The morning light spilled through the curtains, warm and golden, casting shifting patterns across the bed.
Beneath the tangled sheets, Aarav lay awake, his broad frame curled protectively around Ayan's smaller body. His hand rested lightly on Ayan's waist, fingers brushing the faint rise and fall of his breathing.
His gaze lingered on the reddish hickeys scattered across Ayan's bare neck and chest—marks he had left the night before.
He leaned down, pressing a slow kiss against the curve of Ayan's neck, lips lingering on the warm skin.
Ayan stirred, lashes fluttering before his eyes opened groggily. A soft wince crossed his face, and with a muffled sound he ducked under the blanket, hiding in embarrassment.
Aarav smiled, slipping his arm under the blanket to pull him closer against his chest. His voice was low, coaxing.
"Ayan… can I get a morning kiss? Just one."
From under the sheets came a muffled, flustered protest. "You always start with a kiss, then ask for more…"
Grinning, Aarav tugged the blanket down just enough to catch Ayan's flushed face. His dark eyes softened as they met Ayan's. "Just a kiss. Please."
Something in his tone—the raw, boyish plea—made Ayan's lips part as if he might give in.
But then—
A sharp knock rattled the door.
"Sir, are you up?" came the maid's voice.
Ayan froze, every muscle stiff, his wide eyes darting toward Aarav in panic. His hand gripped Aarav's arm, silently begging him to answer.
But Aarav only leaned closer, lips brushing against Ayan's cheek as he whispered, stubborn, teasing, "I want a kiss…"
Another knock followed, firmer this time. "Sir…?"
Still, Aarav refused to move. His gaze stayed locked on Ayan, waiting, patient but insistent.
Ayan's heartbeat thundered. He glanced at the locked door, then back at Aarav's squeezed eyes. Finally, with trembling resolve, he cupped Aarav's face and pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips—gentle, soft, enough.
When he pulled back, his cheeks burned crimson. "Now check the door, please."
Aarav's smile stretched, satisfied and almost manly triumphant. "Stay here," he murmured.
Sliding out of bed, he tugged on his half-crumpled shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons, and padded to the door.
Ayan immediately cocooned himself in the sheets again, only his eyes peeking out.
Aarav cracked the door half open.
The maid stood outside, bowing politely. "Good morning, sir. Your father is waiting for breakfast downstairs."
Her eyes flickered, taking in his hastily buttoned shirt, his bed hair still a little messy. She lingered just a moment too long, her gaze sliding toward the bed before she quickly looked away.
Heat crept up Aarav's neck. He narrowed the door's gap. "I'll… take a shower first."
"Of course, sir. Take your time," she replied, a playful lilt in her voice as she walked away.
Leaning back against the door, Aarav exhaled slowly. But the memory of Ayan's kiss—the warmth, the hesitation—clung to him, tugging another smile across his lips.
---
[Singh Mansion—Morning]
The mansion stirred with its usual rhythm: the clatter of dishes, servants moving briskly through halls, the steady steps of patrolling guards. Orderly. Predictable.
Until Abhi padded in.
He looked almost endearing, a soft yawn escaping him, hair messy from sleep. But no one had forgotten the night before—the sharp fire in his eyes, the merciless precision of his gun.
He leaned casually against the counter near the stove, close enough to peer into the pot. "Is it ready?… I'm hungry." His voice came out soft, childlike.
"Just a few more minutes," the cook replied, her tone stiff.
Abhi noticed—the stiffness in her words, the way the staff avoided his gaze, as though walking a tightrope around him. Their hands trembled faintly as they worked, shadows of fear not yet washed away.
The silence stretched.
Then—without warning—Abhi reached out, fingertips brushing the hot pot. He hissed, jerking back instantly.
Gasps erupted. The staff stiffened, panic flashing in their eyes.
"Abhi, are you okay?" Several reached forward, voices breaking the hush.
Abhi blinked at his reddened fingers, then lifted them, lashes dipping as his tone turned honey-sweet, almost playful. "Blow it… one by one."
He tilted his head, lips curving faintly. "And please… pour lots of love so it can heal faster."
Something cracked. The tension loosened. Eyes softened, shoulders eased. His mischievous charm spread like warmth, dissolving the unease.
The cook exhaled, smiling faintly despite herself. "Go wait at the dining table. The food's almost ready. Sir Arun might be coming down soon."
Abhi's pout shifted into a pleased hum. He left with a little bounce in his steps. The kitchen was his again—exactly as he liked it.
---
[Time skip—University Rooftop]
The junior wing rooftop stretched wide beneath afternoon gold. The breeze tugged at uniforms and hair, carrying the crisp bite of open air.
Abhi paced along the wall, his expression shadowed, restless.
Vihan leaned forward, worried. "Brother… do you have something to tell us?"
Abhi stilled, then leaned against the railing, eyes dark as they locked onto Karan. "Senior. Do you know Senior Annaya?" His voice was flat, heavy.
Karan blinked. "Applied Science. Arun's girlfriend."
"She is not his girlfriend." Abhi's jaw tightened, his voice slicing cold.
Karan raised his hands slightly. "Easy. That's just what I heard."
Vihan frowned, catching the storm brewing in Abhi's tone. "Then why ask about her?"
Abhi's eyes narrowed, sharp with command. "I want every detail about her. Everything."
The demand hung heavy. Karan hesitated, then gave a curt nod.
As Abhi turned away, the wind tugging his shirt against him, Vihan and Karan exchanged a glance. Abhi never showed interest in anyone. So why her?
...
[Later—Afternoon, Office Tower]
The tower loomed with glass and steel, sterile light washing over its halls. Arun's long strides cut through the silence, subordinates trailing at a distance. The place still reeked faintly of blood, of fear.
He didn't pause. Didn't knock. He shoved open the office door.
The chair behind the desk was occupied now by Mr. Mayank—mid-twenties, sharp-featured, posture straight. He looked composed, though grief lingered beneath the steel in his eyes.
"How can I help you, Sir?" Mayank asked calmly.
Arun's gaze didn't waver. His words cut sharp. "Call your people off—or you'll end up like your father."
The silence was thick.
Mayank drew a slow breath. His hands clenched faintly on the desk, but his voice remained steady. "I know what my father was. I've already stopped the investigation. My mother and sister need me now. Believe me—I never wanted this."
Arun studied him. The grief, the restraint, the responsibility etched deep into his features. It wasn't a lie.
His shoulders eased slightly. "…I hope it's true. And wish we never meet again."
He turned and left, the door closing with a final thud.
Alone, Mayank's eyes drifted to the photo frame on the desk—his family smiling back at him. His jaw tightened. His father was gone, but the shadow of his sins still lingered.
---
[That night—Singh Mansion]
Fresh from a shower, Abhi sprawled lazily across his bed, damp hair sticking to his forehead as the ceiling fan hummed above.
His phone buzzed. He picked it up without looking. "Yes, Senior Karan. Got information?"
The reply came low, urgent.
Abhi sat upright, confusion flashing in his eyes. "I couldn't hear you… whose daughter?"
Before he could press further, noises stirred downstairs. Murmurs. Heavy footsteps. The front door creaked open.
Abhi's breath caught. From the railing, he glimpsed the servants lined in neat rows, heads bowed. Mr. Singh entered, Mr. Raj beside him.
Cold panic surged. If Mr. Singh discovered… everything would collapse.