Chapter 1 : The Alliance

The Raichand mansion wasn’t just a house.

It was a kingdom.

Marble floors gleamed like still water, chandeliers spilled golden fire across the halls, and the silence of power hung in the air, sharp enough to cut. Men in black suits lingered near the walls, their eyes trained, hands near their jackets — bodyguards, not butlers.

Meher Singhania’s heels clicked against the polished marble as she walked inside with her parents. Every sound echoed, loud enough that she wanted to rip the heels off and run.

She hated it already.

Her father’s hand rested on the small of her back, steering her forward like she was a pawn in his business game. And in truth, she was.

“Behave,” he whispered under his breath. “Tonight is important.”

Important. Right. What he meant was: Tonight, I’m trading my daughter’s freedom to the Raichands to save my empire.

Her jaw clenched. She didn’t reply. If she opened her mouth now, she’d explode.

A movement across the hall caught her eye.

The heir himself walked in.

Aarav Raichand.

Tall, broad-shouldered, a black suit hugging his frame like sin itself. His tie was loosened just enough to make him look indecently casual, as though he didn’t have to try. His jaw was sharp, lips curved in the faintest suggestion of a smirk, and his eyes… his eyes were dark, bottomless, the kind that could drown you if you weren’t careful.

And they were fixed on her.

Meher’s spine stiffened. She hated the way her heartbeat stuttered for half a second.

Aarav’s lips moved first. A lazy, arrogant drawl.

“So,” he said, voice low and deep, “this is the girl my parents want me to marry.”

Meher’s chin tilted upward instantly. “Girl? I think you mean woman. But I suppose when you’re used to ordering people around, you don’t bother with details.”

The hall went dead silent.

Her mother gasped softly. Her father shot her a warning glare sharp enough to cut. But Aarav? Aarav didn’t flinch.

Instead, his smirk deepened.

“Fiery,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “Good. That will make things interesting.”

Meher’s nails dug into her palm. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Raichand. I’m not here to entertain you.”

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. His cologne — dark spice, smoke, something intoxicating — curled around her senses.

“Then why are you here?” he asked softly.

Her heart skipped, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Ask my father. He’s the one selling me.”

Something dangerous flickered across his face, gone as quickly as it came. Then his smirk returned, sharper than ever.

“Don’t worry,” he leaned down just enough that his breath grazed her ear, his words sinful, “I don’t buy things I can’t break.”

Her eyes widened. “You arrogant—”

“Meher.” Her father’s voice cut in, stern. “Control yourself.”

She swallowed her retort, every muscle trembling. Aarav, though, looked like he was enjoying every second of her rebellion.

Later, after the parents finished their “alliance discussions,” both families agreed the couple should “talk alone.”

Which really meant: Go out there, fight, flirt, or kill each other, we don’t care — just make this look good for the deal.

Aarav didn’t object. He simply stood, hands in his pockets, and walked onto the balcony like a king expecting his queen to follow.

Meher considered running. But she knew her father’s warning look too well. So she followed.

The night was cool, the city spread out below them in glittering lights. Aarav leaned against the railing casually, sleeves rolled just enough to show strong wrists and veins. The man knew exactly what he was doing.

“Let’s set rules,” he said without looking at her.

Meher crossed her arms. “Excuse me?”

“Rules.” He turned, eyes locking on hers, his smirk maddeningly slow. “Rule one: you don’t interfere in my work. Rule two: you don’t question my whereabouts. Rule three: you don’t try to run. In return…” He tilted his head, voice dropping suggestively, “I’ll give you anything you want. Clothes. Cars. Freedom — to an extent.”

Her jaw dropped. “Wow. You make it sound like you’re negotiating with a pet.”

His eyes darkened. He pushed off the railing, stepping closer, so close she could feel his body heat.

“Maybe I am,” he murmured, gaze dropping briefly to her lips.

Her breath hitched, but she quickly snapped out of it. “Well, bad news. I bite.”

That sinful smirk spread again. He leaned in, voice husky, double-edged.

“Oh, sweetheart,” his words dripped filth and promise, “I like when they bite.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson. “You—”

But before she could finish, he whispered, almost like a vow:

“You can hate me, Meher. You can fight me, scream at me, even despise me. But in the end, you’ll still have my name on your lips.”

Her pulse raced violently. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to… she didn’t even want to name the other thing.

So she squared her shoulders, glaring up at him. “You might own this city, Aarav Raichand. But you will never own me.”

He tilted his head, studying her like she was the most fascinating puzzle in the world. Then, with a slow, dangerous grin, he whispered:

“Challenge accepted.”

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