____25____

Author
__________

She stood before the mirror in her room, draped in a black saree that clung to her curves with precision. The fabric shimmered faintly under the light, and the delicate embroidery added an air of understated elegance. She had chosen the saree deliberately—she knew black was his color, his armor, his identity.

Her matching earrings and bangles jingled softly as she adjusted her red bindi. The stubborn dot tilted sideways yet again, mocking her every effort. With a huff, she abandoned it as a lost cause and opened the drawer to retrieve her anklets. But only one gleamed back at her.

Her brows furrowed. The memory hit her like a tidal wave—Vayran still had the other anklet.

Her fury ignited instantly. She stormed out of her room, her saree swishing with her brisk movements. Her destination was clear—his den. She didn’t bother knocking, shoving the door open with a force that made it rattle on its hinges.

Vayran stood by the bed, pulling on a pair of black trousers. His bare torso caught her off guard for a moment—those well-defined abs, the broad shoulders, the powerful aura he exuded even while doing something as mundane as getting dressed.

Her cheeks flushed, and she instinctively covered her eyes with her hands.

“I know you’re there, Aaravika,” his deep, calm voice drawled, his back still turned to her. “Stop acting like a schoolgirl. Remove your hands.”

She hesitated, her heart pounding against her ribcage. How had he known she was here without even looking? Reluctantly, she lowered her hands, trying to focus on anything but the expanse of his back as he pulled on a crisp black shirt.

Ignore the abs, Aaravika. Ignore the damned abs.

By the time he turned to button up his shirt, she had composed herself, her expression morphing into one of fiery anger. She crossed her arms and stood firmly before him.

Vayran raised a brow, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “Something you need?” he asked, his voice smooth, yet laced with a hint of challenge.

Without a word, she thrust her hand forward, palm up. He glanced at it briefly, then, in an infuriatingly casual move, placed his belt in her hand.

Her jaw tightened. She threw the belt to the floor. “I want my anklet back,” she demanded, her voice sharp.

For the briefest moment, he stilled, his expression unreadable. She saw a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or a memory—but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” he said quietly, almost to himself. Then, louder, “No.”

Her anger surged. “No?” she echoed, incredulous. “What do you mean, no?”

Without waiting for his response, she grabbed his shoulder and pushed him toward the bed. He let her, more amused than anything, as she climbed onto the bed to level their heights. Her fiery determination was both frustrating and—he’d never admit it—entertaining.

“Give it back, Vayran,” she said, her tone firm as she leaned closer, her eyes boring into his.

He smirked, a dark glint in his eyes. “Or what?”

Her fingers itched to slap that smirk off his face. “Or I’ll…” she trailed off, realizing she had no real leverage. Her frustration only deepened when his smirk grew wider.

“You’ll what, little bird?” he asked, his voice a low purr. “Throw another tantrum? Break something else I kinda value?”

She gritted her teeth. “Stop calling me that.”

“Then stop acting like one,” he shot back, leaning closer. His proximity made her heart stutter, but she refused to let him see her falter.

“Give. It. Back,” she hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed rage.

He tilted his head, studying her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. “No,” he repeated, this time more firmly. “That anklet belongs to me now just like you.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Belongs to you? Are you insane?”

“I took it, didn’t I?” he said, his tone maddeningly calm. “And I’ll give it back when I feel like it. If I feel like I should give it back.”

Her anger boiled over. She raised a hand to shove him, but he caught her wrist mid-air, his grip firm yet careful.

“Enough,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You can throw all the fits you want, Aaravika, but the more you fight me, the tighter I’ll hold onto what’s mine.”

Her breath hitched, her defiance faltering for just a moment. His words carried a weight that went beyond the anklet—a claim that made her pulse quicken and her fury burn hotter.

“This isn’t over,” she said, yanking her wrist free and glaring daggers at him.

His smirk returned, darker than before. “It never is.”

As she stormed out of the room, her saree trailing behind her like a battle flag, his eyes followed her, an amused glint dancing in their depths.

Aaravika sat on the edge of her bed, fastening a different pair of anklets onto her feet. The soft chime of the silver bells filled the room, a stark contrast to her simmering mood. She was still fuming over Vayran’s refusal to return her anklet, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it irritated her.

The door creaked open, and she didn’t need to look up to know who it was. His commanding presence filled the room, the faint scent of his cologne making her bristle.

“Don’t you think something is missing?” Vayran’s deep voice cut through the silence, laced with his usual mixture of dominance and teasing.

She glanced at him briefly, her expression blank. “No.” Her tone was clipped, dismissive. She bent down to adjust the anklets, making it clear she had no interest in talking to him.

He sighed—a low, almost resigned sound. But instead of leaving, he moved toward her dressing table. Aaravika stiffened, watching him from the corner of her eye as he picked up a small container of sindoor. Her heart skipped a beat, confusion and anticipation swirling in her chest as he walked back to her.

Before she could react, he turned her around, his large hands firm yet gentle as they gripped her shoulders. She froze, her breath hitching when she realized what he was about to do.

“Vayran,” she started, her voice uncertain, but he didn’t pause.

With a deliberate slowness that felt both intimate and possessive, he dipped his fingers into the sindoor and applied it to the parting of her hair. The red powder spilled slightly, some of it dusting onto her nose. His eyes held hers, dark and unreadable, as if daring her to speak.

She blinked, momentarily stunned, before pulling back slightly. Her fingers instinctively brushed against her nose, smudging the sindoor further.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended. There was no venom this time, only confusion.

He smirked, his expression calm yet intense. “Reminding you of who you are, Mrs. Chandravansh.”

Her jaw tightened. “I didn’t forget,” she shot back, her defiance flickering through the storm of emotions in her chest. “But I don’t need you to remind me.”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer. “You wear the title like armor, but you forget, Aaravika—it binds you to me. And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

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

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗