The door clicked shut, leaving me in a silence that suddenly felt too loud. I slumped into my leather chair, rubbing my temples.

What the fuck just happened?

I looked down at the desk where she had just been standing.

Two years.

Two years since I saw her at that carnival, laughing with people who didn't deserve her time. Since that day, she’s been the only thing on my mind.

I’ve watched her from the shadows, knowing every detail of her quiet, lonely life.

I knew about the orphanages, the tiny apartment, the late shifts at the cafe, and those filthy dark romance novels she devours.

She thinks she’s invisible. She doesn't realize her "dirty" imagination is the only thing that makes us a perfect match.

But seeing her today, in my classroom... it nearly broke me. I lost control.

I don’t like sharing?

I sounded like a possessive maniac. But seeing her in that tight shirt, knowing every guy in the hall could see what belongs to me... it made my blood boil.

She was shivering. Terrified of me. Good. She should be.

The college day finally ended. I needed a drink, but more than that, I needed to see where she went. I hopped into my car, the engine's roar matching the turbulence in my chest.

As I rounded the corner near the edge of campus, I saw a slumped figure on the curb. My heart stopped.

It was her. She was sitting on the dirty ground, her head in her hands. As I got closer, the smell hit me before the visual did. Acrid smoke.

What the fuck?

I stepped out of the car, my boots heavy on the pavement. She was smoking.

Since when did my little kitten start burning her lungs?

And how the hell did I miss that in my reports?

She was crying, her eyes bloodshot and raw, looking more fragile than I’d ever seen her.

I walked until my shadow fell over her, blocking out the afternoon sun. She froze. Her fingers, holding the cigarette, stopped mid-air. She looked up, and I saw the exact moment the air left her lungs.

"Stand up," I commanded, my voice like gravel.

She was paralyzed, her eyes wide with a haunting mix of grief and shock. She didn't even notice the cherry of the cigarette was beginning to burn her fingers.

I didn't wait. I reached down, snatched the damn thing from her hand, and crushed it under my boot.

She jumped, looking even more terrified. "W-what are you doing here?" she shuttered, her voice cracked from crying. "I... I was just..."

"Where do you live?" I interrupted. I didn't care about her excuses. I cared about the fact that she was outside, alone, and falling apart.

"I... it's fine. I can take the bus. I live about thirty minutes from here," she managed to say, wiping her eyes frantically. "Please, Sir, I’m okay."

"You aren't taking a bus looking like a mess, Ira," I stepped closer, looming over her until she had to tilt her head back. "Get in the car."

"No, really, I can—"

"I didn't ask," I growled, my voice dropping to that dangerous, possessive edge that made her shiver. "You have no choice. It's late, you've been crying like a child, and you're clearly not fit to be in public. Move. Now."

I didn't give her a chance to argue. I gripped her elbow—firmly, but careful not to bruise her—and led her toward the blacked-out SUV.

She didn't fight me. She was too exhausted, or perhaps she realized that when I decide something, the world bends to make it happen.

I opened the passenger door. "Sit."

She climbed in, looking tiny against the expensive leather interior. I walked around, got behind the wheel, and pulled away from the curb. The silence in the car was thick with her fear and my simmering Need.

I watched her from the corner of my eye as I drove toward the address I already knew by heart. She kept her head down, her hands tucked between her knees, looking every bit like the orphan girl who had no one.

You have me now, Ira, I thought, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. You just don't know how dark that's going to get.

She told me it was a thirty-minute commute. I had us parked in front of her building in fifteen. I knew the shortcuts, and I drove with a purpose that didn't involve red lights or patience.

As soon as the engine died, she bolted. She didn't wait for a "goodnight" or a "get home safe." She just scrambled out of the car and headed for the entrance of her apartment.

"Going so soon, little kitten?" I called out, my voice cutting through the quiet evening air.

She stopped dead in her tracks. I could see her shoulders tense, her whole body stiffening at the nickname.

For a second, I thought she’d just run inside, but then she slowly turned around. Her eyes were still puffy, her expression a mix of lingering fear and a strange, sudden resolve.

"Sir..." she started, her voice barely a whisper. "Would you... do you want to come inside? For a glass of water? It’s the least I can do for the ride."

My heart did a strange, violent thud against my ribs. It was the last thing I expected. I shouldn't go in. I should drive away and keep my distance. But my feet were already moving.

Inside, the apartment was exactly as I imagined. It was small, but cozy—peaceful in a way my world never was. And then the smell hit me.

It wasn't just the lingering scent of her perfume; it was a blend of lavender, vanilla, and the earthy warmth of sandalwood. It smelled like her. It was intoxicating.

"Please sit, sir," she said, gesturing toward a small, soft-looking couch.

I sat, my large frame feeling completely out of place in her delicate sanctuary. She disappeared into the kitchen, and for ten minutes, I sat there in the silence, listening to the muffled sounds of her moving around.

When she returned, she wasn't holding water. She handed me a ceramic mug. "I thought... maybe coffee would be better. It’s a long drive back."

I looked down. Black coffee. Steam rose from the dark liquid, smelling bitter and bold. I looked from the mug up to her, and she immediately froze, her fingers twisting together.

"I-I'm so sorry!" she stammered, her face turning a panicked shade of pink. "I shouldn't have assumed. You probably hate it, or maybe it's too strong. I can go make tea, or get that water, I just thought—"

"Ira," I interrupted, my voice low and firm. "Calm down. Sit."

She swallowed hard and sank onto the far end of the couch, looking like she was ready to bolt at any second.

I took a sip. The heat seared my tongue, but the taste was perfect. Strong. Brutally black. Exactly how I take it. I lowered the mug, staring at her over the rim.

"It’s exactly how I like it," I said. "Thank you."

A small, genuine look of relief washed over her features, her first real smile of the day tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You're welcome, Sir."

The silence that followed wasn't as tense as before. It was heavy, yes, but there was a strange gravity pulling us toward each other in that small room.

I finished the coffee and stood up. I knew if I stayed any longer, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off her.

"I should go," I said, walking toward the door. "Goodnight, Ira."

"Sir? Wait," she said, rushing toward me. She stopped just a foot away, looking up at me with those pleading, bloodshot eyes. "Please... about the smoking. Please don't tell the college. Or anyone. I don't usually... it was just a bad day."

I leaned down, my shadow engulfing her. I reached out, my thumb brushing against her jaw, feeling her pulse jump under my touch.

"I don't care about the college, Ira," I whispered, my voice thick with possession. "But those lungs belong to me now. If I catch you with a cigarette again, the punishment won't be a lecture. Do you understand?"

She nodded breathlessly, her eyes wide. "Yes... I understand."

"Good. Lock the door behind me."

I walked out without looking back, the scent of lavender and black coffee clinging to my skin like a brand.

She was going to be the ruin of me, and God help me, I was going to enjoy every second of it.

_________________________________

The warehouse smelled of cold concrete, motor oil, and the sharp, expensive bite of imported scotch.

I walked past the crates of heavy artillery without a word, my mind still stuck in that small, lavender-scented apartment.

Rudra Thakur, my closest friend, and Ishir, my younger brother, were already draped over the leather armchairs in the center of the floor, glasses of amber liquid in their hands. They looked up as I approached.

I didn't say a word. I sat on the center couch, grabbed the crystal decanter, and poured a triple. I gulped the whiskey in one jagged burn and immediately lit a cigar, the thick smoke curling around my head like a shroud.

Both of them froze, their glasses halfway to their lips.

"The hell happened to you Bhai?" Ishir asked, leaning forward, his eyes scanning my face. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or killed one."

"Nothing happened," I snapped, the cigar smoke stinging my eyes.

Rudra let out a dry, cynical laugh. "Like hell. You’ve got that look in your eye, Ishaan. The one that usually ends with a city block on fire. Talk."

"I said it’s nothing," I growled, but they didn't budge. They knew me too well. They just sat there, waiting, their silence demanding the truth.

I took a long drag of the cigar, staring into the flickering shadows of the warehouse. "I found her."

The silence that followed was absolute. Then, almost in unison, their jaws dropped.

"Her?" Rudra breathed, his smirk slowly returning. "The Carnival Girl? The one you’ve been chasing shadows for for two years?"

"She’s a student," I said, the words feeling heavy. "In my Biology class."

Ishir burst out laughing, a sharp, triumphant sound. "No way. Big brother is playing Professor? That’s rich. Does she know she’s sitting in a room with the man who owns half the shipping docks in the country?"

"She knows nothing," I said coldly, though the memory of her shivering in my car flashed through my mind. "And it stays that way."

"Oh, he’s got it bad," Rudra teased, leaning back and clinking his glass against Ishir’s. "The cold-blooded Ishaan Khanna is losing his mind. I bet he’s already picked out the wedding ring—and the golden cage."

"Shut up," I warned, my voice dropping to a dangerous level. "Both of you. One more word and you'll be joining the guest downstairs."

The teasing stopped instantly. The atmosphere shifted from brotherhood back to the brutal reality of our world.

We stood up and walked toward the back of the warehouse, where the heavy steel door led to the basement.

Down there, the air was thick with the smell of copper and sweat. A man was chained to a heavy wooden chair, half-naked and slumped forward. His skin was a map of bruises and fresh burns.

"He works in the main office," Ishir said, his voice turning ice-cold as he looked at the traitor. "Accountant. He’s been selling our transport manifests to that bastard Singhania for six months."

I stood in front of the man, the orange cherry of my cigar the only light in his fading vision. He looked up, his eyes clouded with pain and terror.

"Singhania?" I whispered, leaning in close. "You chose a very painful way to die for a man who doesn't even know your name."

I turned away, walking back to the couch near the interrogation area. I sat down, crossing my legs and taking a slow, steady puff of my cigar.

"Give him no mercy," I said to Rudra and Ishir. "Make it slow. I want Singhania to hear his screams through the phone before you finish it."

I watched with cold, detached eyes as they went to work. The warehouse echoed with the wet sounds of retribution and the final, desperate pleas of a dead man.

When the screaming finally stopped, I flicked the ash of my cigar onto the floor.

"Clean up this mess," I commanded the guards standing by the door.

Ishir wiped his hands on a rag, looking refreshed. "Ready to head back to the mansion?"

"Yeah," I said, standing up. Rudra nodded to us before heading toward his own car, disappearing into the night.

As Ishir and I drove toward the Khanna mansion, the neon lights of the city blurred past. My brother thought I was thinking about the traitor, but my mind was elsewhere.

I was thinking about a girl, a small Shiv Ling, and the way she looked when she begged me not to tell her secret.

The underworld was easy. But Ira? She was going to be complicated.

_________________________________

The massive iron gates of the Khanna mansion swung open, but the opulence inside felt suffocating. As I stepped into the main hall, the air was thick with the usual family tension.

My father, Mr. Khanna, stood by the window, his back to the room—always the businessman, never the father. Devyani, my mother, looked up with a strained smile, while Dadi sat in her high-backed chair like a queen on her throne. Ishita, my little sister, was tucked away in a corner with her nose in a book.

And then there was the "pathetic" wing of the family. Bua, her husband Rakesh, and their daughter Rhea.

I felt Rhea’s gaze crawling over me—those lustful, hungry eyes. It made my skin itch with pure disgust.

I walked over and sat beside Dadi, while Ishir took the spot next to Mom.

"You’re late, Ishaan. Ishir," Dadi noted, her sharp eyes scanning for blood on our cuffs. "The dinner table has been set for an hour."

"Work, Dadi," I replied shortly. "Nothing that couldn't be handled, but it took time."

"Always work," Mom sighed, though she reached out to pat Ishir’s hand. "Are you two even eating properly?"

"I'm starving, Mom," I said, standing up before the conversation could turn into an interrogation. "I’m going to freshen up and come back down. Don't wait to start."

I reached my suite and slammed the door, locking out the world. I stripped off the scent of the warehouse in a scalding twenty-minute shower.

I pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt, but I didn't head down for dinner yet.

I sat on my couch and flipped open my laptop. The screen flickered to life, showing the high-definition feed from the camera I’d hidden in her bedroom months ago.

I froze. There she was. Sitting on her bed, the duvet kicked aside, and—fuck—she was smoking again. A thin trail of grey smoke drifted toward the ceiling.

"I told you no," I growled at the screen, my jaw clenching. "You’re going to learn exactly what happens when you ignore me, Little kitten."

I zoomed in. She was leaning against her headboard, a dark romance novel propped open on her lap. I tracked her eyes as they moved across the page.

I zoomed in further, the resolution sharpening until I could read the text right along with her.

["And I'm terrified that the moment I get her alone, I will wrap my fingers around her pretty, white neck and squeeze the life out of her."]

My blood turned to molten lead.

Jesus Christ, woman.

You’re sitting there blushing, your breath hitching over a man wanting to choke the life out of you?

"Little kitten," I whispered, a dark, predatory smirk tugging at my lips. "You’ve been a very bad girl. If that’s what you’re craving, I’ll be more than happy to oblige."

Dinner was a blur of silent glares and Rhea trying to catch my eye across the table. I ignored all of it, ate my fill, and retreated back to my sanctuary.

I lit a cigarette, the smoke mirroring the frustration rolling off me. I opened the laptop again.

What is she doing now?

My heart stopped.

She wasn't reading anymore. Her baby-pink crop top was hiked up, and her hand was disappeared under the duvet.

The rhythmic movement, the way her head was thrown back, exposing the pale line of her throat... and then I saw the device.

The vibrator buzzed against her, and my "virgin" eyes were treated to the most beautiful, sinful sight I’d ever witnessed.

I should have closed the laptop. I should have looked away. But I was paralyzed.

Fuck.

I was already rock hard, my cock aching against the fabric of my sweatpants. She looked incredible—her soft curves, the way her chest heaved, the flush of pink spreading across her skin.

I slid my hand into my pants, gripping my cock, my eyes locked on the screen.

"Fuck... Kitten... you’re making me insane," I groaned, my voice a wrecked rasp in the empty room.

I started stroking my cock roughly, matching her frantic pace. Every moan that escaped her lips, every hitch in her breath, felt like a physical touch. I watched her undoing, her eyes fluttering shut as she chased the edge.

"Fuck!" I roared quietly, my body shuddering as I finally came, the release violent and overwhelming.

On the screen, she collapsed, her body shattering into the mattress as she reached her own peak.

She tucked the vibrator away on her desk, leaving the room a mess of ash, books, and her own scent. She looked so small, so broken, and so perfectly mine.

I snapped the laptop shut, the darkness of the room swallowing me whole. I lay back, my heart still hammering.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she wouldn't be watching it in a book. Tomorrow, she’d be looking at me.

_________________________________