Aadhya's POV:
I should have thrown the note away.
Burned it. Forgotten it.
But I hadn't.
Instead, I had spent the entire night thinking about it.
The words had branded themselves into my skin, repeating over and over in my mind.
"You try so hard to forget, darlin`."
I had torn the note into pieces. But it didn't matter. It was still inside me.
By morning, I was exhausted. The penthouse felt suffocating, the silence pressing into my ribs like a weight I couldn't shake off.
I needed to get out.
To go somewhere—anywhere.
That's how I found myself here.
---
The bookstore was quiet.
Soft instrumental music played in the background, blending with the faint rustling of pages and murmured conversations. This was supposed to help.
It didn't.
I ran my fingers along the spines of the books, pretending I wasn't restless. Pretending I wasn't searching for something.
Or someone.
I pulled out a book and flipped through it, my gaze skimming the words without really seeing them. My thoughts were elsewhere. On dark whiskey eyes and a voice that had no business still living inside me.
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. No.
Not this. Not again.
"You always did prefer stories over reality."
The book nearly slipped from my fingers.
I knew that voice.
I knew it in the way my body went still, my breath locking in my throat. Knew it in the way my skin burned before I even turned around.
Slowly—so slowly—I turned.
And there he was.
Raivaan Rathore.
Standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching me with an amusement that felt more like a trap than a smile.
I swallowed. "Are you following me?"
He lifted a brow. "Did I tell you to come here?"
I hesitated.
No. He hadn't.
Then why did it feel like I had walked straight to him?
---
Raivaan's POV:
She looked like she wanted to run.
I wasn't going to stop her.
Because the truth was—she wasn't running from me.
She was running from the part of herself that still belonged to me.
Aadhya clenched her jaw, tilting her chin up in that defiant way I had always loved. "I didn't come here for you."
I smirked, stepping closer. Not too close. Just enough. "Didn't you?"
Her fingers curled around the book she was holding, her knuckles white. " It's a public place."
"And yet, you chose this one."
She exhaled sharply. " You really think I planned this?"
I tilted my head slightly. "No, Mrs. Singhania. I think you're just not ready to admit it yet."
Her chest rose and fell with a slow, controlled breath. "Admit what?"
"That you're looking for me."
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
---
Aadhya's POV:
I should have walked away.
That would have been the smart thing to do. The safe thing.
But I didn't.
Instead, I stood there, my body betraying me, my heart slamming against my ribs with a force I didn't understand.
I let my fingers curl tighter around the book I wasn't even reading.
Raivaan stood in front of me, effortlessly composed, his whiskey-colored gaze steady—too steady.
He wasn't touching me.
But his presence? It was a weight against my skin, pressing, waiting.
I swallowed. "We're in a bookstore."
He smirked. "And?"
"And this isn't…" I trailed off, my pulse skittering when his eyes dipped to my lips.
Damn him.
"This isn't what, darlin` ?" His voice was velvet, deep and slow, dragging over me like heat.
I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to step back. "This isn't happening."
Raivaan didn't argue.
He didn't need to.
Because I was the one still standing here.
---
Raivaan's POV:
She could lie all she wanted.
She could say she wasn't affected.
But the way her breath hitched when I tilted my head? The way her fingers curled slightly at her sides, as if resisting the urge to reach out?
She was already losing.
I let the silence stretch. Let her feel it.
Then, I took a slow step forward, watching the way her throat worked as she swallowed. Watching the way her body tensed in anticipation—like she was waiting for something.
And then—someone bumped into her.
A small gasp slipped past her lips as she stumbled slightly, her shoulder brushing mine.
And then it happened.
Her elbow hit the shelf. A soft gasp. A glass bottle of whiskey—meant for premium buyers only—tilted from its display and fell between us.
Crash.
A sharp inhale.
I exhaled slowly, looking down at my shirt. The expensive, dark fabric clung to my chest, soaked in whiskey, the scent thick in the air between us.
Aadhya's eyes widened, horror flashing across her face. "Oh myyy god—"
I smirked. "You always did have a way of ruining me, darlin`."
She opened her mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to apologize. But I had already undone the first button.
Her breath hitched.
Another button.
Her pulse fluttered at her throat.
The third one came undone, and I heard the way she inhaled, sharp and quick.
I didn't say anything as I shrugged off the soaked fabric, letting it drop onto the counter beside us.
The air shifted.
Aadhya's gaze lingered.
And that was when I knew.
She wasn't just fighting me anymore.
She was fighting herself.
---
Aadhya's POV:
I needed to stop looking.
I needed to stop looking.
But I couldn't.
The way his skin gleamed under the dim bookstore lighting, the ridges of his abdomen flexing as he ran a hand through his damp hair—he had always been devastating, but this? This was lethal.
Heat curled in my stomach, unwanted, unshaken.
I turned away, heart slamming against my ribs. "You should go change."
Raivaan hummed. "Worried about me?"
I clenched my jaw. "Worried about this getting worse."
He chuckled softly. "It already has, Mrs. Singhania.
My breath caught.
I hated how easily he slipped back into my veins, how effortlessly he made me remember.
I forced my legs to move, gripping the book tighter, ready to leave.
But as I walked past him, his voice wrapped around me like silk and steel.
"This isn't over, Aadhya."