After Aryan left, Nithya stood in front of her gate for a long minute.
Her heart was calm, but her mind was not. His words replayed again and again.
"Marry me."
"You are mine."
Nithya touched her wrist, where her bracelet rested.
A small devil charm hung from it.
She smirked lightly, but no one saw.
Inside the house, her mother called, "Nithya! Breakfast!"
Nithya entered with a normal expression, as if nothing impossible just happened outside.
At the dining table, her father talked about office work, her little brother complained about school, her mother forced them to eat more.
Everything was ordinary.
Ordinary family.
Ordinary life.
Exactly how Nithya wanted them to see her.
But nothing about Nithya was ordinary.
Far away, in his family study room, Aryan sat with a glass of water.
He didn't drink alcohol. His control was sharper without it.
His parents entered. His mother folded her arms.
"Aryan, do you know this girl's family? Have you met them?"
"No," Aryan said. "I don't need to."
His father frowned. "Marriage needs discussion. This isn't business or mafia decision."
Aryan finally looked up. His eyes were cold.
"For me, marriage is the most serious deal. I already made it."
His mother sighed.
"Let us meet the girl first. And at least ask if she even wants you."
Aryan smiled faintly.
"She will."
His parents shared a look. Their son was stubborn since childhood.
Once he chose something, he never let go.
Whether it was power, territory, or now — a girl.
Two days passed. Aryan returned to Nithya's college at lunch hour.
Today, she sat under a tree reading a book, hair falling on her face.
The wind tried to move her pages but she held them gently.
Aryan stopped walking and just watched.
Silence wrapped him.
For the first time, he felt peace.
His driver whispered, "Sir, should I call her?"
"No," Aryan said. "She will notice."
He was right.
After a minute, Nithya lifted her head slowly.
Her eyes scanned the campus and landed exactly on Aryan.
Not shocked.
Not shy.
Not scared.
Just aware.
Aryan walked to her. Students stared.
He sat opposite her without asking.
Nithya closed her book.
"What now?" she asked softly.
Aryan leaned forward.
"I spoke to my parents."
"And?" she asked.
"They are ready to meet your family."
Nithya stared at him. "Are you always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Fast. Direct."
Aryan thought for a second.
"Only when I want something."
"And you want me?"
Aryan didn't blink. "Yes."
Nithya rested her chin on her hand.
"Why?"
Aryan paused. He searched for a reason, a logic, an explanation.
There was none.
"I don't need why," he said. "I saw you. And that was enough."
Her lips twitched, like she was hiding a smile.
"People don't marry like that."
"They will," Aryan replied, "when I decide."
Nithya sighed lightly and stood.
"I'll think."
Aryan grabbed her wrist gently.
"No. Don't think. Just answer."
Nithya looked down at her wrist, then into his eyes.
"You're arrogant."
"And you like it," Aryan shot back.
Nithya didn't deny it.
She pulled her hand free slowly and walked away.
Aryan watched her leave with clenched jaw.
The obsession was growing into hunger.
His phone rang. He answered.
"Sir, everything is prepared in Korea. If you return—"
"I'm not returning," Aryan cut him off.
"Not without her."
That evening, Nithya sat on the roof of her house, looking at the sky.
A soft breeze passed. She hugged her knees.
"He's interesting," she whispered to herself.
Men usually bored her.
Weak. Predictable. Scared.
But Aryan…
He was none of those things.
He was fire.
He was control.
He was ego walking in human form.
And she liked being challenged.
But she would never make it easy.
Devils don't surrender for free.
In Aryan's room, he stared at a map of Korea on his wall.
He drew a circle around Seoul.
Under his breath, he said, "My wife will live here."
His voice held no doubt.
Only certainty.
And certainty from a mafia lord was equal to fate.