her breath catching in her throat.

Behind us, Lucifer curled up right beside my feet and went still. His work was done. He'd gotten her exactly where I wanted her. I tilted my head, the smoke curling slowly from my cigar. "I'll keep him off you, wife. But what did I get in return for keeping you safe?"

She turned her head to face me full on, and we were so close our noses almost brushed. My hand tightened hard around her waist, pulling her just a little closer against me, and a soft, surprised gasp left her mouth that went straight to my groin. I was already half hard just from having her on my lap. Fuck.

I let my eyes wander slowly over every inch of her face, like it was the first and last time I ever saw it. Her dark, smoky silver eyes were blown wide, her pupils dark with nervous energy. Her nose was small and delicate, that tiny silver nose ring glinting softly whenever the chandelier light hit it.

Why is even the smallest thing about her this beautiful?

My eyes drifted down to her lips, and I swore my blood turned to fire. Those two little moles just above her upper lip were perfect, like they were placed there just to drive me crazy. I wanted to taste them so badly it hurt.

Her breath came fast and warm against my jaw, and I didn't care that I was being a greedy bastard. My gaze drifted lower, to the hollow of her neck, where the black-and-gold mangalsutra I had tied around her throat that morning sat against her skin, and the tiny dark mole dead in the center of that hollow.

Fuck. I wanted to sink my teeth right there, bite hard enough to bruise deep, leave my mark so every fucking person who looked at her knew she was mine. Every time she tilted her head, she would feel it and remember who she belonged to.

She was a fucking masterpiece. Every inch of her was perfect, like someone had carved her just for me. I wanted to uncover every little secret on her body with my lips, kiss every mole, every scar, every inch she had never let anyone else see.

I lifted my gaze back to her eyes, and she stared right back at me, wide and wary. I chuckled low, shaking my head. What the fuck was I doing, losing my head over her this fast? I had waited so long. I should have gone slow. But all I could think about was peeling that red saree away piece by piece and worshipping every inch of her until she forgot everything but me.

She had no idea what she did to me. No idea how completely I was already hers, how completely she owned every fucked-up part of me.

"Jaam toh bas ek bahaana tha... hosh toh uski qurbat ne loota tha."

(The drink was merely an excuse... it was her closeness that truly robbed me of my senses.)

She glared at me, her small hand fisting the front of my black shirt, her knuckles white, her dark eyes blazing with fury. "Niyat mein sharafat toh nazar nahi aa rahi, Rathore Sahab."

(Your intentions don't look very decent, Rathore Sahab.)

My hand slid lower on her waist, gripping the soft curve of her hip through the silk of her saree and pulling her closer. Inside, I was already losing my grip on the control I'd fought so hard to keep. A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at my lips. "Meri niyat pe sawaal mat karo, jaan... jawab aapko pasand nahi aayega."

(Don't question my intentions, jaan... you won't like the answer.)

I took a slow drag from my cigar, blowing the warm gray smoke softly near her lips. She turned her face away with a little huff, her body brushing against my chest as she moved. That sweet cherry scent of hers wrapped around me, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from groaning. "Aur rahi baat sharafat ki... aap yun meri baahon mein aaengi, toh hum sharafat kaise nibhaayenge?"

(And as for decency... if you keep falling into my arms like this, jaan, how am I supposed to remain decent?)

She snapped her face back toward me as if I'd crossed some invisible line, then grabbed my collar. Fuck. Her lips were dangerously close-close enough that I could feel her breath, close enough that every instinct in me screamed to close the distance. But I stayed exactly where I was. Control. She had no idea what she was doing to me.

"Har baat ka zimmedaar mujhe hi thehrana zaroori hai?"

(Is it really necessary to hold me responsible for everything?)

My thumb brushing the soft edge of her jaw. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to grab her by the back of the neck and bite those pouty pink lips until they bled. But I stayed put, barely holding myself back from crossing the line she hadn't let me cross yet, savoring every second of her anger.

"Qareeb aap khud aayi, aur niyat hamari kharab? Kamaal hai, jaan... mujhe toh aapki niyat bhi kuch saaf nahi lag rahi.... Kahin aapki niyat bhi humari tarah..."

(You're the one who came closer, yet somehow my intentions are the dirty ones? How amusing, jaan... I'm beginning to think your intentions aren't quite innocent either. Perhaps they're just as wicked as mine...)

Her eyes flared with hot, unyielding anger, and I lived for that fire. It ran straight up my spine, making every muscle in my body tense as I fought to keep my composure.

I fucking loved pushing her buttons, loved riling her up until she snapped. If I didn't get to tease her like this, who would? No one. She was mine to tease, mine to provoke, mine to drive absolutely mad.

But then she did something that left me stunned, my brain going completely blank for a beat. I was so distracted by her presence, so focused on the way she sat against me, that I forgot I'd left my loaded handgun on the coffee table right beside us.

Before I could react, she snatched it up, slid off my lap in one smooth, quick movement, crossed to the other end of the leather sofa, and settled back against the cushions like a fucking queen, my own gun pointed dead straight at my chest.

I fucking knew it. She knew how to handle a gun, knew how to manipulate a situation, knew exactly how to distract an enemy before she struck. Damn this woman.

Lucifer got up from his spot at my feet, hackles raised, muscles coiled to lunge the second I gave the order. I lifted one hand slowly to stop him, and he backed down, but he never stopped glaring, his yellow eyes locked on her like she was a threat.

Damn, just kill me right here. Why the fuck was this so hot? Who the hell got this turned on by his own wife pointing his gun straight at his chest? Apparently, me. Only me. And only when it was her.

She smirked, sharp and unapologetic, and I swore my heart skipped a beat. God, what a woman. "Hum aapki tarah besharam nahi hain, Rathore Sahab."

(I'm not as shameless as you are, Rathore Sahab.)

I took a slow drag from my cigar, blew the smoke up toward the ceiling, my eyes never leaving hers, a wicked grin spreading across my face. "Aap toh waqai khatarnaak nikli, jaan."

(You truly are dangerous, jaan.)

I leaned forward, ready to call her bluff, when she did something that stopped me cold. She lifted her bare foot and pressed it firmly against my chest, right over my hammering heart, her toes brushing the edge of my collar.

For one suspended second, I forgot how to breathe. It felt like she held my beating heart in the palm of her hand, like she could squeeze the life out of me and leave me bleeding at her feet if she wanted.

And the fucking worst part? I'd let her.

She spoke, sharp and full of hot arrogance, that beautiful accent rolling off her tongue. "Kya karein, Rathore Sahab... aapki biwi jo thehri."

(What can I do, Rathore Sahab... I am your wife, after all.)

I stared at her, drinking every inch of her in so deep I couldn't breathe, trying to burn this wild, perfect moment into my bones forever. She looked like a fucking goddess of war, untamed and dangerous and everything I ever craved, and I'm just a sinner at her feet, ready to worship however she wants.

I knew I should have been angry. I should have already disarmed her, thrown her back against the sofa, and shown her who was really in charge. But this... this was better than anything I had ever imagined.

My gaze drifted slowly from her face to the bare foot pressed against my chest. The soft skin was stained a rich, vivid red with alta, the colour looking almost like blood against her skin-as if she had been marked for me, like she had been born to wear a crown.

It looked like a warning. Beautiful. Dangerous.

And God, I had never seen anything more fucking perfect. For one reckless moment, I wanted to drop to my knees, take that foot in my hands, and worship every delicate inch of it, from her ankle to her toes, until the memory of her was carved into my soul so deeply that even death couldn't erase it.

She had a tiny silver toe ring on her big toe, delicate and shining against the alta-stained skin. I looked a little higher and found her ankle completely bare.

No anklet. For some reason, that tiny detail tugged at my heart.

I wanted to see one there. A delicate silver anklet wrapped around her ankle, tiny bells chiming softly whenever she walked. I could already imagine the sound following her through the house.

It was such a stupid little thing to want, but somehow, I wanted it badly. I wanted to be the one who put it there.

But still, it was perfect-so completely, effortlessly her. There was something about the smallest details of her that made me want to stay right there, at her feet, and worship the woman she was. I could spend a lifetime admiring her and still feel like I hadn't looked at her enough.

She was holding my gun on me, her bare foot pressed right over my heart, and I wasn't even allowed to touch her. Wasn't allowed to kiss that beautiful little foot.

Fuck. For the first time in my life, I felt like the unluckiest man alive. I had waited years just to hear the soft chime of anklets following her footsteps. And yet, today, I hadn't even gotten to see one wrapped around her ankle, hadn't gotten to press my lips to them yet, hadn't gotten to put one there myself.

What a fucking tragedy.

I whispered, my eyes still fixed on the delicate foot pressed against my chest: "Khoobsurat paon hain aapke, biwi... aur jagah bhi khoob chuni hai."

(You have beautiful feet, wife... and you certainly chose quite a place to put them.)

She clearly didn't like the way I stared at her, like I couldn't get enough of even the smallest thing about her. She pressed her foot harder against my chest in warning, her jaw tightening.

"You are absolutely fucking shameless, Mr. Rathore."

I smirked, my gaze lifting back to her angry face, my hand resting light on her where her foot met my chest. "Only around you, wife. Only for you."

Her eyes narrowed into sharp slits, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. She was fucking adorable when she was angry. I laughed low, shaking my head, my thumb brushing lightly over her ankle bone.

I knew exactly how to push her buttons, and somehow, it had become my favorite thing in the world. Because whenever I pushed, she talked more. Fought more. Gave me little pieces of herself she probably didn't even realize she was giving.

Even if it was only an argument, I took it.

I had waited years for even the smallest piece of her-her voice, her anger, her attention. Now that she was finally giving me all of it, I knew one thing for certain: I would never fucking have enough.

"Aapko chhedne ka maza hi kuch aur hai, jaan... humein toh aapko chhedna behad pasand hai."

(I enjoy teasing you far too much, jaan... there's something about teasing you that I absolutely love.)

She smirked back, sharp and confident, the gun still trained directly on me. One wrong move, and she could pull the trigger-the bullet would go straight between my eyes, right into my forehead.

"Aapko chhedna pasand hai? Humein goli chalana. Aur yaqeen maaniye, Rathore Sahab, hamara nishana kabhi nahi chookta."

(You enjoy teasing? I enjoy pulling the trigger. And believe me, Rathore Sahab... I never miss my target.)

I chuckled low, a dark, rough sound, and murmured under my breath, quietly enough that only I could hear it: "Lagta hai umar poori hone se pehle hi biwi ke haathon shaheed hona hai. magar aisi maut ka bhi kya gila."

(Looks like I'm gonna die at my wife's hand before I even get to live a full life with her. Can't say I mind a death like this, though.)

She narrowed her eyes, dark and razor-sharp, as if she had already planned every brutal detail of my murder in her head. "Aaj aapne humein bahut pareshan kiya hai, aur ab hans bhi rahe hain? Khabardaar, Rathore Sahab... jaan le lungi aapki."

(You've tormented me so much today, and now you're laughing too? Careful, Rathore Sahab... I might just kill you.)

I smirked, lifting my half-burned cigar to my lips and taking another slow drag, gray smoke curling lazily around my jaw.

"Abhi toh humne kiya hi kya hai, jaan..." My smirk deepened, wicked and hungry, my gaze dragging slowly over the curve of her shoulder where her saree slipped loose. "Abhi toh bas nazrein gustakh hui hain, irade toh aur bhi badnaam hain. Agar waqai kuch karne par aa gaye na, toh..."

(I haven't even done anything to you yet, love... So far I've only been insolent with my eyes. My intentions are far more disgraceful than that. If I actually get around to doing everything I want to do to you, then...)

Before I could finish my sentence, she moved fast, shifting the gun until the cold, hard barrel was pressed right under my chin, digging softly into my skin. She hovered over me now, one knee planted firmly between my spread thighs, trapping me against the back of the leather sofa so I couldn't twitch an inch without touching her. Her other hand was braced on the cushion beside my head, cutting off every escape route. She tilted my chin up to force me to meet her eyes, exactly the same way I had done to her in the hospital on our first meeting.

Damn, she's a quick fucking learner, my perfect, wild wife.

She gritted her teeth, her voice sharp with hot anger that made my whole body ache for her. "Aur agar aapne humein chhoone ki bhi jurrat ki... toh jaan se maar denge aapko."

(And if you dare to even try touching me... I'll kill you.)

I smirked, wrapped my large, calloused hand around hers where she held the gun, and slowly eased it down until the cold barrel rested right over my hammering heart. My fingers brushed softly over her knuckles, my thumb grazing the ring on her finger-my ring. I whispered, my breath warm against her cheek, the scent of whiskey and cigar smoke lingering thickly between us.

"Humne toh chhoone ka zikr tak nahi kiya... kamaal hai, biwi, aapki soch humse do qadam aage nikli."

(We never even mentioned touching you... My, my, wife, your thoughts have already taken two steps ahead of mine.)

Embarrassment flushed her cheeks bright red, the pink climbing up her neck all the way to her ears. Oh, my shy little wife. I could play this game with her mind forever; it was better than any high I'd ever had.

She shoved the gun harder against my chest, the barrel digging into my skin, her hand shaking just slightly with that mix of anger and embarrassment.

"Uff... humein aapse nafrat hai, Rathore Sahab... behad nafrat."

(Ugh... I hate you, Rathore Sahab... I hate you more than you could ever imagine.)

"Maloom hai." (I know.)

I held her gaze, my thumb brushing gently over the back of her hand as it wrapped around the gun.

"Aapki marzi ke baghair aapko chhoona bhi humari fitrat nahi, jaan. Karna hota toh ab tak bahut kuch kar chuke hote... magar humein jeet ka maza tab aayega, jab aap khud apni marzi se humare paas aayengi.

Aap humari biwi hain... humara haq hain. Magar aapki marzi ke baghair, woh haq bhi humara nahi."

(I'm not the kind of man who would ever touch you without your consent, jaan. If that were what I wanted, I could have done far more by now... but I'll only truly enjoy winning when you come to me willingly, of your own accord.

You are my wife... my right. But without your consent, even that right doesn't belong to me.)

She scoffed, sharp and disbelieving, like I just said the most senseless thing in the world. "Aapka intezaar kabhi khatam nahi hoga, Rathore Sahab."

(Your wait will never end, Rathore Sahab.)

I smirked, my grip tightening just a little on her hand, pulling her half an inch closer. The scent of her cherry perfume wrapped around me, and I had to bite my tongue to not kiss her right then. "Toh phir apne lafzon par qayam rehna, jaan... warna phir humare sabr ka kya hoga, humein khud nahi maloom."

(Then be prepared to stand by those words, jaan... because if my patience finally runs out, even I can't say what I'll do.)

⚜ ─── TO BE CONTINUED ─── ⚜