CHAPTER 42
ADITI
I don’t remember if I’ve seen Abhimaan like this.
Asleep. Peacefully. His body tangled with mine, his chest rising in steady rhythm under my palm, his brows relaxed for once. No tension between them, no tightness in his jaw, and no haunted lines around his mouth. Just stillness. Soft, rare, almost childlike stillness.
I blink at the time on my phone again, just to be sure.
Yup. Nine freaking AM.
And I’m supposed to be at work.
But here I am. In bed. Wrapped in his arms. With my boss-cum-boyfriend holding me like I’m the only thing tethering him to this world.
The past twenty-four hours were a whirlwind, but the moment he told me what happened—the car, the betrayal, the man who almost took him from me—I haven’t been able to shake the weight sitting on my chest.
I watch him now, one arm flung around my waist, his face buried in the crook of my neck, lips brushing the sensitive spot just under my jaw. My phone glows with the tabs I opened last night, the name flashing again and again across the screen.
Anil.
The man responsible for trying to kill him. I scroll through another article quietly, careful not to wake Abhimaan, though that seems unlikely. He’s dead to the world right now. And I’ve never seen him like this. Which makes me worry. Is he okay?
Is he tired because of the emotional weight from yesterday?
Because if he is, then I’ll make it my mission to find every last thing that makes him feel unsafe and burn it to the ground. No hesitation. Including that, Anil. Which is why I am reading everything I can find on Google about him. Because if you fight an enemy, know them well.
I close the tab, lock my phone, and slide it under the pillow. My hand returns to his hair, fingers threading through the silky strands, combing them gently.
“You’re mine now,” I whisper to no one in particular, “and Malhotras don’t take it lightly when someone hurts the people we love.
” I have Malhotra blood running in me. We don’t let people hurt our own.
We ruin them. So if that bastard ever crosses our path again, he’ll wish he hadn’t.
Because I will burn everything he touches.
He stirs slightly, murmuring something incoherent before nestling closer, his hand tightening around my waist. And then—his lips move against my skin, a sleepy slur escaping him. “Mmm… you smell good…”
I freeze, then smile.
“You’re awake,” I say softly.
“Mm-mm. Not yet. Dreaming.”
“Dreaming of me?” I tease.
He makes a content sound that could mean anything, and then I feel him shift slightly. His eyes open—slow, unfocused—and then suddenly snap fully awake when he sees the sunlight peeking through the curtains.
He jerks up slightly, eyes wide. “What time is it?”
I smirk, stretching languidly beside him. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”
He blinks at me like I’ve grown another head. “No seriously, what time is it?”
“Nine.” I yawn, deliberately casual.
“NINE?!” He shoots up, the sheets pooling around his waist, still in the shirt that he wore yesterday, hair adorably tousled. “I never sleep this late!”
I bite back my laughter. “Clearly, miracles do happen.”
He exhales and looks at me, his eyes soft. “You are the miracle, you know that, right?”
It takes me a second to breathe, to remember how air works.
Because this man—this grumpy, impossible, obsessive-with-work man—just said that to me.
And he means it. His eyes haven’t left mine.
There’s no smirk on his lips, no sarcasm in his tone, just a raw kind of honesty I haven’t seen on him in… well, maybe ever.
I should say something clever. Something light to deflect the way my chest clenches too tightly.
But I don’t.
I just look at him—this beautiful, complicated man—and reach out to push the strands of hair falling on his forehead.
“You really never sleep in?” I whisper.
“Not past six.” His voice is rough from sleep. “Even if I’m hungover. Even if I’m dead tired. My body just… won’t let me.”
“So what changed today?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Last night changed everything. The weight he’s been carrying all these years, the truth he shared with me—he let it out. He let me in.
“I think,” he says slowly, his gaze dropping to where my hand now rests over his heart, “it’s because of you.”
My breath catches again, and I hate how easily he does this to me. How one sentence from him can turn me into a puddle of emotions, and yet I’ll still act unaffected.
I pull the covers higher, trying to shield myself from how much I’m feeling. “Well,” I tease, “your sleeping in has made me late to work. I should go. My boss is a demon when it comes to punctuality.”
That earns me a snort. “Is that so?”
I nod solemnly. “He once told me, ‘Aditi, if you’re five minutes late again, I’ll deduct it from your lunch break.’” I mimic his voice. “He has no heart,” I pout.
He stares at me, unimpressed. “I don’t sound like that.”
I grin. “You do when you’re scolding me in the conference room in front of three managers and a clueless intern.”
He’s laughing now, and I can’t help but admire it. Not the forced kind, not the polite kind. This one is real. And rare.
He reaches for me before I can get out of bed, pulling me down onto the mattress again. I yelp in surprise, landing on top of him.
“Abhimaan!”
He grins, sleepy and smug. “Maybe I should have a word with your boss. Teach him a lesson.”
I lean over and peck his lips. “You don’t need to. I’ll do it myself.”
Before he can respond, I jab my fingers into his side. He jumps, surprised. “Aditi!”
I giggle, then tickle his ribs again. “What? Can’t take a little torture, sir?”
He grabs my wrist, then flips us over so fast I yelp.
Now, I’m pinned beneath him. His hands trapping mine above my head. His body heavy against mine. His face inches from mine.
My heart stutters.
There’s a smile playing on his lips. But it’s the eyes that kill me.
Soft. Steady. Like he’s seeing all of me and isn’t scared of what he finds.
He leans down slowly, brushing his lips against mine in the gentlest kiss.
The kind that doesn't ask, doesn't demand—just feels.
And I let myself sink into it, into him, into the quiet promise that lives between us now.
“Everything you said might be true,” He says, “I might be a demon.” I frown, opening my mouth to protest, to tell him that it was a joke, but he interrupts me, “But there’s one thing you are wrong about: I did have a heart.
” He gently brushes a strand of my hair away from my cheek.
“I don’t have it anymore because you stole it from me. ”
There he goes again. I gasp breathlessly, “What if I break it?” I frown. “You know how clumsy and unpredictable I am.”
He chuckles, his hand caressing my cheek.
“You can break it into a million pieces if you want, Aditi.” He pecks my forehead.
“Just don’t give it back to me; it’s yours now.
” I swear the world slows down when he looks at me like that.
His gaze flickers to my lips, then back to my eyes.
“You’re very distracting, Miss Malhotra. ”
“I was just about to say the same about you,” I whisper, my heart thudding. I push him away, trying to catch my breath, giving my heart some time to calm down. “It’s late; we should go to the office now.” I get up from the bed.
He shuffles in the bed, getting up too. He walks towards me and stops just inches away, bending down. His lips find mine again, slower this time. Deeper.
And just when my brain forgets what day it is, he murmurs, “No office today.”
I blink up at him. “What?”
He nudges his nose against mine. “Just you and me.”
The air thickens with something tender. Something fragile.
“Are you sure?” I whisper.
“Positive.” He kisses my cheek. “I’m declaring a very important meeting day.”
“With whom?”
“You.”
He rolls to the side, propping his head up with one hand. His voice is gentler now. “How about you tell me about the fashion brand you want to build?”
I blink.
“What?”
He shrugs. “I want to hear. Everything. The name. The vibe. The inspiration. The chaos.”
“You want to hear?”
He looks at me like I just asked if the sky is blue. “Obviously. I always want to hear you.”
And then, he leans in again, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Even when you’re rambling about your romance novels.”
I gasp, pushing at his chest. “You were eavesdropping on my conversation with Bhabhi?!”
He laughs, not even pretending to be guilty. “I didn’t mean to, but… it doesn’t hurt knowing what makes your heart skip a beat. Gives me ideas.”
“You’re impossible,” I mutter.
He shrugs again. “I want to learn how to impress you.”
My heart clenches so hard it hurts. I reach for his hand, threading our fingers together.
“You don’t have to impress me, Abhimaan.”
His gaze softens.
“I already like you.”
“Doesn’t matter; you have a questionable choice. That doesn’t mean I have to forget that you are way out of my league,” he states as if he’s stating a fact.
“If you ever talk about yourself like that, I will break your nose,” I threaten, and he chuckles.
He shifts back into a mock-serious pose, clearing his throat. “Okay. Start talking. Brand strategy. Marketing. Vision board. Let’s go.”
I blink at him, stunned.
The boss voice is back.
But so is the warmth in his eyes.
My heart is full—too full—and I don’t know where to put all of it.
This man wants to know me. Not just kiss me. Not just wake up next to me.
He wants to understand my dream.
That’s rare.
That’s everything.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing hard. “I don’t have a name yet,” I mumble. “I didn’t think I could actually do it.”
“You can do everything, Aditi.” He says as if he means it, “I mean, you made ME feel things, and out of thousands of people I know, no one has been able to do it.” He chuckles, shrugging, and I shake my head. Of course, arrogance. Everything is about him. As it should be.
He believes in me. And that solely makes me want to marry him right here and right now, because a man who can handle an ambitious woman? Rare sight. But I don’t say this out loud, obviously, because I don’t want to scare him, but I know I will marry him someday. I can see that happening already.