He’S My Daddy, Not My Tutor
Prologue
I was 21.
Broke. Failing math.
Then he opened the door next to mine.
Aarav Rathore.
My new neighbor.
My forbidden tutor.
And the man I couldn’t stop fantasizing about — no matter how dangerous that desire felt.
He was supposed to help me study.
But the way he commanded the room… the way his eyes devoured me...
He didn’t just teach me numbers — he taught me how to beg. How to kneel. How to lose control.
I knew I was falling.
Not for a man.
But for the kind of daddy girls like me aren’t supposed to want.
And once I let him in…
There was no turning back.
I was 26.
Divorced. Disillusioned. Jobless.
And drowning in my own guilt — until she knocked on my door.
Anaya. The sweet, stubborn girl next door.
She needed a tutor.
I needed to keep my distance.
But she wore sexiest saree and asked innocent questions with wide eyes and trembling lips.
She was temptation in its purest form… and I gave in.
I taught her things no textbook ever could.
How to obey.
How to moan my name.
How to forget the world and live inside the filth we created.
I’m not just her tutor.
I’m her Daddy now.
And if the world dares to touch her, I’ll burn it down.
But love?
Love was never part of the lesson plan.
Now she wants my heart…
And I’m not sure I know how to give it without destroying us both.
Will there be a happy ending or tragedy ending
EP 1
Anaya Sharma/FL
*wide-eyed, voice two octaves too high*
Maa, you didn’t just sell all my novels to the kabadiwala?
Panic clutched my throat. The kind of panic you feel when your life flashes before your eyes—in the form of disappearing book boyfriends.
Anaya Sharma/FL
*ripping through the shelf like a madwoman*
My Zade, my Hardin, my Chris—all gone?
I clutched an empty shelf. Hollow. Lifeless
Anaya Sharma/FL
My babies...
Dead. Vanished. Unfairly assassinated.
Sunita Sharma/FL Mom
*yelling from the kitchen like she was performing a one-woman cooking show*
You’ve got your finals in a month! I see you giggling at those useless novels all day!
Sunita Sharma/FL Mom
Finish college first. After that, life gets easier!
Anaya Sharma/FL
*groaning dramatically, collapsing like a failed soap opera star*
You said the same thing in 12th!
Anaya Sharma/FL
Just get me married already! I can’t deal with maths anymore!
Sunita Sharma/FL Mom
*storming out, knife in one hand, a giant potato in the other*
Sunita Sharma/FL Mom
*throw the potato towards Anaya*
Missile. Launched. I ducked like a seasoned warrior.
Anaya Sharma/FL
*giggling, victorious*
Ha! Missed!
Anaya Sharma/FL
Take that, World War Aloo.
Sunita Sharma/FL Mom
*threatening tone laced with pure desi drama*
Wait till your papa gets home! I’ll tell him his daughter has a boyfriend and is dying to marry him!
Anaya Sharma/FL
*eye roll of the century*
I don’t have a boyfriend
Anaya Sharma/FL
Nobody around here meets my standards
Anaya Sharma/FL
*melodramatically leaning against the doorframe*
Truth?
Fictional men had ruined me
I didn’t want soft. I wanted savage.
I wanted the emotionally unavailable, trauma-ridden, knife-wielding bad boys who kissed like war and loved like fire
Anaya Sharma/FL
*in a dream-haze*
I want someone possessive… borderline toxic. Someone who’d burn the world just to keep me warm
Anaya Sharma/FL
Not these IIT boys who smelled like Axe body spray and wore flip-flops with socks
Sunita Sharma/FL Mom
*roaring from kitchen*
Anaya, go and study!
Anaya Sharma/FL
*stomping to her room like a Shakespearean heroine*
I glared at my math book like it had cheated on me with physics
I just wanted to marry a rich, emotionally damaged CEO with no boundaries and a penthouse
Rohan (my annoying younger brother, logging onto the PC with a smirk):
Rohan Sharma/brother
*smirk*
Rohan Sharma/brother
You’re drooling over your book boyfriends again
Anaya Sharma/FL
*not even blinking*
He was the mosquito in my life—irritating, buzzing, and somehow legally protected.
EP 2
Calculus: open.
Brain: dead.
Eyes: gazing out the window.
Anaya Sharma/FL
*snapping book shut*
Oh. My. God.
There he was.
Shirtless.
On the balcony across the street.
Abs carved by angry Greek gods.
Anaya Sharma/FL
*blinking like WiFi lagged*
Who’s that daddy?
Yes, I said it out loud. No regrets.
Rohan Sharma/brother
*rushing to the window like a snitch*
Isn’t that old Rathore uncle’s son?
Aarav Rathore.
The boy who’d always been abroad. The legend. The ghost. The myth
I’d only seen him twice—once at his wedding. Once at his dad’s hospital visit
Rohan Sharma/brother
*casually, like it wasn’t the gossip of the decade*
He’s divorced now
Anaya Sharma/FL
*nodding wisely*
Oh, I knew. I had done… research.
Instagram. LinkedIn. Twitter. Reverse image search. That works.
Sunita Sharma/FL Mom
*serving dinner, whispering like we were in a spy movie*
Mrs. Rathore said his wife was after his money.
Sunita Sharma/FL Mom
That’s why I say—arranged marriages are best
Suresh Sharma/FL Dad
*two-finger table tap, voice firm*
No gossip at the table
Silence fell faster than my GPA in first semester.
Papa was a history teacher. The kind who looked like he could ground the whole universe. Even Maa didn’t talk back.
And me?
I dreamed of love. Fictional, messy, wild love
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