The sun was high when Rehan Ahuja finally noticed something unusual. His wife — the one who always woke up at dawn without fail — hadn't stirred yet. Normally, Anya was up, dressed, and probably muttering about her schedule by now.
Curious (and slightly concerned), he walked toward her room. His tall, commanding frame moved silently across the polished floors, sharp features set in a serious expression, dark eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. Short, precise steps; every movement radiated control.
"Anya?" he called softly, leaning on the doorframe.
Inside, younger Anya — now trapped in her thirty-two-year-old body — groaned. Her hair was a mess, pajama top twisted, and she was hugging the pillow like it owed her something.
Rehan was gone now. In her empire, no one — not even the mailman — dared to disturb her beauty sleep, especially on weekends.
"Ugh! Who's disturbing me?!" she said frustratedly and snapped, sleep-addled and dramatic, rolling over and throwing her pillow straight at the intruder.
The pillow hit the wall with a thud. Rehan blinked, unphased, but a flicker of surprise crossed his serious face.
Anya blinked, still half-dreaming. And then… her jaw dropped.
Standing there, perfectly composed and far too hot for reality, was a man — a stranger?
Her mind scrambled. "Am I still dreaming? Or did someone sneak into my room?!"
Rehan raised an eyebrow, watching her chaos silently, his serious expression never faltering. The quiet, commanding presence only made her heart race faster.
"You're awake," he said simply. No judgment. Just… observation.
And for the first time, Anya realized she was completely out of her depth.