Chapter 17
The door slammed shut behind her.
Anvi’s breath was ragged as she pressed her back against it, her fingers trembling, her body burning.
What had she done?
What had they done?
She lifted a shaky hand to her lips, still swollen from his kiss.
Her mind screamed at her to forget it, erase it, pretend it never happened.
But her body?
Her body was still betraying her.
Her heartbeat was still racing.
Her skin still tingled from where he had touched her.
Her breath still carried his scent—sandalwood and sin.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
She was supposed to hate him.
Then why did it feel like she was falling into him instead?
---
Anvi sat on the bed, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to breathe.
She couldn’t think about this.
Couldn’t think about him.
But even as she tried to push it away, his voice echoed in her head.
“You hate me, Pari? Then why do you taste like mine?”
Her stomach twisted.
She had to be stronger than this.
She had to—
A knock at the door made her jump.
She froze.
And then—the door handle turned.
Her chest tightened.
"Anvi."
Agastya’s voice was deep, too calm. Too controlled.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t move.
Because if she opened that door, she wouldn’t survive this night.
"Open the door, Pari."
His voice was lower now. Rough.
Dangerous.
She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. "Go away."
A pause.
And then—his hand slammed against the door.
The force of it made her flinch.
"You think you can run from me?" His voice was sharp, but beneath it…
Something else lurked.
Something that sounded close to desperation.
Her heart pounded.
"It meant nothing, Agastya."
Silence.
The air turned heavy.
Then—he laughed.
Low. Deep. Unhinged.
"Lie to yourself all you want, Pari. But you can’t lie to me."
Her stomach twisted.
Because deep down—she knew he was right.
And that?
That terrified her more than anything.
---
She didn’t open the door that night.
And Agastya didn’t leave.
She could hear him outside, pacing, his breath uneven.
And when she finally collapsed into sleep—
She dreamed of him.
Of his lips on hers.
Of his hands gripping her waist.
Of a fire she couldn’t escape.
And when she woke up, drenched in sweat, her pulse hammering—
She realized the truth.
She wasn’t fighting him anymore.
She was fighting herself.
---
The next morning, Anvi hesitated before stepping out of her room.
She could feel him.
Somewhere nearby. Watching. Waiting.
She walked toward the dining hall, her footsteps careful.
And then—she saw him.
Sitting at the head of the table.
His white shirt was slightly unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up, his jaw sharp with tension.
But his eyes?
His eyes were on her.
Dark. Unreadable. Unforgiving.
She swallowed hard. "Morning."
He tilted his head. "Is it?"
Her fingers curled. "I’m not doing this with you."
He smirked. "Not doing what, Pari? Pretending you don’t want me?"
Her chest tightened. "What happened last night—"
"Was real." His voice was final. "And you know it."
Her jaw clenched. "It was a mistake."
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
And then, before she could move, he stood.
He walked toward her, slowly, deliberately, like a predator stalking its prey.
She backed up.
He followed.
Until her back hit the wall.
"Tell me something, Pari." His voice was low, his breath warm against her cheek. "If it was a mistake… why haven’t you stopped thinking about it?"
Her stomach flipped.
Because the truth?
She hadn’t.
His eyes flickered to her lips.
And then—he reached for her wrist.
His fingers brushed against her skin, sending a spark up her spine.
His voice was a whisper now, dangerously soft.
"Tell me to stop, Pari."
Her breath was uneven.
Her pulse was betraying her.
But she forced herself to meet his gaze.
And whispered—
"Stop."
He stilled.
His grip tightened—just for a second.
And then, with a slow exhale, he let her go.
But his expression had changed.
The teasing, the amusement—it was gone.
And in its place?
A man who had just realized something far, far worse.
Agastya Singh Rathore was obsessed with her.
And no matter how much she fought him—
He would never stop.
The Obsession That Couldn’t Be Denied
The door slammed shut behind her.
Anvi’s breath was ragged as she pressed her back against it, her fingers trembling, her body burning.
What had she done?
What had they done?
She lifted a shaky hand to her lips, still swollen from his kiss.
Her mind screamed at her to forget it, erase it, pretend it never happened.
But her body?
Her body was still betraying her.
Her heartbeat was still racing.
Her skin still tingled from where he had touched her.
Her breath still carried his scent—sandalwood and sin.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
She was supposed to hate him.
Then why did it feel like she was falling into him instead?
---
Anvi sat on the bed, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to breathe.
She couldn’t think about this.
Couldn’t think about him.
But even as she tried to push it away, his voice echoed in her head.
“You hate me, Pari? Then why do you taste like mine?”
Her stomach twisted.
She had to be stronger than this.
She had to—
A knock at the door made her jump.
She froze.
And then—the door handle turned.
Her chest tightened.
"Anvi."
Agastya’s voice was deep, too calm. Too controlled.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t move.
Because if she opened that door, she wouldn’t survive this night.
"Open the door, Pari."
His voice was lower now. Rough.
Dangerous.
She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. "Go away."
A pause.
And then—his hand slammed against the door.
The force of it made her flinch.
"You think you can run from me?" His voice was sharp, but beneath it…
Something else lurked.
Something that sounded close to desperation.
Her heart pounded.
"It meant nothing, Agastya."
Silence.
The air turned heavy.
Then—he laughed.
Low. Deep. Unhinged.
"Lie to yourself all you want, Pari. But you can’t lie to me."
Her stomach twisted.
Because deep down—she knew he was right.
And that?
That terrified her more than anything.
---
She didn’t open the door that night.
And Agastya didn’t leave.
She could hear him outside, pacing, his breath uneven.
And when she finally collapsed into sleep—
She dreamed of him.
Of his lips on hers.
Of his hands gripping her waist.
Of a fire she couldn’t escape.
And when she woke up, drenched in sweat, her pulse hammering—
She realized the truth.
She wasn’t fighting him anymore.
She was fighting herself.
---
The next morning, Anvi hesitated before stepping out of her room.
She could feel him.
Somewhere nearby. Watching. Waiting.
She walked toward the dining hall, her footsteps careful.
And then—she saw him.
Sitting at the head of the table.
His white shirt was slightly unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up, his jaw sharp with tension.
But his eyes?
His eyes were on her.
Dark. Unreadable. Unforgiving.
She swallowed hard. "Morning."
He tilted his head. "Is it?"
Her fingers curled. "I’m not doing this with you."
He smirked. "Not doing what, Pari? Pretending you don’t want me?"
Her chest tightened. "What happened last night—"
"Was real." His voice was final. "And you know it."
Her jaw clenched. "It was a mistake."
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
And then, before she could move, he stood.
He walked toward her, slowly, deliberately, like a predator stalking its prey.
She backed up.
He followed.
Until her back hit the wall.
"Tell me something, Pari." His voice was low, his breath warm against her cheek. "If it was a mistake… why haven’t you stopped thinking about it?"
Her stomach flipped.
Because the truth?
She hadn’t.
His eyes flickered to her lips.
And then—he reached for her wrist.
His fingers brushed against her skin, sending a spark up her spine.
His voice was a whisper now, dangerously soft.
"Tell me to stop, Pari."
Her breath was uneven.
Her pulse was betraying her.
But she forced herself to meet his gaze.
And whispered—
"Stop."
He stilled.
His grip tightened—just for a second.
And then, with a slow exhale, he let her go.
But his expression had changed.
The teasing, the amusement—it was gone.
And in its place?
A man who had just realized something far, far worse.
Agastya Singh Rathore was obsessed with her.
And no matter how much she fought him—
He would never stop.