Chapter 15
The drive back to the Rathore mansion was silent.
Not the kind of silence that came from peace.
The kind that hung thick with tension, suffocating, heavy.
Anvi sat rigid in the passenger seat, staring at the passing city lights, her mind still replaying what had happened at the warehouse.
The gun in his hand.
The rage in his eyes.
The way she had stopped him with just a touch.
And most terrifying of all—
The way he had let her.
Her hands curled into fists in her lap.
She didn’t understand it.
Agastya Singh Rathore was a monster.
A man who didn’t hesitate, who ruled with fear, who never wavered.
And yet tonight, he had wavered.
Because of her.
The thought sent a chill down her spine.
Because if she could affect him like this, what did that mean for her?
And more importantly—what did it mean for him?
---
The car pulled into the mansion’s long driveway, the headlights illuminating the grand structure that felt more like a prison than a home.
Agastya parked the car and sat there for a moment, his hands still gripping the steering wheel.
He hadn’t spoken a word since the warehouse.
Not one.
And now, as he stared straight ahead, his jaw locked, his body stiff, Anvi could feel it—
The storm inside him.
The war he was fighting within himself.
Slowly, he exhaled, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck.
Then, without looking at her, he finally spoke.
"Go inside."
His voice was rough, low. Strained.
Anvi turned to him, watching him carefully.
"What’s wrong with you?"
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
He turned to her then, his gaze dark, unreadable. "Go inside, Pari."
But something in his voice—something almost broken—made her pulse stutter.
She should have listened.
She should have left.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she whispered, "I saw it, Agastya."
His fingers twitched.
She swallowed hard. "You hesitated."
Silence.
Then—he moved.
Before she could react, he reached out, his fingers wrapping around her waist, pulling her across the seat, pressing her against him.
Her breath hitched, her hands colliding against his chest.
His grip was tight, unrelenting.
Not painful.
But desperate.
Like he was trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers.
His forehead touched hers, his breath warm against her lips.
And then, in a voice so quiet it barely reached her ears, he whispered—
"You don’t get to see that part of me, Pari."
Her chest tightened.
Because this wasn’t the Agastya she had come to know.
This wasn’t Hukum, the ruthless king.
This was a man battling something he didn’t want to name.
Something that had everything to do with her.
And she didn’t know if that made it better or worse.
---
Anvi shoved at his chest, breaking free from his grip.
She scrambled out of the car, her heart racing as she turned to face him. "What is wrong with you?"
Agastya stepped out of the car slowly, like a predator stalking its prey.
She took a step back.
He took a step forward.
The tension thickened.
"You think this is a game, Pari?" His voice was deadly soft. "You think I hesitate because I’m weak?"
She refused to look away. "Then why did you?"
His jaw clenched.
And for the first time, she saw something flicker in his gaze.
Something that looked a lot like fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
She swallowed, her voice dropping. "What are you so afraid of, Agastya?"
His body stiffened.
And then—he laughed.
Low. Dark. Unhinged.
Like he had finally realized something.
Something dangerous.
He took another step closer, his voice a whisper against her ear.
"You."
Her stomach twisted.
Because for the first time since she had met him—he was telling the truth.
---
The moment they stepped inside the mansion, everything snapped.
The walls that had been holding them together crumbled.
Anvi turned to face him, her anger boiling over. "You don’t get to be the victim, Agastya!"
His eyes darkened. "You think I want this?"
She let out a bitter laugh. "You forced me into this marriage, remember?"
His jaw tightened, and before she could react, he had her pinned against the wall.
Trapped. Caged. Overpowered.
His body pressed against hers, his warmth searing through the layers of silk between them.
Her breath caught.
His hands rested on either side of her head, his eyes burning into hers.
"You think I can control this?" His voice was rough, almost ragged. "You think I wanted to feel this way about you?"
Anvi’s breath stilled.
Because for the first time—he had admitted it.
Maybe not in words.
But in the way his body trembled against hers.
In the way his grip tightened like he was terrified she’d disappear.
In the way his forehead dropped against hers, his breath uneven.
This wasn’t about control anymore.
This was about losing it.
And Agastya Singh Rathore was losing himself to her.
---
Anvi didn’t know who moved first.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe it was her.
But suddenly—his lips brushed against her skin.
Not her lips.
Her jaw. Slow, lingering, uncertain.
A question.
A warning.
Her pulse pounded.
She should push him away. Should slap him, scream, run.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she tilted her head slightly, just enough to let him touch more of her.
And Agastya felt it.
Felt the shift.
Felt her giving in, even if just for a second.
A second was all he needed.
His fingers slid down her arms, his grip still firm, still possessive.
His breath was hot against her throat, his lips ghosting over her pulse point.
And then, in a voice so rough, so dangerously full of need, he whispered—
"Tell me to stop, Pari."
She swallowed hard, her heart hammering.
She should say it.
She should end this before it got worse.
But she couldn’t.
Because her silence was already his answer.
___________________________________________
His breath was hot against her skin.
His grip was tight, unyielding.
His voice—low, rough, dangerously full of need.
“Tell me to stop, Pari.”
Anvi’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps.
She should say it.
She should push him away.
She should remind herself who he was—the man who had stolen her freedom, her choices, her life.
But she didn’t.
Because her silence was already his answer.
And Agastya?
He was done holding back.
---
He moved before she could process it.
One hand slid to her waist, gripping her firmly, pulling her closer.
The other tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
Dark. Burning. Unforgiving.
Her fingers trembled, her body betraying her, but her mind screamed at her to fight.
So she did.
She pushed against his chest. "Let me go."
Agastya didn’t move.
Didn’t even flinch.
Instead—he leaned in.
Slow. Deliberate.
His lips brushed against her jaw, his breath fanning over her skin.
She gasped, her entire body tensing.
"Tell me to stop, Pari, and I will." His voice was softer this time, but no less dangerous.
She opened her mouth.
The word was right there—but it wouldn’t come out.
Because despite everything, despite hating him, despite wanting to run—
She couldn’t deny the fire raging between them.
And Agastya?
He felt it too.
A slow, wicked smirk curled at the corner of his lips.
And then—his lips pressed against the sensitive skin of her throat.
Soft. Testing. Addictive.
A low whimper slipped past her lips before she could stop it.
And that?
That was all it took for him to lose control.
---
Agastya’s grip tightened, his lips trailing downward, over her throat, her collarbone.
Her fingers dug into his shirt, unsure if she wanted to push him away or pull him closer.
Her mind was at war, but her body?
Her body had already surrendered.
His hands slipped to her waist, gripping the fabric of her saree, pulling her against him.
Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs.
"You drive me insane, Pari." His voice was hoarse, full of something raw, desperate.
Her lips parted, but before she could respond—
A loud knock shattered the moment.
She gasped, reality crashing down on her as Agastya froze against her.
Both of them were breathing hard, their bodies still tangled together.
Another knock. More urgent this time.
Agastya’s jaw clenched.
Anvi used the moment to push away, her hands shaking as she stepped back.
What had she just done?
What had they almost done?
Her entire body was still burning, aching, needing—
No.
She couldn’t think like this.
She was supposed to hate him.
Then why did she feel like she had just lost a battle she never meant to fight?
---
Agastya took a slow, deep breath, his entire body tense.
His eyes were wild, dark, still drowning in the moment.
He turned toward the door, his voice sharp. "What?"
The door opened, and Kabir stepped inside.
His eyes flickered between Agastya and Anvi, taking in the tension in the air, the way her saree was slightly undone, the way Agastya’s grip was still clenched like he was holding himself back.
Something shifted in Kabir’s expression.
But he said nothing about it.
Instead, his voice was grim. "We have a problem."
Agastya exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Handle it."
Kabir’s jaw tightened. "It’s Vikram."
Silence.
And then—everything in Agastya’s demeanor changed.
The fire, the desire, the possessiveness—it all vanished.
Replaced by something cold. Lethal. Unforgiving.
"What did he do?"
Kabir hesitated.
And that hesitation? It made Agastya’s rage burn brighter.
"Kabir. What. Did. He. Do?"
Kabir exhaled. "He made a move against Anvi."
The room turned to ice.
Anvi’s body tensed. "What?"
Agastya was already moving.
Grabbing his coat. Reaching for his gun.
His movements were sharp. Precise. Deadly.
Because this?
This wasn’t just business.
This was personal.
And if Vikram had dared to touch what was his—
There would be hell to pay.