______17______

Vayran

The room was dimly lit, the shadows of night creeping into every corner, amplifying the tension that crackled between us like an impending storm. She walked out of the wardrobe room, her tiny frame drowning in baggy clothes that made her look even smaller—like a penguin awkwardly waddling toward danger. My lips twitched, fighting a smirk as I caught her confused expression. Her wide eyes darted from the bed to me, as though calculating something. I raised an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation. She pointed at the bed, then at me, and before she could voice her ridiculous request, I faked a look of amusement. "Oh," I said dryly, throwing a pillow at her without hesitation.

I gestured toward the couch, making it clear where she was supposed to sleep. Her face twisted with defiance as she pointed her finger at me, then the couch. A silent, rebellious command. This woman. Did she seriously believe I would agree?

“Not happening,” I replied flatly, shrugging with indifference.

Her glare darkened, and in retaliation, she threw the pillow back at me. I caught it with ease, my reflexes too sharp to be tested, and hurled it back without a second thought. It hit her square in the face. The shock in her eyes sent a flicker of satisfaction through me. But the fire in her gaze when she stomped toward me? That sent an unfamiliar jolt through my chest, one I didn’t care to name.

“What is your problem?” she snapped, her voice sharp and laced with irritation. “Why can’t you sleep on the couch?”

Leaning forward on the bed, I met her glare with a slow, mocking smile. “I’m not your agyakaari pati to follow your orders. You think I’m here to treat you like a princess?” My voice dropped, a dangerous undertone weaving through my words. “I’m the predator, little bird. I hunt the prey—I don’t pamper it. You’ll sleep on the couch, not me.”

She didn’t back down. She came closer, her eyes locking onto mine with a stubborn intensity that dared me to challenge her. Most couldn’t hold my gaze for more than three seconds—fear always won out. But this tiny creature? She defied every rule, every instinct that should have told her to submit. And as much as I hated defiance, her fire intrigued me.

Her lips parted, her words deliberate and measured. “If your wife—contract or not—sleeps on the couch, how can the husband sleep comfortably on the bed?”

I scoffed, barely masking my irritation. Before I could retort, she grabbed the jug of water from the bedside table and dumped it all over the mattress, drenching every inch. The audacity. My fingers twitched, the urge to lash out restrained only by one unbreakable rule I had set for myself—I wouldn’t kill her. Yet.

She stood there, arms crossed, daring me to react. I smirked instead, pushing off the bed with calculated calm. “Interesting move, little bird,” I drawled, walking toward the couch.

“Don’t you dare!” she snapped, stepping in front of me.

I tilted my head, letting my eyes rake over her form. “If I can’t sleep, neither will you.” Without breaking eye contact, I picked up the protein shake I had abandoned earlier and poured it onto the couch in one smooth motion. The liquid seeped into the fabric, rendering it as unusable as the bed.

“Sad,” I muttered with a mock pout. “Now neither of us can sleep.”

Her jaw dropped, her face a storm of rage and disbelief. She opened her mouth, then closed it, as though deciding I wasn’t worth the energy. Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she grabbed a pillow, tossed it onto the floor beside the bed, and curled up under a blanket.

I watched her settle, her tiny form huddled against the cold floor. A fleeting pang of something unfamiliar brushed against my chest, but I pushed it away. She’d chosen this war, and she’d lost. Switching off the lights, I sat on the dry edge of the couch, laptop in hand, pretending to work.

Minutes passed, and the soft sound of her snores broke through the silence. My eyes flicked to her sleeping form, the faint rise and fall of her chest tugging at a corner of my mind I didn’t care to acknowledge. She was trouble—a caged bird fluttering wildly against bars it couldn’t escape. But the thing about cages was that they weren’t built to release.

A memory flashed, unbidden—the sound of her voice, singing softly to herself one day. It had been pure, soothing in a way that shouldn’t have affected me. Shaking my head, I forced the thought away. Her voice wasn’t meant to bring peace. Not to me.

I turned back to my laptop, the ghost of a smirk playing on my lips. She was fire, no doubt. But I was the storm—and storms always consumed fire.

One way or another, this bird would learn to submit.

────୨ৎ────
Hi! I hope ki aapko yeh chapter pasandh aaya hoga😁 Also, don't forget to like and follow🥰
Byeᥫ᭡

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗