Chapter 2: The Arrangement

The rain arrived without warning.

Not the gentle kind that kissed rooftops and whispered over the sandstone of the city, but the kind that roared — wild, unapologetic, as if Jaipur itself were trying to drown a secret.

Aaravi watched it from behind the bookstore’s wooden counter, chin resting in her palm, the evening shadows slipping longer across the shelves. Her father had left early for a temple visit, and the streets outside were emptying quickly. She was about to close early when the door creaked open.

He entered, soaked.

Matteo Leone didn’t seem like the type to get caught in rain. Yet there he stood, shirt plastered to his frame, black strands of hair curling slightly at the ends, drops trailing down the edges of his jaw. Still composed. Still lethal.

He looked like chaos wearing skin.

“You’re wet,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

Aaravi swallowed, flustered. “I meant—you could’ve waited somewhere for the rain to stop. Why come here?”

His eyes darkened, slowly scanning her face. “Because you’re here.”

The words hit her low in the stomach.

She turned sharply, pretending to sort papers. “This isn’t a lounge, you know.”

“I’m not here for coffee.”

“Good. We don’t serve any.”

A silence stretched between them. Not awkward — never awkward. With Matteo, silence was like a loaded weapon resting on the table. A lull before something cracked.

She finally glanced at him. “Do you ever say things without meaning something else underneath?”

Matteo stepped closer, his shoes echoing faintly on the wood floor. “Would you prefer I lie?”

“I’d prefer if you came here like a normal customer and not a—”

She stopped.

He waited, amused. “Not a what?”

Her voice lowered. “Not a man who scares me.”

Something shifted in his expression. Not offense. Not guilt. Just… something older. Like a memory tugged too hard.

“I scare you?” he asked, softer now.

Aaravi hesitated. “You don’t belong in this world.”

“You said that last time.”

“And it’s still true.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thin, folded paper. “Then maybe this will make things easier.”

She unfolded it slowly. Her breath hitched.

It was a lease document.

Her name was on it.

And stamped across the bottom, in clean legal English: Property now under the ownership of Leone Holdings.

The floor tilted.

“You—” She backed away. “You bought this building?”

He nodded. Calm. Casual. “Yes.”

“But why?”

His voice remained quiet. “Because someone tried to offer your father a bribe to sell. I outbid them.”

Her heart pounded. “And why would you care who owns my building?”

“Because I know who made the offer.”

“And?”

Matteo’s jaw tightened. “And because the man who made it doesn’t ask nicely twice.”

Aaravi stared at him, throat dry. “You think you’re protecting me?”

“I know I am.”

She laughed, bitter and confused. “By becoming my landlord?”

“No.” His voice dropped to something darker. “By making sure no one touches what’s mine.”

The air fractured.

She took a shaky step back, anger bubbling under fear. “I’m not yours.”

He nodded once, as if acknowledging a temporary truth. “Not yet.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

This wasn’t love. This wasn’t flirtation.

This was war with lace gloves on.

“You don’t get to come into my life and decide things,” she said, trembling. “You don’t get to draw lines around me like I’m part of your world.”

“I didn’t draw the line,” he murmured. “I’m just protecting what’s already inside it.”

The words twisted something in her chest. She didn’t know whether to slap him or fall against him.

Instead, she said, “You should leave.”

Matteo didn’t argue. He walked to the door, paused with his hand on the handle.

“You asked me yesterday why I was really here,” he said, eyes not meeting hers.

“I’m here, Aaravi, because for the first time in my life, I want something clean. Something that isn’t built on blood.”

And then he was gone, swallowed by the rain.

She locked the door after him. But it didn’t matter.

The storm was already inside.

—

Later that night, long after the rain had stopped, she found herself curled on her rooftop, her shawl wrapped tight, phone in hand, his name glowing on the screen.

She hadn’t saved it. It had appeared on its own.

She stared at the single message.

“You left the light on.”

She didn’t reply.

But she didn’t turn the light off, either.

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