The car slowed to a stop before the hotel, its headlights glinting against the polished glass doors. Piya was already half-asleep, head tucked beneath Liam's chin, her soft breaths brushing against his shirt like a whisper she would never remember.
Liam glanced down at her—the messy strands of hair clinging to her cheek, the delicate curve of her lips, the tiny frown line between her brows. Even in unconsciousness, she looked like she was bracing against the world.
For a man who spent his entire life mastering control, this girl was unraveling him thread by thread.
He tightened his hold briefly, feeling the weight of her in his arms. Possessive thoughts flickered in his mind—dark, sharp. She doesn't belong anywhere else. Not with anyone else. Only here.
When the driver opened the door, Liam stepped out, carrying her effortlessly.
"Sir, her room—" Karan began, rushing forward, but Liam silenced him with a glance.
"I'll take care of it."
He adjusted her gently in his arms, one hand slipping into her small handbag until he found the pass key card. With a flick, he slid it through the lock, the door clicking open.
Inside, the room smelled faintly of her perfume—soft, warm, something that lingered just enough to tug at him. Liam placed her carefully on the bed, her body sinking into the plush mattress. She stirred once, her lips parting as if to murmur something, but only a faint sigh escaped.
For a long moment, he stood there, his towering figure casting a shadow over her fragile one. He could see the faint red on her cheeks, the way her hands still curled as if searching for something to hold.
His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening.
"You're mine," he whispered low, a vow only the night would hear.
And then, without another word, he turned and left.
The Morning After
Piya's eyes snapped open with a gasp.
Her head was pounding, her mouth dry. She sat up instantly, clutching the sheets. Memories—fragmented, blurry—flashed in her mind.
The dance.
The wine.
The car.
A pair of storm-dark eyes watching her too closely.
Her own voice mumbling nonsense, tugging at his suit.
"Oh no..." Piya groaned, burying her face into her hands. "What did I do? What exactly did I say?"
Her heart hammered as panic took over. She stumbled out of bed, pacing the room, mumbling to herself. "I must have... embarrassed myself. He'll fire me. He'll never let me work again. Oh god, Piya, you're doomed!"
A knock on the door froze her mid-step. She opened it cautiously—only to find a neatly folded blazer hanging on the handle. Not hers. His.
Her eyes widened, her pulse skyrocketing. She snatched it inside, shutting the door quickly. The scent clung to the fabric, sharp and expensive, reminding her instantly of him.
She pressed her forehead to the blazer for a second, shutting her eyes. "I really am doomed..."
Back Home
By the next day, the project wrapped successfully. Their team boarded the flight back, and Piya was relieved to finally breathe familiar air again.
At home, her parents welcomed her with warmth.
"So? How was the trip?" her mother asked, fussing over her bags.
"It was...fine," Piya said, a little too quickly.
Her father raised a brow. "Fine? You went with your CEO, stayed in five-star hotels, attended big meetings, and all you have to say is fine?"
Piya puffed her cheeks. "Well, I survived, didn't I? That's enough."
Her mom frowned. "You didn't skip meals, did you?"
Piya laughed nervously, remembering that one night. "N-no...not really."
Her father ruffled her hair, grinning. "Our little Piya's becoming a corporate warrior. Next time, bring some gifts for your old parents too!"
Her mother swatted him. "Stop teasing. Let her rest."
Piya smiled, hiding the storm that still raged inside her.
Liam's Mansion
Far away, Liam walked into his study, phone pressed to his ear.
"Grandson," came his grandfather's deep, amused voice. "I heard the project wrapped up. Congratulations."
Liam hummed, distracted, flipping open a file.
But the old man was not fooled. "Something's different in your voice. Tell me...is it that girl again? The one whose voice I heard last time?"
Liam's brows furrowed. "Grandfather—"
"I knew it," the old man chuckled. "Your father is already making arrangements for marriage. He's decided your bride without even asking you. But I—" his tone softened—"I think you've already chosen, haven't you?"
There was silence. Then Liam's calm, steady voice: "Yes."
A click on his laptop. His grandfather's eyes widened when Liam sent a file through. The details of one girl.
Piya Arora.
The old man's heart leapt. "Ohhh...so it's her. Finally! Finally, Liam. I can already imagine great-grandchildren running through the mansion—"
"Grandfather." Liam's tone was flat, though a hint of steel threaded it. "Don't."
But the old man only laughed louder, delighted. "So, you do like her! You never bothered to stop me when I teased you before."
Liam's expression didn't shift, his voice calm as ever. "If you have this much energy, use it. Go see her family."
The old man blinked, stunned—and then smiled with tears in his eyes. "I'll do it. Oh, Liam...you finally let someone into your life."
Liam closed the file, his jaw tightening as his gaze drifted to the window. Dark eyes unreadable, thoughts hidden as always. But deep inside, one truth pulsed steady and undeniable.
She's mine. And nothing—father, fate, or anyone—will change that.
The late afternoon sun poured golden light into the quiet neighborhood where Piya's family lived. The Arora house was small but warm, painted in muted tones with a little garden out front. A place of simplicity and comfort, untouched by the cutthroat world of billion-dollar empires.
The Arora household was buzzing with the ordinary hum of evening life—Mrs. Arora stirring dal on the stove, Mr. Arora flipping through the newspaper, Piya's laughter still echoing faintly from earlier in the day. Nothing about it prepared them for the quiet arrival of a sleek black car that purred to a stop outside.
The neighborhood stilled. Curtains shifted. No one important ever came down this street.
When the doorbell rang, Mr. Arora opened it—and froze.
Standing there was a tall, dignified man with silver hair, posture straight, eyes sharp yet kind.
"Good evening," he said warmly. "I am Rajveer Asher."
The name alone was enough to leave both Mr. and Mrs. Arora stunned. The patriarch of the Asher family—the man whose empire stretched across continents—was standing at their doorstep, smiling politely as though he were visiting an old friend.
"P-please, sir, come in," Mr. Arora stammered, stepping aside.
Rajveer entered with graceful ease. Though used to marble halls and palatial mansions, he treated their modest living room with quiet admiration, remarking on the warmth of their home, the neatly framed family photos, the fragrance of homecooked food. His words carried no arrogance—only sincerity.
"You have such a warm house," he said, seating himself gently on their sofa. "So alive. You should be proud—it feels more like a home than most grand estates I've seen."
Mrs. Arora, flustered, hurried to serve him tea with trembling hands. Rajveer accepted it with genuine gratitude.
After a few moments of light conversation, his voice shifted—deeper, steadier, yet still gentle.
"I'll come straight to the reason I am here." He folded his hands. "It is about your daughter—Piya."
The Aroras exchanged nervous glances, their hearts racing.
"I have seen her," Rajveer continued. "Not only as an employee in the company, but as a person. She is kind, honest, simple in the purest way—and these are qualities my grandson needs beside him." His gaze softened, but the weight of his words filled the room. "That is why I wish to ask for your permission—would you allow Piya to become part of our family, as Liam's wife?"
Mrs. Arora almost dropped her cup.
"Sir... this is..." Mr. Arora struggled for words. "So sudden. Piya... she is young, she has never even spoken of—of marriage."
Rajveer leaned forward slightly, his tone full of reassurance. "I understand your hesitation. Believe me, I am not here to impose. I came because this is not about wealth, status, or alliances. I have seen many marriages built on those—they crumble. What I see in your daughter is different. She has a strength in her gentleness, a heart that can balance Liam's world of storms."
Mrs. Arora shook her head, overwhelmed. "But she... she doesn't know how to behave in that world. She's clumsy, innocent—"
Rajveer chuckled softly. "And do you know? That innocence is exactly what makes her rare. My grandson has everything money can buy, but not what your daughter carries in her nature. She would not lose a family if she comes to us—she would gain one that treasures her."
The silence after his words was heavy. Not oppressive, but full of something unshakable.
Finally, Rajveer rose, his movements graceful yet commanding. He clasped Mr. Arora's hand firmly. "I will not press for an answer tonight. Talk to her, think about it as a family. But... as one parent to another, I hope you will see this not as a proposal, but as a blessing waiting to be accepted."
With a warm nod, he left. His car glided away, leaving the Aroras standing at their doorway, dazed, their minds swirling with disbelief and shock.
At the same hour, miles away in his office, Liam stood before the tall glass windows of his suite, city lights glittering below him. A glass of whiskey sat untouched on his desk. His phone buzzed with a message from his grandfather—I spoke with her parents.
Liam's jaw tightened—yet he wasn't surprised.
Still, his mind wandered—unwillingly—back to her.
Piya Arora.
He could still picture the way she stumbled nervously into meetings, clutching files like they were shields, her eyes darting anywhere but his. The way her voice stuttered, her body tensed, every small detail betraying her discomfort in his presence. And yet—there was something unshakable in her. Something that drew his eyes, whether he willed it or not.
Most women around him craved his attention, their smiles painted, their words rehearsed. But Piya? She feared him, yes. Respected him, yes. But beneath that, he had seen glimpses of a girl who would rather flee than bend, who stood her ground even trembling.
That strange pull she had on him was not attraction alone—it was possession, protectiveness, something primal that unsettled him.
His dark eyes lowered, his reflection staring back at him in the glass. She doesn't even know it yet, he thought. But she's already mine.
His phone buzzed again. Rajveer this time had added: Her parents are kind people. This could work. Think about it, Liam.
Liam's lips curved into the faintest, humorless smile. His grandfather was already dreaming. But Liam didn't need convincing. He had already decided.
And when Liam Asher decided something—nothing in the world could change it.