Chosen Love

💌-CHAPTER 38

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

With everything going what seemed to be perfect looking in the eye, the shift was most visible in the mundane, the kind of tasks that a man of Shivansh's stature had once deemed as invisible as the air he breathed.

In the mansion, routine survival tasks were never paid attention too, not that he wasn't aware of the basics, but it was never a part of his daily routine as it became now

Now, Shivansh found himself staring at the blinking red light of the dishwasher with a look of profound, focused confusion

Ruhika watched from the kitchen island, a suppressed smile tugging at her lips, as he stood before the open machine. He was still in his charcoal trousers and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the powerful, corded muscles of his forearms.

He was treating the task of loading the racks like a high-stakes audit

He looked up, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, his expression a mix of sheepishness and grim determination, "I don't understand how this appliance is on the verge of testing my patience, couldn't we just use some soap and sponge to clean this?"

He let out a huff of a laugh, a rare, boyish sound that made her laugh

Later that evening, she found him in the laundry nook, staring intensely at the dials of the washing machine.

He was holding one of her delicate silk nightgowns with a reverent, almost terrified touch, his large fingers looking massive against the fragile fabric.

While she was cooking, he took these partially automated chores at hand.

"I don't want to ruin it," he admitted, his voice dropping to a vulnerable register.

"Everything in our old life was taken care of behind closed doors.

I never realized that the comfort I gave you was handled by hands that weren't mine.

Now, I want to be the one who takes care of you.

Even if it's just making sure your clothes don't shrink. "

He looked at her then, his gaze heavy with a newfound respect for the invisible labor that kept a home breathing. He wasn't just learning to use a machine; he was learning the language of service— as a partner

As he carefully selected the delicate wash cycle, his movements were clumsy but filled with a quiet, fierce devotion that was more romantic than any diamond he had ever bought her.

The next morning, they were both back to work, both of them leaving, but as Ruhika was about to sit in her car he reached out, his fingers catching Ruhika's hand for a fleeting, firm squeeze.

"Good luck with the venue walkthrough," he murmured, his voice dropping into that private, gravelly baritone . "Though I pray more for the vendors bully you into a higher margin." He chuckled to which Ruhika just rolled her eyes, and left not before leaving a quick peck on his cheek.

Across town, Ruhika was in the thick of a high-pressure site visit for a luxury brand launch. As a senior lead, she was the conductor of a chaotic orchestra.

She was managing caterers, arguing with lighting technicians about the exact shade of amber, and ensuring the floor plan didn't feel claustrophobic. Her phone was an extension of her hand, buzzing with a thousand tiny fires that only she could put out.

Around 4:00 PM, a notification popped up on her screen.

Husband: Meeting ran over. My brain is fried. Thinking of that Thai place for dinner? Or should we actually try to use the groceries we bought? ????

Ruhika felt a warmth bloom in her chest, a sharp contrast to the cold, industrial space she was standing in. She stepped away from a heated debate about floral arrangements to reply.

Ruhi: Thai sounds like a dream. But we have chicken in the fridge that will go bad by tomorrow. I can be home by 6:30 if these annoying florists stops crying ????

Husband : I'll handle the kitchen. Just get home safe. I miss the noise of you. ??

The domesticity of the exchange, tucked between spreadsheets and event Briefs, was their new heartbeat. It was a grounding realization that no matter how high they climbed in their respective careers, they were both coming back to the same four walls—walls that belonged only to them.

After a while, The atmosphere in the corner office was thick with the scent of expensive espresso and the low hum of the city thirty floors below.

Shivansh sat behind his desk, the blue light of the monitors casting a sharp glow over his features. Across from him, Rohan and Aarav were deep in a debate over a sensitive audit, their voices a familiar rhythm that usually kept Shivansh grounded.

But today, Shivansh's focus was fractured. He kept tracing the edge of a silver pen, his mind wandering far from the balance sheets.

Rohan, who had been by Shivansh's side since their university days, noticed the lapse first. He leaned back, closing the folder in front of him. "The numbers are solid, Shivansh. We've mitigated the risk on the textile merger. You can stop looking at the screen like it's going to bite you."

Shivansh looked up, his expression uncharacteristically guarded.

He glanced at Aarav, who was unusually quiet, his eyes fixed on a stray thread on his cuff.

"The Q4 reports are fine," Shivansh said, his voice dropping into a lower, more private baritone.

He cleared his throat, the sound a rough vibration in the quiet room.

"And... elsewhere? How is the house holding up, Aarav?

Aarav looked up, a weary, knowing smile touching his lips. He knew his brother wasn't asking about the house itself "It looks okay, Bhai It's the inside that's... still. It's like the house is holding its breath."

Shivansh's jaw tightened. He adjusted his cufflinks, a nervous habit he only ever showed around these two.

"And Maa?" he asked, the word sounding fragile, almost whispered. "Is she still... skipping her morning tea in the garden?"

Aarav sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of the mansion's silence. "She asks about you every morning,but I think if the peace is what she wanted so bad, you've rightly given her enough to think now what she needs to do with it"

Shivansh furrowed his brows, "Listen, don't be rude to her, just look after and make sure she's fine"

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with the shared grief of a family fractured by a choice they all knew was necessary, yet agonizing.

Shivansh felt a lump form in his throat, a raw, human ache that no professional success could soothe. He closed his eyes for a brief second, picturing his mother sitting at the dining table, alone.

Aarav reached out, his hand briefly covering Shivansh's on the desk—a rare, physical bridge of support from a man who had seen him through every storm,

Aarav leaned forward, his face pale in the harsh LED light of the office.

"Dad actually tried to bridge it

He told her point-blank that the house is rotting from the inside.

He actually suggested she reach out—that she be the one to invite you both for a meal, no strings attached. "

Shivansh's head snapped up, his dark eyes flashing with a mix of shock and a bitter, hollow laugh. "And?"

"She shut him down,but shame and guilt is what I've begun to see in her eyes, we don't talk much, there's nothing left to discuss " Aarav whispered, shaking his head

The silence that followed was suffocating. Shivansh felt a sharp, burning ache in his chest—not for the house he had lost, but for the mother he thought he knew. He realized now that Sunita wasn't just grieving; she was at war, with herself.

She had turned the mansion into a fortress of her own ego, preferring to sit alone in a cold palace than admit that her son's happiness didn't require her permission.

"If this continues, She's going to lose everything before she realizes what she's lost," Rohan added quietly. "She thinks she's holding the line, but she's just digging a grave for the family."

Shivansh stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the hazy, indifferent expanse of Delhi.

The city was moving, breathing, and changing, while back in that mansion, his mother was trying to freeze time.

He turned back to them, his eyes raw with a final, devastating clarity.

"But I didn't leave because of the office or the money.

I left because I couldn't breathe in a house where the woman who gave me life tried to suffocate the woman I love.

Tell her... if she's waiting for me to break, she should start getting used to the silence.

Because I'm never coming back to a version of myself that doesn't exist anymore. "

After the two of them left, he Shivansh didn't return to the audits. He pulled out his phone and looked at a photo of Ruhika—smiling, flour on her cheek, standing in their dimly lit kitchen.

______________

When Ruhika finally pushed open the door of the duplex at 7:45 PM she was greeted by the smell of searing garlic and the sight of Shivansh—the man who spent his day and a conversation with his brother, standing at the stove with his sleeves rolled up and his tie draped over a kitchen stool.

"You're late," he said, not looking up from the pan, though his lips curved into a soft, knowing smile.

Ruhika dropped her bag and walked straight into his personal space, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and leaning her cheek against his broad, warm back

"Sorry, I couldn't leave before 6:30 and then the traffic was crazy"

Shivansh turned in her arms, the steam from the stove rising between them.

He cupped her face, his thumbs wiping away the fatigue of the day.

"Welcome home, Senior Lead," he whispered, before leaning down to claim her lips in a kiss that tasted of peppermint and the promise of a long, quiet night.

In that moment, the corporate titles and the professional pressures vanished

Ruhika offered him a loving smile and a quick peck before she retreated to the bedroom, shedding her clothes and putting on a pair of soft silk joggers and one of Shivansh's oversized hoodies.

When she returned, she slipped into the space beside him at the stove, taking over the salad prep while he expertly plated the chicken he'd been searing.

Their kitchen was filled with the rhythmic sizzle of the pan and the comforting, domestic hum of the exhaust fan, a sharp contrast to the cold, glass-and-steel silence of the high-rise offices they had just left.

As she came down, they sat on their dining table a heavy, velvet silence settled over the room, she remembered how dinner at the mansion was never this silent, There was the constant, cheerful cadence of Aarav's teasing, their laughter, the sophisticated advices or glances by Vikram and the intricate, familiar aroma of the recipes Sunita had spent decades perfecting with the kitchen staff.

That house had a heartbeat made of voices; this one was so quiet they could hear the faint ticking of the clock in the hallway.

Ruhika watched over Shivansh, he was eating mechanically, his gaze fixed on a point just past her shoulder.

He looked every bit the man she loved but there was a shadow in the hollow of his cheeks that no amount of thrill could fill.

She saw the way he stared at his phone for a split second when it didn't buzz, and she realized he was listening for the ghost of a brother's laughter or the sharp, commanding tone of a father's critique.

"It's too quiet, isn't it?" she asked softly, her voice barely a ripple in the still air.

Shivansh froze, his fork hovering mid-air. He didn't look up immediately, but she saw the muscle in his jaw flex. When he finally met her eyes, the restraint was gone, replaced by a man who looked profoundly homesick.

"I didn't think I would miss the noise," he admitted, his voice a low, jagged rasp.

"I spent thirty years trying to drown it out so I could think, and now.

.. now the silence is so loud it's deafening.

I find myself waiting for Aarav to burst in and steal a piece of chicken, or for

Dad to update us on the news he read whole day

He trailed off, his throat working as he swallowed a sudden lump of emotion. "I miss the way she used to check if the saffron was authentic enough for the biryani. It's a ridiculous thing to ache for, isn't it?"

Ruhika reached across the table, her fingers interlacing with his. His hand was cold, his grip almost desperate as he held onto her. "It's not ridiculous, Shivansh. You didn't just leave a house,you left a life. You're allowed to mourn the parts of it that were beautiful."

He looked at her then, his dark eyes brimming with a raw, shimmering vulnerability while her almost teared up "I don't want you to think for one second that I regret being here," he said, his voice cracking with an intensity that made her chest tighten.

"Not once, Ruhika. Not even when the silence feels heavy.

I would choose this quiet with you over a thousand palaces filled with people who wanted me to be someone I wasn't.

Ruhika looked down at her hands, her voice trembling with a guilt that had been simmering beneath the surface of every domestic triumph they'd shared.

"I see you at that stove, Shivansh," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the countertop. "I see you squinting at detergent labels and trying to figure out how to run a life that used to run itself for you.

A tear escaped, splashing onto the marble, and she pulled her hand back as if to shield herself from the weight of her own words.

"Your mother's pride... I know how much that meant to you.

I took that. I took the son away from the mother.

How do I live with the fact that I made your world so small? "

Shivansh didn't answer immediately. Instead, he moved with a slow, deliberate grace, closing the distance between them until the heat of his body was a physical barrier against her doubts.

He didn't just pull her in, he enveloped her. His large, warm hands slid up her arms, his touch firm and grounding, before cupping her face with a resolve that forced her to look at him.

"Look at me, Ruhi," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that brooked no argument.

He used his thumbs to catch the tears on her cheeks, his touch incredibly soft for a man who spent his days crushing competitors.

He tilted her head back, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that was both fierce and profoundly tender.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath hitching as he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her waist to anchor her against him.

"I may struggle at things my love, but I am learning life with you, one day at a time For the first time in my life, I know what it feels like to actually take care of the woman I love with my own two hands.

There is more honor in me scrubbing a floor for you than there ever was in seeing pride in anyone's eyes"

He began to trail soft, lingering kisses across her brow, her temples, and finally the tip of her nose, his hands sliding up to tangle in her hair.

It was a slow, rhythmic comfort, a physical reassurance that every sacrifice he had made was a gift he had given to himself as much as to her.

"My mother's pride and expectations were a debt I could never pay," he murmured against her skin.

He pulled back just enough to look deep into her eyes, his expression raw and filled with a soul-deep gratitude

Ruhika let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension finally draining from her shoulders as she buried her face in his chest. She could hear the steady, powerful thrum of his heart—a heartbeat she could trade her life for

____________

The next few days they were neck deep in work, but they would still manage time to call each other during work and once back home, all their attention would be focused on each other.

It was a Tuesday when Lata Didi announced she was going on leave for a few days, and the domestic rhythm they had barely mastered suddenly faltered.

Shivansh had been locked in a grueling, back-to-back audit review since seven in the morning. Even through the closed door of the room she could hear him talking and explaining the loopholes to his team.

Meanwhile, her own day had been a battlefield of frantic vendor calls and a last-minute venue crisis that had left her drained.

When Shivansh finally emerged at 8:00 PM, loosening his tie with a weary groan, the sight that met him in the kitchen stopped him cold.

Ruhika was still in her clothes from morning, her hair tied messily, she was standing over the stove, looking over the curry while simultaneously cross-checking a grocery delivery that had arrived with half the items missing, her shoulders were hunched in a way that screamed exhaustion.

The sink was piled with the morning's coffee mugs and the remnants of a hurried lunch.

The guilt hit Shivansh like a physical blow. In his old life, a scene like this was an impossibility—a glitch in a world where comfort was a birthright.

Seeing her like this, struggling to maintain their lifestyle the one to which she was accustomed to while managing a high-pressure career, made his heart ache with a protective, raw intensity.

He walked over to her, not saying a word, and gently turned off the burner.

He took the wooden spoon from her hand and set it aside, before spinning her around to face him.

"Ruhika," he whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, jagged emotion.

He pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her so tightly it felt as if he were trying to absorb her fatigue into his own body. "I am so sorry. I didn't bring you here for this. I didn't take you away from a life of ease just to turn your evenings into a second shift of labor."

He buried his face in her hair, his breath warm against her temple. "I see you doing it all—the work, the house, the groceries. This burden was never supposed to be yours alone."

Ruhika leaned into him, the tension slowly draining from her spine.

She took a shuddering breath, her hands flat against his chest, feeling the steady, frantic thrum of his heart.

"Shivansh, stop. You aren't burdening me.

This is what a home is. It's not just the lights and the view, sometimes you'll also have to put up with messy kitchen and the garlic I burned in a pan, she tried making the mood lighter

Shivansh looked at her for a long beat, his expression melting from guilt into a soul-deep gratitude. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to her forehead.

He walked towards the end of the kitchen, rolled his sleeves up further, exposing the powerful forearms

"I'll handle the dishes. You sit. Tell me about the venue walkthrough while I scrub. We will sort groceries together after dinner.

For the next hour, the kitchen became a theater of shared labor.

He washed, his large hands careful with the porcelain, while she sat on the counter, helping him dry and talking through the stress of her day.

They navigated the small space with a clumsy, beautiful synchronicity—bumping shoulders and laughing when a rogue soap bubble landed on his fingers

Here, in the steam and the clutter, they were closer than they had ever been. As they finally sat down to eat their simple, slightly overcooked meal, the smallness of their life felt infinitely more expansive than the empire they had left behind.

They weren't just managing a house they were honoring the sacrifice they had made for each other, proving that love wasn't found in the ease of a palace, but in the effort of a home.

__________

Another week had passed, it was the morning after her largest event of the quarter concluded, a rare, golden stillness settled over Ruhika.

For the first time in months, her phone wasn't a frantic buzz of crises, and the heavy weight of professional expectations had lifted.

She was at home, as from today her company gave paid holidays for the week as New Years' was approaching.

She could have slept in,tucked in the comfy quilts to escape chilling December cold, that is why Shivansh didn't want to wake her up early and left for work, not before leaving a message on her phone but instead, she found herself in their small kitchen at 11:00 AM, driven by a different kind of ambition

She spent three hours on the phone with her mother—not as the pampered daughter who never missed a chance to sleep in but as a woman seeking the secrets to the comfort food Shivansh had grown up with.

Under her mother's soft, telephonic guidance, the kitchen transformed.

The air filled with the earthy aroma of slow-cooked dal makhani, the sharp, nostalgic sizzle of paneer being seared in ghee, and the intoxicating, sugary scent of gajar ka halwa as the carrots caramelized into a deep, rich crimson.

She didn't just cook, she curated. She packed three separate, heavy tiffins—one for Shivansh, and two generous portions for Aarav and Rohan—knowing that in that cold, high-rise office, they were likely surviving on caffeine and cold sandwiches.

Then, she dressed for him. She chose a saree of deep, midnight-blue chiffon that clung to her curves like a second skin, the subtle grey borders catching the light as she moved.

She pinned her hair up, leaving a few stray curls to graze her neck, and applied a small, defiant bindi and a small yet stark mark or sindoor,She looked like the woman he had married, but for her she was dressing up for the eyes of the man she loves.

As she noticed the clock striking 1 PM, she left draping a beautiful pashmina shawl over her stature.

The lobby of the audit firm was a cathedral of glass and silent efficiency. When she stepped out of the elevator on the thirty-fifth floor, the receptionist looked up, startled by the sudden infusion of color and the lingering scent of jasmine in the sterile air.

"I'm here to see Shivansh," she said, her voice steady and warm.

She was directed toward the main glass-walled conference room. Through the transparency, she saw him.

He was in the middle of a heated review with four senior associates, his charcoal blazer discarded, his sleeves rolled up, and his expression a mask of unyielding, professional steel. He looked every bit the professional she knew.

Cold and calculating as he pointed to a discrepancy on a massive screen.

When she was done staring, which to her was mere observation, she lightly tapped at the door

As Shivansh's gaze drifted toward the door, and the transformation was instantaneous.

The sharp, analytical light in his eyes vanished, replaced by a soft, staggering heat. The pen in his hand stopped mid-motion.

To his employees, it looked as if their formidable Managing Director had suddenly seen a ghost,to Shivansh, the world had simply just shifted back into color.

"That will be all for now," he said, his voice dropping into a low, distracted rumble and his gaze softening.He didn't even wait for them to gather their files before he was moving toward the door.

He pulled it open, his gaze sweeping over her—from the way the saree draped over her shoulder to the heavy tiffins in her hands. "Ruhika?" he breathed, his voice thick with a mix of shock and a raw, grounding relief. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't care who was watching. He took the tiffins from her, setting them on a nearby ledge, and pulled her into the small, semi-private alcove of his office entryway.

His hands found her waist, his touch searing even through the chiffon.

He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers, his eyes dark with a sudden, fierce possessiveness as he closed the door behind them and took the boxes from placing them on the small table near the couch.

Then, his focus drifted lower, following the elegant curve of her throat to where a single stray curl rested against the hollow of her collarbone. He watched the way her pulse fluttered there—quick and erratic matching the frantic thrumming in his own chest.

His hand, large and warm, slid from her jaw to the nape of her neck, his thumb tracing the sensitive line behind her ear. He felt the fine shiver that raced through her, and a low, possessive growl vibrated in his throat.

"You're trying to distract me and make sure I'm going back with you , aren't you?" he rasped, his voice dropping an octave into a rough earthy laugh

He took her in—really took her in. He saw the way the midnight-blue chiffon of the saree didn't just cover her; it worshipped her.

It draped across her shoulder in a fluid, silver-bordered wave, hinting at the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips with a tease that made his grip on her tighten.

He leaned in closer, his shadow completely enveloping her, his chest brushing against hers until he could feel the frantic heat of her skin through the fabric as he gripped his fingers securely over her waist, his other hand his hand sliding up to the small of her back to pull her impossibly close.

The professional world outside the glass vanished

Shivansh and Ruhika sprang apart as if struck by an electric current. Ruhika's hand flew to her collarbone, smoothing the silk of her saree with a sudden, frantic focus, her cheeks flushing a deep, radiant pink that had nothing to do with the cold air outside

Shivansh, however, didn't look nearly as flustered,he simply straightened his spine, his hand lingering for a fraction of a second too long on Ruhika's waist before he turned toward the door.

Aarav was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and a predatory grin on his face. Behind him, Rohan stood with a much more tempered, amused smirk, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

Rohan walked in more quietly, offering Ruhika a respectful, warm nod. "It's good to see you, Ruhika. This office usually smells like stale coffee and desperation. You've significantly improved the atmosphere."

The rich, buttery scent of the dal makhani and the sharp, spicy aroma of the paneer began to fill the room

They pulled up chairs, For the next hour, Shivansh sat closest to Ruhika, his chair angled so that his shoulder constantly brushed hers—a silent, grounding contact that he seemed to need after a morning of corporate warfare.

"This paneer is exactly how Mom makes it," Aarav mumbled through a mouthful, his expression briefly flickering with a bittersweet nostalgia.

He looked at Ruhika, his teasing demeanor softening into something more genuine. "Thank you Bhabhi" It's been a while since lunch felt like... lunch."

Shivansh didn't say much, but he watched his brother eat with a quiet, fierce pride. He reached under the desk, finding Ruhika's hand and lacing his fingers with hers, his thumb tracing circles over her knuckles

The high-stakes world of tax audits and legal risk assessments felt a thousand miles away as Shivansh lifted a spoonful of the gajar ka halwa. The deep crimson dessert was still warm, the scent of cardamom and slow-roasted ghee blooming in the air

As the first bite melted on his tongue, Shivansh froze.

It wasn't just sweet, it had that specific, silky texture that only comes from hours of patient stirring .

He tasted the richness of the khoya and the crunch of the slivered almonds, but more than that, he tasted the love she had poured in.

He looked up at Ruhika, his dark eyes softening into something profoundly moved. He knew her schedule; he knew she had just closed a massive event and was likely running on five hours of sleep.

"Ruhika," he murmured, his voice thick with a sudden, grounding realization. He lowered his spoon, his gaze fixed on her. "You made this yourself. From scratch."

As the heavy mahogany door clicked shut behind Aarav and Rohan, the lingering scent of spices and laughter seemed to settle into the carpet, replaced instantly by a thick, magnetic tension that hummed between the two people left in the room.

Shivansh didn't move toward his desk or the cold blue glow of his monitors. Instead, he reached out, his fingers finding the lock and turning it with a slow, deliberate click that echoed like a challenge in the silent office.

Ruhika stood by the window, her silhouette framed by the sprawling Delhi skyline

Shivansh crossed the room in quick steps, He didn't say a word as he reached her, his hands sliding firmly into the silk of her hair, loosening the knot and tilting her head back to expose the elegant curve of her throat.

"You have no idea," he rasped, his voice a low, guttural vibration against her skin, "how hard it was to sit there and eat lunch like a civilized man while you were sitting three inches away from me looking like this."

His mouth found the sensitive cord of her neck, his lips searingly hot against her cool skin. Ruhika gasped, her hands flying up to bunch the fabric of his dress shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn't a breath of air between them.

The friction of his rough wool trousers against her soft chiffon saree was a sensory overload, a grounding reminder of the different worlds they had occupied all day.

He pulled back just enough to capture her lips, the kiss starting as a desperate, bruising collision of teeth and tongue before melting into something deep, slow, and devastatingly thorough.

It tasted of the peppermint he'd had after lunch and the raw, unbridled hunger of a man who had finally claimed his peace.

Shivansh lifted her effortlessly, seating her on the edge of his massive desk.

Stationery shifted and a stray folder slid to the floor, but neither noticed. His hands, usually so precise with audits and ledgers, were now frantic and worshipful, tracing the curve of her waist where the saree met her skin.

The heat of his palms against her bare midriff made her toes curl, her breath hitching in a jagged sob of pleasure.

"Shivansh," she whispered against his mouth, her fingers tangling in the dark silk of his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

He groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated want, as he buried his face in the crook of her shoulder. He inhaled the scent of her—jasmine, saffron, and that uniquely Ruhika sweetness—as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

His touch was possessive, marking every inch of her as his, a silent declaration that while the firm bore his name, his soul belonged entirely to the woman in his arms.

In the quiet of the locked office, high above the indifferent city, he was undone

Ruhika's hands slid to his back before she moved to the buttons of his shirt, her movements frantic and clumsy with want. When she finally bared a patch of his chest, she pressed her lips to the warm, salt-sweet skin over his heart, feeling the frantic, hammering rhythm that matched her own.

Shivansh's breath hitched. He didn't just want her; he was starving for her, craving the grounding reality of her skin against his in a world that had felt increasingly cold

He stepped between her knees, his body a wall of solid, radiating heat that pinned her into place while his hands moved to her blouse sliding the fabric down her shoulders to expose the creamy expanse of her skin to the cool office air.

The contrast was electric. He didn't wait,he buried his face in the valley of her breasts, his breath hot and ragged against her skin.

Ruhika's head fell back, her fingers digging into the firm muscles of his shoulders as he began to worship her with his mouth.

He trailed a path of searing, wet kisses over the curve of her breast, his tongue tracing the delicate lace of her bra before he took her into his mouth through the thin fabric.

The sensation sent a jolt through her and she let out a broken, needy moan that echoed off the glass walls.

He didn't stop, his teeth grazing her lightly, sending waves of agonizing pleasure through her system. He was marking her, claiming her in the very heart of the empire he had built

He moved his focus then, his mouth returning to hers in a bruising, deep kiss as his hand slid between her legs.

Even through the layers of clothing He began to rub against her, a slow, rhythmic friction that targeted the very center of her ache.

Ruhika's breath hitched in a series of jagged, frantic gasps, her legs locking tightly around his waist to pull him deeper into the contact.

The heat was stifling, the air in the locked office thick with the scent of jasmine, expensive cologne, and raw, undeniable want.

Shivansh groaned into her mouth, a sound of pure, agonizing surrender, as he increased the pace. The friction of his body against hers, the weight of him pressing her into the mahogany, and the sheer audacity of their surroundings turned the moment into something primal.

"I've wanted you like this all day," he rasped against her lips, his voice a guttural, dark velvet. "In my space, under my touch... knowing you're mine."

He pressed his forehead against hers, both of them vibrating with the intensity of the build-up.

His composure shattered by the woman who had brought him lunch and reminded him that he was, above all else, a man who loved her beyond reason.

Eventually, the frantic energy peaked, leaving them both clinging to each other, hearts hammering in a frantic, synchronized rhythm.

Shivansh didn't pull away,he stayed buried in the crook of her neck, his chest heaving as he slowly began to pull her clothes back into place with a lingering, protective tenderness.

"Let's go home, Baby ," he whispered, his voice still thick with the remnants of desire. "I want to finish this where I can hear you scream my name without a door between us and the world."

_______

___________

Hope you're enjoying the book!??

Thankyou so soo much for 9K+ reads! ????????

Please vote and comment on moments you like, how you feel about the way the story is progressing, any suggestions or constructive feedback is also welcomed in the comments! ??

Happy Reading! ??