Saanvi Khanna
There's something different in his silence today. Not the usual brooding, not the simmering tension he wears like a custom suit—but something colder. Sharper. Like he's prepping for war.
The room is dimly lit, shadows spilling across the floor like secrets. The faint hum of the city beyond the glass walls is the only soundtrack. I watch him from across the room, his back straight, eyes on the skyline, glass of scotch untouched in his hand. The amber liquid catches the light like gold, but it's the tight grip around the glass that gives him away. Knuckles pale. Jaw locked. Every muscle drawn like a wire stretched too tight.
"What happened?" I ask, finally breaking the silence. My voice cuts through the room, brittle but controlled.
He doesn't answer immediately. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't even look at me.
"Family dinner," he says flatly. "You're coming."
That wasn't a request. And it sets something off in me—something primal. Rebellious.
"I didn't realize I was part of the itinerary."
"You are now."
His tone is ice wrapped in velvet. I cross my arms, letting my heels click with purpose as I shift my weight—each sound a punctuation mark in this silent standoff. My nails bite into my palms, but I hold my ground.
"That's not how this works, Aaryan."
He turns slowly, deliberately, like a king descending from his throne. Eyes locking onto mine like a magnet snapping into place. There's heat there, but also something darker. Something resolute.
"No. That's exactly how this works."
I take a step closer, refusing to cower beneath that gaze. Letting the tension breathe between us.
"You think dragging me into your family's gilded mess will make me easier to control?"
He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching with something between amusement and warning. "I don't want to control you, Saanvi."
I arch a brow, chin lifted in defiance. "No?"
"I want to own you. Every part. The spitfire tongue. The angry eyes. The stubborn spine."
The air thickens, almost electric. Heat coils low in my belly, but I clench my jaw, masking it behind steel.
"Your family knows what you are?" I ask, voice low. Cold. Calculated.
"They know enough to keep their mouths shut."
"And what am I supposed to be in this setup? Your girlfriend? Your plaything?"
His gaze hardens. "You're the one woman they can't figure out. That's enough to drive them crazy."
He steps closer, and though there's barely any space left between us, the gravity pulls tighter. His voice drops, each word a weapon dipped in silk.
"And that's why you're coming."
It's not about love. It's not even about possession tonight.
It's about power.
---
We arrive at his family's estate an hour later—an architectural beast carved from marble and lineage. The gates open like jaws, swallowing us whole. Everything reeks of heritage and hierarchy. Old money and older grudges.
Inside, crystal chandeliers spill golden light across polished floors. The silence is padded in velvet, but there's no warmth in it. Only expectation. Judgment.
His father waits in the foyer, all arrogance and tailored judgment. Grey temples, sharp gaze. The kind of man who weighs people like assets and liabilities.
He looks at me like I'm a mistake Aaryan hasn't realized yet.
I return the look with the grace of a woman who's never been told where she belongs. I don't flinch. I don't smile. My heels echo like defiance in a space meant to silence.
"Father," Aaryan says stiffly.
"Aaryan." His father nods, eyes flicking to me. "And this is?"
Before I can speak, before I can define myself, Aaryan's hand snakes around my waist. Possessive. Protective. A silent declaration of war.
"Mine."
That one word makes the air shift.
The rest of dinner is a performance—forks clinking, tension simmering, subtle threats passed like wine. His mother smiles too tightly. His father observes too quietly. Every question is a trap in silk. Every compliment loaded.
His mother asks careful questions. His father levels loaded glances. I play the role they hate—unapologetic, unpredictable. I sip my wine like it's patience and meet their eyes like I've got nothing to lose.
But Aaryan?
He never stops watching me.
Not once.
His gaze tracks every movement. Every smile I don't offer. Every knife I twist with a look. I feel him across the table like a second skin.
And when I lean in to whisper something—just to provoke him, just to shift the weight of control—his hand slides under the table, gripping my thigh with bruising intent. Silent, but demanding.
"You're playing a dangerous game," I murmur, lips brushing his jaw like a dare.
He leans closer, voice soft enough to shatter. Lips brushing the shell of my ear.
"I never play unless I plan to win."
And somehow, even in a room full of enemies wearing family names, he makes me feel like the sharpest weapon in his arsenal.
---
Later, back in the car, I exhale sharply. The night clings to my skin. So does the heat of his touch.
"You enjoyed that, didn't you?"
He doesn't answer. Just reaches over, pulls my hand to his mouth, and kisses my knuckles like I'm a crown he hasn't yet earned. Slow. Reverent. But underneath the softness, there's a storm.
Then, quietly—almost too quietly—he says,
"They'll try to break you now."
"And you?" I ask, watching him in the dim glow of passing streetlights.
He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"I'll kill anyone who touches you." He tells.