Saanvi Khanna
The silk sheets are unfamiliar, too smooth beneath my skin, too expensive to feel like my own. I blink slowly, my eyes adjusting to the unfamiliar room wrapped in muted sunlight. Floor-to-ceiling windows spill gold over the concrete skyline, the city stretching beyond like a silent witness. I'm not in my apartment. Not even close.
I sit up, brushing hair from my face as the weight of memory returns. I stayed the night, not because I trusted Aaryan, but because I refused to walk away from a game I hadn't even started playing yet.
The rules are unclear, but my instincts tell me this man doesn't offer second chances. One mistake, one misstep, and I'll be more than a pawn—I'll be dust.
At the foot of the bed, a folded black shirt lays neatly with a note resting on top.
Wear this. Black looks better when it's falling off you.
– A.M.
My cheeks flush involuntarily, and I scoff, though the corner of my mouth curves just slightly. He's insufferable. Arrogant. Calculated. And dangerously aware of every reaction he pulls from me. I slide from the bed and walk barefoot across the marble floor to the bathroom. The scent of his cologne clings to the space like temptation. Even the silence in this place has weight.
The gala venue glitters with chandeliers and money. There's music, chatter, and too many smiles painted over too many secrets. I arrive in the dress his assistant sent over—a black satin gown with a low back and a dangerously precise fit. I don't want to admit it, but the dress makes me feel... powerful. And exposed. Like I'm the weapon he wants me to be.
Aaryan walks beside me, a living embodiment of calm dominance. In his dark suit, with his sharp jawline and unreadable expression, he looks like he owns the room. Maybe he does. People look. They always do when two beautiful, untouchable people move together like they belong to a world outside reality.
He doesn't touch me yet, but the space between our bodies pulses with tension. His hand hovers near my back, close enough to feel the heat of his skin. When we step into the main hall, the cameras turn, the flashes begin.
"Smile," he murmurs close to my ear.
"I am," I reply tightly.
"Not with your mouth. With your body."
I shoot him a sideways glare, to which he only smirks. Then his hand slides around my waist, his fingers pressing lightly into the curve of my hip. The touch is subtle, practiced, possessive in a way that feels too natural. My breath catches, but I don't pull away.
"You like control, don't you?" he asks quietly as we pose together.
"I like clarity."
"Well, here's some clarity for you," he whispers, his breath warm against my neck. "When you're with me, you won't have any."
I turn my face toward him. "Bold of you to assume you ever did."
We dance in that tension, toeing the line between performance and something more dangerous.
And then, like the universe can't resist throwing chaos into an already volatile evening, I see him--Vivaan my Ex.
It's been nearly a year, but some people don't change. He still wears arrogance like cologne and smiles like a man who never truly listened. My stomach twists. I hadn't expected to see him here.
He makes his way over, his gaze crawling down my body without apology.
"Saanvi," he says smoothly. "You're glowing."
I don't return the smile.
"Still carrying that dignity like a weapon?"
"Still mistaking confidence for a weakness?" I shoot back.
His smile wavers, just a touch. Then he asks, "You came alone?"
Before I can answer, I feel it—Aaryan's presence at my back. His hand slides around my waist, firmer this time. Territorial.
"No," he says, voice like velvet over steel. "She didn't."
Vivaan raises an eyebrow. "And you are?"
Aaryan doesn't blink. "The man who doesn't let her cry herself to sleep."
My breath hitches. The words shouldn't mean anything. But something in my chest cracks.
Vivaan scoffs, but I see the tension in his jaw. "Temporary fix. Enjoy her while you can." he says.
He walks away without another glance.
Aaryan's grip lingers longer than necessary. When I finally step back, my skin still burns where he touched me.
"You didn't have to say that," I murmur.
"I wanted to."
"It wasn't true."
He looks at me, a flicker of something real behind those dark eyes. "He deserved worse."
I don't know what to say to that. So I leave, stepping out onto the balcony for air.
The city below sparkles in silence. I try to inhale calm. Try to ignore the sensation building in my ribs—a strange ache, a heat I can't name.
Aaryan follows minutes later. The wind stirs his hair, but his expression remains unreadable. He joins me at the railing, his body brushing close.
"You lied back there," I say.
"About what?"
"About not letting me cry."
His voice drops. "I didn't lie. I just haven't gotten the chance yet."
My heart skips. It's not fair, the way he says things like that, like they're facts. Like he has a right to my softness.
"I don't need anyone to save me, I can do it myself" I whisper.
"I'm not here to save you." He turns to me, his voice low, hungry. "I'm here to own every part of you they tried to ruin."
I hate that my knees weaken at the sound of his voice. Hate that I want to believe him, even if it's all a performance.
I turn to leave.
But he catches my wrist, gently but firmly, pulling me back. I land against his chest, breath caught between us. His hand slides to my lower back, holding me in place. His face is so close, his lips brushing the edge of mine.
"You're trembling," he murmurs.
"I'm not," I lie.
"You are."
"I hate you."
"Then why haven't you walked away?"
Because I can't.
Because you feel like danger wrapped in silk.
But I don't say any of it.
Instead, I whisper, "Your mouth is still dirty."
His smile turns slow. Sinful.
"Then clean it, sweetheart."
I don't move.
Neither does he.
And the silence between us says everything we're not ready to admit yet.
The game has begun?