Chapter 7: A Shift in the Game

Virendra was not a man who accepted defeat.

He had stood there, watching as Jayant laughed, as he touched another Alpha, as he whispered words meant to wound.

And for the first time, he had felt powerless.

But that would not last.

If Jayant wanted to play this game, then he would remind him exactly who he was dealing with.

The next evening, I sat in the palace gardens, surrounded by my attendants and courtiers. The conversation was light, the air filled with the scent of blooming jasmine.

But then, the whispers began.

I looked up—and there he was.

Virendra.

He strode into the garden, dressed in royal silks, his hair tied back, his presence commanding. Gone was the brooding warrior who had burned with jealousy the night before.

In his place was a man who looked like he had not lost a single battle.

I stiffened. What was he planning?

He approached me slowly, his eyes holding mine with unreadable intensity.

"Prince Jayant," he said smoothly, bowing in perfect form. "May I have the honor of your time?"

The courtiers around me stilled.

I lifted my chin. "You are not a suitor, Virendra. Why should I grant you anything?"

A slow, dangerous smirk curled on his lips. "Because I am still the Alpha who knows you best."

My pulse skipped. This was different. He was not here to argue, to demand, to rage.

No.

He was here to seduce.

Against my better judgment, I allowed him to lead me away from prying eyes, into the shadows of the garden pavilion. The warm glow of lanterns flickered around us, casting his sharp features in golden light.

I folded my arms. "What do you want now?"

Virendra stepped closer—not enough to touch, but enough to make me feel his presence.

"You," he said simply.

I exhaled sharply. "You already threw me away."

"And yet," he murmured, tilting his head, "you still react to me."

I flinched, but his hand came up—slow, deliberate—to brush against the edge of my sleeve.

A shiver raced through me.

No. No, I would not fall for this.

I stepped back, but he only smiled, watching me as if he had already won.

"Tell me, Jayant," he continued, his voice like silk, "do your other suitors know how your breath catches when I touch you? How your body remembers me even when your mind wants to forget?"

Heat flared in my chest—not from desire, but from fury.

"You are insufferable," I snapped.

His smirk deepened. "And you are lying to yourself."

He leaned in just slightly, his scent teasing at the edges of my control. "This game you are playing, trying to make me jealous—it’s a dangerous one."

I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady. "You do not control me anymore, Virendra."

His fingers ghosted over my wrist, his touch feather-light but devastating.

"I don’t have to," he whispered.

He took a step back then, his smirk still in place, but his eyes—his eyes were darker, unreadable.

"You can let those Alphas court you, you can pretend you’ve moved on," he said, voice low. "But in the end, Jayant, we both know the truth."

His gaze dipped to my exposed scent gland.

"You are mine. And I always take back what’s mine."

Before I could respond, before I could gather my thoughts, he turned and walked away.

Leaving me standing there, breathless, my heart pounding.

And worst of all—he knew he had won this round.

......................

I did not return to the palace halls that night.

Instead, I stayed in the solitude of my chamber, pacing in restless frustration. My skin still burned where he had touched me, my mind replaying his words like an unrelenting curse.

"You are mine. And I always take back what’s mine."

I pressed a hand to my chest, willing my heart to steady. This was exactly what he wanted.

Virendra thought he could make me falter, that a few whispered words and a well-placed touch would be enough to break me.

He was wrong.

......................

For the next few days, I avoided him.

When he entered the court, I spoke to my suitors with practiced grace, smiling just enough to seem engaged, laughing just enough to be noticed. I played my role to perfection.

But Virendra did not react.

He did not scowl.

He did not glare.

He did not storm out in rage.

Instead, he watched.

With quiet amusement, with maddening patience—as if he was waiting for me to break.

And it infuriated me.

One evening, as I walked through the palace corridors, I sensed him before I saw him.

I ignored him.

But then—a shift in the air. A sudden, deliberate movement.

And before I could react, he was there, blocking my path.

I exhaled sharply, keeping my expression neutral. "Move, Virendra."

His gaze flickered over me, unreadable. "You’re avoiding me."

I lifted my chin. "Should I not?"

He smirked. "I didn’t think you would be the one to run away."

My fingers curled into fists, but I forced my voice to remain calm. "You overestimate your importance, my lord."

His eyes darkened slightly—not with anger, but something deeper. Something that made my pulse quicken.

"I see," he murmured, stepping closer. "Then tell me, Jayant—when you close your eyes at night, do you still feel my touch?"

My breath caught.

His smirk deepened. "I do."

Heat crawled up my neck, but I refused to let him see my weakness. "Then perhaps I should find a suitor whose touch will erase yours."

His jaw tightened. "Try."

I stepped past him, but he caught my wrist—not roughly, not possessively, but with an unspoken plea.

I turned to face him, expecting anger, but instead, I saw something raw in his gaze.

Something dangerously close to regret.

"I did not want to leave you that night," he said, voice lower now, almost reluctant.

A sharp pain twisted in my chest. He had no right.

I pulled my wrist free. "But you did."

And with that, I walked away.

Leaving behind the one person who still had the power to break me.

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