PROLOGUE
The first time Agastya Singh Rathore saw Anvi Oberoi, he thought she was too soft, too delicate for a world like his.
The first time Anvi Oberoi saw Agastya Singh Rathore, she thought he was nothing but a nightmare in human form.
And the first time they spoke, he stole her name from her lips and made it his own.
"You must be Pari."
The words had shattered her.
Because he was not family.
He was not her savior.
He was her cage.
And yet, the day he uttered her name, fate had already sealed them together.
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"You don't own me."
The words left Anvi’s lips like a whisper, but in the silence of their shared bedroom, it felt like a scream.
Agastya stood before her, his tall frame bathed in the golden light of dusk. His dark eyes glowed like embers, his expression unreadable.
He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against her wrist—where his ring rested, mocking her every breath.
"Then why are you wearing my ring, Pari?"
Her breath hitched.
He had her trapped—in his home, in his name, in his world.
And the worst part?
He wasn’t just obsessed with her anymore.
He was falling.
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There was blood on the marble floors.
Gunshots echoed in the halls of the Rathore mansion, bodies falling like shadows in the night. But Agastya didn’t stop—he moved through the chaos, his white kurta now stained in crimson, his voice sharp as a blade.
"Where is she?"
His men had never seen Hukum like this.
Not calculating. Not patient.
This time, he was a man who had everything to lose.
The moment he found her—bound, trembling, eyes wide with fear—something inside him snapped.
He untied her himself. Held her against his chest.
"Jaan…" The word fell from his lips like a prayer, like a confession he had never planned to make.
Anvi stiffened.
Because she had been his Pari.
But this was the first time he had called her his Jaan.
And this time, she didn’t fight it.
Because maybe—just maybe—she had fallen, too.