(At night)
Dinner was quiet.
The long table was set for two, the warm glow of candles flickering across the polished wood. There were no murmurs from the staff, no quiet footsteps moving about the house—only the faint hum of the city beyond the tall windows.
Reyansh glanced around once, his brows knitting faintly.
"Why is there no one here?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.
"I told them to leave early," Arina replied easily, serving him a portion of the sabzi she'd made. "I don't like strangers lingering around me after a certain time."
His gaze lingered on her, assessing. "You sent all of them away?"
She nodded. "After six, yes. I'd like it if they didn't stay beyond that. I like doing things myself. And…" she paused, eyes briefly meeting his, "I like to cook. I want to make dinner."
For a moment, he didn't respond. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy but unreadable. Then he simply said, "Do whatever you like. I'll never stop you from anything."
The words were plain, but to Arina, they were a door opening—a quiet permission she intended to take full advantage of.
They ate without fuss, without pretense. He was a man who didn't require small talk, and she didn't offer any. That silence between them wasn't awkward—it was fertile. She could feel something taking root there.
---
Later that night, she found him on the balcony. The city stretched out below like a constellation made of glass and steel, the night breeze tugging gently at the curtains behind him. He leaned against the railing, his posture deceptively casual, but there was a sharpness to his stillness.
She had changed from her saree into a soft nightdress, her hair loose and brushing her shoulders. The marble was cool under her bare feet as she stepped closer.
He didn't turn immediately, but she could tell he'd noticed her—the faint shift of his head, the way his fingers relaxed against the railing. She came to stand beside him, close enough to feel the quiet strength radiating from him, but not quite touching.
Neither of them spoke.
Arina didn't need to.
She let her eyes travel over his face openly, greedily—the sharp cut of his jawline, the elegant slope of his nose, the faint mole near his ear she'd noticed on the very first day. And his eyes… black, deep, the kind of darkness you could drown in willingly.
She had fallen for this man once in the safety of pages, reading about him like he was some untouchable force of fiction. But seeing him in flesh and blood was different. Real. Dangerous. The attraction she'd once called admiration now pulsed with something hotter, more demanding. Possession.
Her lips curved faintly. She didn't want to be near him for the sake of romance. She wanted to be near him because he was hers.
When he finally turned his head, their gazes collided. The moment stretched, quiet but charged. His eyes flicked down briefly, as if mapping her expression, reading something he couldn't quite name.
"You're staring," he murmured.
"I know," she replied without hesitation.
A ghost of a smirk tugged at his mouth. "It's late. We should sleep."
He didn't wait for an answer, simply turned and walked inside. She followed, the soft fabric of her dress whispering against her skin.
In the bedroom, the dim light painted shadows across the bed. He lay down on his side, facing the ceiling, keeping a respectable distance between them. Always careful. Always measured.
She slipped under the covers beside him, the coolness of the sheets giving way to the faint warmth of his body nearby. At first, she stayed still, mirroring his restraint.
But restraint had never been her style.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she moved closer. The space between them narrowed with each breath she took, the fabric of her nightdress brushing against his arm.
He didn't look at her, but she felt the shift in his breathing, the subtle tension in his shoulders. She rested her head slightly closer to him, not quite touching, but close enough that the heat of his skin teased her.
"Comfortable?" he asked quietly, his voice low in the darkness.
"Very," she whispered.
She didn't miss the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers flexed slightly against the mattress.
The silence stretched again, not empty but full—full of everything unsaid, full of the war between his discipline and something far more dangerous.
She closed her eyes, her lips curving faintly. She wasn't in a hurry.
Let him think he was in control.
For now.
---
"I don't want his heart. I want to live inside his madness."