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The first rays of morning sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains of the suite, painting the room in hues of gold and amber. Arya blinked awake, her lashes fluttering against the light, and stretched languidly, the soft ache of sleep still clinging to her muscles. As she sat up, her gaze fell on the figure emerging from the bathroom—and the world seemed to halt.

Shiv stepped out, his damp hair tousled and gleaming under the warm sunlight. His body, sculpted like an artist’s masterpiece, was bare except for the towel draped casually around his neck. The golden light caressed his tan skin, emphasizing the ridges of his well-defined abs and the sharp planes of his chest. Water droplets clung to him, catching the light in tiny prisms, each one glinting like stars scattered across his body.

To Arya, he didn’t look mortal. The sunlight, soft and warm, seemed to obey him, casting an almost divine glow on his form, as though nature itself sought to enhance his beauty. His broad shoulders framed the room with quiet power, and the curve of his biceps, strong yet elegant, seemed like they could carry the weight of the world.

Her breath caught, her chest tightening as she took him in. He looked like a celestial being—untouchable, almost sacred. The faint rise and fall of his chest as he moved closer sent her pulse racing, each beat a reminder of how human she felt in his presence.

Shiv’s gaze flickered to her, his dark brown eyes unreadable, but his lips curved into the barest hint of a smirk. He walked toward her with the slow, unhurried confidence of someone who knew the effect he had, every step deliberate, each movement effortless.

When he reached her, he leaned down, his face mere inches from hers, and Arya was enveloped in the intoxicating scent of his shampoo—fresh and musky, with a hint of something deeper, something uniquely him. The towel around his neck shifted slightly, brushing her arm, and she felt the warmth radiating from his skin, mingling with the golden light around him.

Her heart thudded in her chest as he tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto hers with a quiet intensity that made her feel seen, laid bare. Slowly, he brought the towel to the corner of her mouth and dabbed it with deliberate care.

“You’re drooling,” he said, his voice low and smooth, laced with gentle teasing. The sound sent a shiver down her spine, a melody she wanted to hear on repeat.

Arya blinked, jolted from her trance, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. But even as she tried to muster a witty retort, her gaze flickered back to the droplets clinging to his collarbone, the sunlight dancing on his skin. He was magnetic, impossible to look away from, like a living embodiment of the sun itself—radiant and overwhelming.

Straightening, Shiv slung the towel back over his shoulder, his smirk widening ever so slightly. He grabbed the shirt draped on the bed and slid it on with practiced ease. Arya couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment as the perfection of his form disappeared beneath the crisp fabric, but even clothed, he exuded the same commanding presence.

“Get ready,” he said, buttoning the shirt and throwing her a glance that was equal parts amusement and command. “We have to leave soon.”

Arya remained frozen, her mind swirling with images of him glowing in the morning light. He had stolen the very air from the room, leaving her breathless, her thoughts chaotic. She swung her legs off the bed and muttered under her breath, “How is anyone supposed to survive around him?”

But even as she moved to get ready, the vision of him—drenched in sunlight, dripping with an effortless allure—burned into her memory, an image too divine to ever forget.

Arya slipped into a simple yet elegant co-ord set—a loose, flowy kurta in a soft pastel shade paired with equally loose pants. The fabric was light, brushing against her skin like a whisper, and it carried an understated charm that perfectly reflected her personality. The simplicity of the outfit made her look effortlessly graceful, her beauty unembellished and serene.

As she stood before the mirror, she gently combed her hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders in soft waves. She paused for a moment, tilting her head slightly, her fingers grazing her jawline as she studied her reflection. Her cheeks held a faint, natural blush, and her eyes—bright and full of unspoken thoughts—gleamed in the soft morning light.

She couldn’t help but smile faintly, feeling an odd sense of contentment in her appearance. “Not bad,” she murmured, straightening her posture as though silently giving herself a little pep talk.

Across the room, Shiv sat in a chair, his posture relaxed but his eyes anything but. His gaze was intense, unwavering, as he watched her with a mix of admiration and something deeper—something possessive. He didn’t say a word, but his silence spoke volumes, his focus solely on her.

Arya moved to pick up her bag from the table, but before she could, Shiv’s chair scraped lightly against the floor as he pushed it back. In a single, fluid motion, he was on his feet, closing the distance between them with an almost predatory grace.

Towering over her, his presence consumed the space around them. He placed a firm yet deliberate hand on the back of her neck, his touch warm and commanding, and Arya’s breath hitched in surprise. His fingers moved with precision, reaching for the mangalsutra that hung around her neck. As he adjusted it, his action was more than practical—it was a declaration, a silent but powerful statement of authority.

" Don’t try to hide the symbol that ties us together,” he said, his voice steady and possessive, the words lingering like a gentle yet undeniable claim. It wasn’t just a piece of jewellry; it was a bond etched into her very being, a reminder that she belonged in a way only he truly understood.

Arya’s heart raced, the heat rising to her cheeks. She wasn’t sure if it was his words or the intensity in his gaze, but her usual composure wavered. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came, only the soft sound of her breathing filling the silence.

Satisfied, Shiv stepped back, his hand lingering for just a moment before falling to his side. “Ready to leave?” he asked, his tone calm but with an edge of finality, as though the interaction had been nothing out of the ordinary.

Arya swallowed hard, nodding silently as she picked up her bag, trying to steady her nerves. Shiv, ever composed, gestured for her to follow as they left the suite.

Downstairs, the grand entrance of the hotel was bustling with activity. The morning sun bathed the marble floors and ornate décor in a warm glow, but all eyes turned as the Rolls Royce Phantom, sleek and imposing, pulled up to the main entrance. The staff stood ready, bowing slightly as Shiv and Arya approached.

With effortless grace, Shiv walked to Arya’s side, opened the car door, and held it for her. “After you,” he said, his voice courteous but firm. Arya slid into the plush leather seat, the luxurious interior enveloping her as Shiv joined her moments later, settling in beside her.

“Let’s go,” Shiv instructed the driver, his voice calm yet commanding. The engine purred to life, and as the car glided smoothly onto the road, Arya stole a glance at Shiv from the corner of her eye. He sat poised, exuding an aura of power and control, but her thoughts lingered on the way he had claimed her just moments before—a fleeting but unforgettable moment that left her both unsettled and strangely captivated.

The long ride stretched on, the quiet hum of the car providing little distraction from the tension building between them. Arya plugged her earphones in, lost in her own world, while Shiv remained focused on his iPad, meticulously going through files and reports.

The silence was a heavy presence in the air until Shiv felt something shift beside him—soft, yet unmistakable. He glanced up, his breath catching as he saw Arya’s head resting gently against his shoulder. Her dark hair, tucked over his arm, created an intimate cocoon. She looked so peaceful, so effortless in her vulnerability, and it stirred something deep within him.

With a soft sigh, he reached out instinctively, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed her skin, sending a ripple of sensation down his spine. The faint scent of her strawberry lip gloss lingered in his nose—a delicate, sweet temptation that pulled him closer.

He drew back slightly, his breath uneven, his pulse racing. The control he fought so hard to maintain felt like it was slipping away, his body betraying him with every passing second. The urge to lean in, to close the distance between them, was almost unbearable. His fist clenched against the seat, his knuckles turning white as he forced himself to look away, focusing instead on the window. The world beyond blurred as his mind churned with intensity, the struggle to contain his desires more consuming than ever.

The journey ahead felt longer, more arduous, each mile stretching into a battle against the tide of his own feelings.

As their car pulled into the bustling city of Gurgaon, the vibrant energy of the area was hard to miss. Gurgaon, with its towering skyscrapers, modern architecture, and a blend of urban sophistication and greenery, painted a picture of progress. The streets were lined with high-end cafes, luxury car showrooms, and beautifully manicured landscapes. It was a city alive with ambition and opulence, a place where tradition and modernity intertwined seamlessly.

After weaving through wide, tree-lined avenues and high-rise apartments glinting under the late afternoon sun, they arrived at Shiv’s home—a breathtaking mansion that seemed to be pulled straight out of a dream. The sprawling property stood grand and regal, its exterior radiating both elegance and strength. The soft hues of dusk cast a golden glow over the curved façade, accentuating its majestic symmetry.

The mansion had a contemporary yet timeless design, with sweeping curves and large bay windows that glimmered warmly against the fading sunlight. The structure’s cream-colored walls were offset by a sleek, charcoal-grey roof. Tall, arched double doors framed by intricately designed wrought iron detailing served as the main entrance, giving the home an inviting yet imposing presence. The soft amber glow from the house’s interior spilled through the expansive windows, creating an atmosphere of warmth and luxury.

A pristine stone pathway, flanked by neatly trimmed bushes and tall ornamental grasses, led to the front entrance. The landscaping was meticulous—delicate flower beds bursting with seasonal blooms complemented the symmetrical rows of trees standing guard on either side of the mansion. It was a sight that demanded attention, a home that commanded respect.

As the Rolls Royce pulled into the gated driveway, Arya’s eyes widened in astonishment. The sprawling mansion before her was unmistakable—she had seen it once in a real estate magazine, heralded as one of the most luxurious properties in Gurgaon. She couldn’t help but utter, almost in disbelief, “You bought it?”

Her voice carried a mix of surprise and admiration. Shiv, stepping out of the car with his usual composed demeanor, paused to glance at the mansion. The warm hues of the setting sun danced across its façade, making it look almost ethereal. With a faint but proud smirk tugging at his lips, his eyes gleamed with a quiet intensity. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze shifting to meet hers as he responded, “No matter how long it takes, I always take what’s mine.”

His words, deliberate and dripping with determination, were accompanied by a piercing look that held Arya captive for a moment. It was not just a statement; it was a declaration that left no room for doubt. There was a possessiveness in his tone, a confidence that bordered on arrogance yet felt oddly reassuring. His gaze lingered on her for a beat longer before he turned toward the house, his steps purposeful.

As they entered through the grand arched doors, the cool air inside welcomed them, carrying the faint aroma of fresh flowers mixed with a hint of oak. The interior was as opulent as the exterior, with high ceilings adorned with intricate chandeliers and marble floors that seemed to stretch endlessly. The muted golden lighting gave the space a soft, inviting glow, and the elegant blend of contemporary and traditional decor spoke volumes about the taste and refinement of its owner.

Shiv, with a quick gesture to the staff, instructed, “Take the luggage to the bedrooms.” His voice was calm yet authoritative, leaving no room for questions. The servants moved swiftly, their reverence for him evident in their every action.

Arya, still overwhelmed by the grandeur surrounding her, wandered a few steps ahead when her eyes landed on a striking portrait hanging on the wall. It was impossible to miss—a larger-than-life painting of a man in his prime. His face bore a striking resemblance to Shiv, with the same sharp jawline and piercing eyes that seemed to look right through you. The man in the portrait had an air of authority, his expression serious, yet the faintest hint of a smile softened his otherwise commanding presence. He was dressed immaculately, his posture exuding power and control. The background of the painting was subdued, drawing all attention to the man himself.

Arya stood rooted in place, her gaze fixed on the portrait. She could feel the weight of the man's presence through the painting, as though his personality had been perfectly captured on canvas

Arya’s gaze lingered on the portrait, her expression shifting from awe to something more complicated—recognition. Her lips parted, words caught in her throat. “He… looks exactly like…he used to..” she began, her voice faltering. Her throat tightened as memories she had buried deep rose to the surface.

Shiv, who had been standing beside her, tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes catching the faint tremble in her voice. Without hesitation, he finished her sentence, his voice colder now, “Look about ten years ago.”

His tone carried a weight that made Arya flinch. The truth in his words hit her like a wave, and she stepped back, her eyes darting to the floor. The guilt was written all over her face. The silence that followed felt suffocating, and all she could muster was a soft, broken, “I’m sorry…Shiv”

But Shiv didn’t look at her. Not even a glance. His expression remained impassive, but there was a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there moments before. Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away, his long strides carrying him toward the hall.

Arya stood there, frozen in place, her chest tightening as she watched his retreating figure. The weight of his unspoken disappointment hung in the air, suffocating her. She clenched her fists by her sides, her nails digging into her palms as if punishing herself for the past she couldn’t change.

Her gaze flicked back to the portrait, and the resemblance now felt like a haunting reminder of a wound she had unknowingly reopened. She bit her lip, the apology she’d given feeling utterly insufficient

Arya pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into the master bedroom, her breath catching in her throat. The room exuded an air of opulence and refinement, every corner screaming wealth and meticulous design. The floor was a polished marble that gleamed under the soft, warm glow of recessed lights embedded in the high, coffered ceiling. To one side stood a massive canopy bed, draped in rich, cream-colored linens with an intricate gold trim. The bedposts, carved from dark mahogany, added a regal charm, and the plush cushions scattered over it looked so inviting they seemed to promise the deepest sleep.

The far wall was made almost entirely of glass, offering a stunning view of the sprawling garden below. Silky curtains in a champagne hue framed the windows, swaying gently as the air conditioning whispered through the room. A crystal chandelier hung gracefully from the ceiling, catching the sunlight and throwing delicate rainbows onto the walls. To the right was a walk-in wardrobe with mirrored sliding doors, its sleek exterior reflecting the understated luxury of the space.

Curious, Arya wandered into the en-suite bathroom. If the bedroom was opulent, the bathroom was a masterpiece. The walls were a blend of smooth marble and textured stone, with gold fixtures gleaming against the muted tones. A freestanding tub sat under a large window, overlooking the villa’s lush greenery, while a glass-enclosed rain shower stood nearby, its panels frosted for privacy. The scent of fresh flowers filled the space, coming from a delicate arrangement of orchids on the stone countertop.

As Arya turned on the shower and let the warm water cascade over her, a vivid vision flashed in her mind. A girl's voice echoed, sharp and furious.

"You betrayed him, FATHER! Why? Why? He's your friend why Why.." The words reverberated through her skull, filled with anger and pain.

The scene played out as though it were happening right in front of her—a young girl shouting in despair, her face twisted with rage and tears. Before Arya could process the intensity of the emotions, a loud gunshot rang out, shattering the air and leaving a lingering silence. Arya’s eyes flew open, her heart hammering in her chest. She found herself back in the shower, water streaming down her face, mingling with the sweat on her brow. Her breathing was ragged, her hands gripping the edge of the counter for support.

After finishing, she wrapped herself in a plush towel and changed into a loose, comfortable co-ord set, the soft fabric brushing against her skin as she moved. She stepped out into the bedroom, her face still pale from the haunting vision.

Meanwhile, in another part of the villa, Shiv sat in his study, an equally lavish room with dark wooden walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books. The scent of aged paper and faint cologne filled the space. He was seated behind a grand mahogany desk, a pair of sleek glasses perched on his nose as he scanned through documents on his tablet. The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his focus, and a man entered, bowing slightly before speaking.

“Sir, he’s here,” the man announced in a low, respectful tone.

Shiv’s lips curved into a smirk as he removed his glasses, placing them casually on the desk. There was an air of command about him, a quiet authority that made the room feel smaller. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers lightly tapping the armrests, and said with a calm yet edged tone, “Let him in.”

Cut to the villa’s main entrance. Outside, the hum of a powerful engine broke the stillness. A massive G-Wagon, sleek and black, pulled up with a commanding presence. Its polished surface reflected the fading orange hues of the evening sun. The door swung open, and out stepped a man, tall and broad-shouldered, his black leather boots crunching against the gravel of the driveway. He adjusted his cufflinks, his every movement deliberate and calculated. As he straightened, the sharp cut of his tailored suit and the glint in his eyes spoke volumes—he was not a man to be taken lightly.

The scene was set, tension thick in the air as the stage awaited whatever storm was about to unfold.

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