The silence of the room was heavy — too heavy. Outside, the wind was restless, pushing the curtains into wild shapes, as if the night itself knew what was about to happen. Jannat's heart was pounding. She stepped back, but before she could even think of moving further, Arhan's tall, dominating frame closed the distance between them in two long strides.
Without warning, his strong arms scooped her up — the sudden lift stealing the breath from her lungs. "Arhan—!" she gasped, her fingers instinctively clutching his shoulders, feeling the hard tension in his muscles.
But his jaw was set, eyes burning like dark fire. There was no softness tonight — only the sharp edge of controlled rage.
In one swift, unrelenting move, he placed her on the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. His palm pressed down beside her, caging her in.
Leaning dangerously close, his voice came out low… husky… yet carrying a dangerous promise:
"You like being close to me, don't you? Then remember this… if I come near you, you won't be able to walk afterwards. You'll scream… because you won't be able to endure my intensity."
The words sent a shiver down her spine — not just from fear, but from the raw force that wrapped around her like a storm.
Jannat swallowed, forcing herself to speak, her tone challenging yet trembling at the edges. "Then take me… who's stopping you? You have every right."
For a heartbeat, something flickered in Arhan's eyes — a mix of disbelief and dangerous amusement. But just as quickly, his expression hardened again. His hand moved from her wrist to her chin, holding her face still as his piercing gaze locked with hers. "You mean nothing to me," he said coldly. "You are just the sister of my brother's killer."
He straightened, his voice sharper now, gesturing toward her partially bare waist. "Change your clothes," he ordered. "And don't come near my bed. Your place is not here… not in my life… and definitely not in my room."
From the wardrobe, he yanked out a black T-shirt and trousers, tossing them toward her. "Wear these. And sleep on the sofa. Everything here belongs to Alizey — my life, my room, my bed… even my heartbeat."
The mention of Alizey made Jannat's fingers tighten around the clothes. Her pride burned, but she didn't let her expression break. Instead, she glared at him one last time, then turned sharply, her footsteps firm as she disappeared into the bathroom.
Minutes later, she stepped out — fresh from the shower, her hair damp, wearing his oversized T-shirt and trousers. For a second, her breath caught. Arhan was lying on the bed without a shirt, one arm behind his head, the dim light casting sharp shadows over his broad, smooth chest and the carved lines of his muscles. He looked nothing like the man who had just thrown cruel words at her — in sleep, he seemed almost… peaceful.
Her heart skipped a beat, but she pushed the feeling down, walking to the sofa and lying down. Still, sleep refused to come. His image — the dangerous fire in his eyes and the quiet vulnerability in his rest — kept her wide awake.
And somewhere deep inside her she hated herself for no thing.