The morning sunlight filtered softly through the white curtains, brushing Arina's skin with its golden warmth. She stood by the dresser, running a hand along the smooth edge of the silk saree she had chosen — pale lavender, modest yet graceful. It was not loud or revealing, but it whispered effort. The kind of effort that only someone in love would make.
She had always known that love was not a simple emotion. It was a strategy, a rhythm, a slow dance of giving and withholding. And now, watching her reflection in the mirror, Arina smiled faintly. Reyansh was a man of control — disciplined, rational, a fortress of restraint. But even fortresses had weak points. All she needed was time.
Reyansh was finishing his breakfast when she entered the dining room. The faint clink of the spoon against the cup filled the quiet morning. He looked up at her briefly, his gaze steady but unreadable.
"Going somewhere?" he asked, his tone calm as ever.
She nodded lightly. "Shopping. I need a few things for the bakery—and some clothes."
He reached into his coat pocket and held out his card. "Take this."
Arina hesitated. "There's no need. I have enough money."
"I know," Reyansh replied, his eyes briefly softening. "But I want you to use it."
His words carried no pressure, but there was something final in his tone — an assertion of quiet authority. She took the card, her fingers brushing his briefly. "Alright," she said with a small smile. "Thank you."
When he left for the office, she stood at the doorway for a moment, watching his car disappear through the gates. Then, she turned and exhaled. Every step she took in this world — in his world — was deliberate. Every gesture, every smile was a thread she wove into the web she wanted to trap him in.
The city was humming when she reached the shopping district. Arina wandered between aisles, her hands skimming over rows of dresses and fabrics. She chose with care — soft shades, elegant patterns, things that wouldn't scream for attention but would command it quietly. Clothes that would make Reyansh notice, without making him aware why he was noticing.
She stopped before a set of silk nightdresses — simple yet graceful, in pale ivory and midnight blue. Her cheeks warmed slightly as she picked them up. They weren't revealing, but they carried a certain intimacy. She imagined the look in Reyansh's eyes when he'd see her in one — that quiet gaze darkening just a little.
It was a strange thing — how much she wanted him to look at her like that. Not just out of need, but hunger. Maybe her manipulation had started as a plan, but it was no longer that simple. The idea of him, the weight of his presence — it stirred something unplanned within her.
Her next stop was a small store that specialized in watches. She had thought about this for days. A gift that would bind them together — not with sentiment, but with subtle significance. She ran her fingers over the display case until she found it — a pair of couple watches, sleek and elegant, neither too flashy nor plain.
When the salesman handed her the box, she smiled faintly. "Perfect."
As she walked back to the car, her phone buzzed. A message from Reyansh.
Did you find everything you needed?
Her lips curved into a soft smile.
Almost. Just one last thing.
Don't overwork yourself, he replied. Come home soon.
There it was again — that gentle concern in his words, the softness that hid something deeper. She closed her phone and leaned back in the seat, eyes distant.
She had seen men like him before, both in books and in real life — men who appeared calm until love peeled back their restraint. And she wanted to be the one to do it. To be the reason he lost control, the reason he couldn't think of anything but her.
She looked out the window, watching the streets blur past. "You'll fall for me, Reyansh," she whispered to herself. "And when you do… you won't be able to let go."
When she returned home, the sun had begun to set, painting the sky in fading gold. The house felt different now — quieter, as if waiting for something. She placed her bags on the bed and carefully arranged the things she had bought. The nightdresses went into the wardrobe, the watch box she kept aside, close to her pillow.
Standing before the mirror again, Arina touched her reflection lightly. There was softness in her eyes — real, not feigned — and that unsettled her. She was supposed to be in control, but the warmth that spread through her chest when she thought of him wasn't entirely calculated.
Maybe she was falling too — into love, or into the game itself.
She smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her gaze fell on the couple watch box. She traced her finger over its edge, the corner of her lips curving into a knowing smirk. "A gift," she whispered, "for both of us."
Outside, the last light of day faded, leaving behind the quiet promise of night — and of what she intended to make him feel when he returned.
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Even tenderness can be a carefully woven trap.