Chosen Love

💌-CHAPTER 39

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

It was New Years' Eve, they're both were on a day off, but it was ritualistic that Shivansh's firm hosted lunch for all its employees before they all returned to their plans for the evening followed by a day off for the New Years'

After the whirlwind of the office lunch and the high-octane passion that followed, Shivansh and Ruhika had retreated into a cocoon of soft lighting and shared silence.

The balcony door was cracked open, letting in the crisp, biting chill of the Delhi winter, while they sat huddled under a singular oversized throw, the city's distant hum a reminder of the celebrations they were perfectly happy to skip.

That was, until Shivansh's phone vibrated against the marble coffee table with the persistent aggression that only one person possessed.

Shivansh groaned, leaning his head back against the sofa. "If that's a tax emergency on December 31st, I'm firing someone."

He swiped at the screen, putting it on speaker. "Aarav, this better involve a fire or a national crisis."

"Resting is for Oldies," Aarav countered. "Listen, I've pulled every string I have. I've got the corner booth at Sora. No parents,No rules, Just us. Rohan bhai is already back after picking up his clothes

Suddenly, Rohan's dry, grounded voice echoed in the background, clearly leaning into the phone on Aarav's end. "Shivansh, don't let him bully you, but also... don't be boring. Ruhika, tell him to move and invite whoever you want—it's a big booth

Ruhika laughed, the sound bright and sparking in the quiet room. She looked at Shivansh, whose stoic expression was already starting to crumble under the sheer persistence of his brother and Rohan who was no less.

The line went dead before Shivansh could protest. He looked down at Ruhika, a mock-serious frown on his face. "He's a pain, but he's related to me by blood, Sad isn't it?"

and the promise of the night. "But if Aarav starts singing, we're leaving at 12:01."

To arrive on time, Shivansh retreated to the second bathroom, Ruhika claimed the one attached to the bedroom, the air soon thick with the scent of hairspray, expensive perfume, and the soft hum of a blow-dryer.

When Shivansh finally emerged, he had shed the rigid armor of his MD suits for something that felt dangerously relaxed.

He wore a chocolate brown, slim-fit cashmere turtleneck that hugged the breadth of his shoulders, paired with dark, tailored denim and his favourite pair of Jordans.

It was a look that screamed effortless power—casual enough for a club, yet sharp enough to remind everyone exactly who he was. He was back in the room,setting his hair and adjusting his watch, when the bathroom door finally clicked open.

The breath left his lungs in a single, sharp hitch.

She came out wearing a masterpiece of minimalist seduction, a short black dress that seemed to catch the ambient light of the room and hold it hostage. It was a bias-cut slip dress, designed to skim her silhouette rather than cling to it, creating a liquid motion every time she breathed.

The fabric was a heavy, sand-washed sequinned that possessed a dull, expensive luster, draped into a deep cowl neckline that teased the golden skin of her chest. Thin, spaghetti straps—frail as gold wire—crossed over her bare back in a delicate lattice, leaving the expanse of her spine completely exposed down to the small of her back.

Shivansh let out a low, ragged exhale, his hands spanning her waist as if to convince himself she was real. The silk felt like water under his palms, shifting and sliding over the heat of her skin.

He didn't pull away. Instead, he stepped closer, his charcoal turtleneck brushing against the shimmer of her dress.

He looked like the shadow to her flame. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over the bare curve of her shoulder, his breath hitching as he inhaled the scent of her vanilla and sandalwood perfume.

Ruhika reached up, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him firmly against her.

"You don't look too bad yourself, Mr. Husband,I think I prefer the 'off-duty' version of you."

Shivansh's grip tightened on her hips, his thumbs hooking into the top of the dress, to pull her flush against the hard, demanding line of his body.

He tilted her head back, his dark eyes roaming over the smoky smudge of her eyeliner and the soft, bitten rose of her lips.

"The 'off-duty' version of me wants to cancel these plans, lock the door, and spend the countdown discovering exactly how this piece of cloth unfastens," he murmured against her mouth, his lips grazing hers with a slow, agonizing friction.

He claimed her then in a deep, searing kiss that tasted of anticipation and possessive heat. It wasn't the hurried kiss of a couple running late; it was a slow, deliberate marking.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips until she opened for him, a small moan escaping her throat as she arched into his solid warmth.

The sheer audacity of the dress, the way it offered her up to him while promising to do the same to the rest of the world at the club, made his blood roar.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression raw. He reached for a heavy black overcoat draped on the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, shielding her from the winter chill and, momentarily, from his own hunger.

"Keep that on until we're inside," he commanded softly, his eyes flashing with a protective glint. "I'm not ready to share the view just yet."

Ruhika laughed, a bright, melodic sound that broke the heavy tension. She adjusted the coat, feeling the weight of his scent surrounding her.

As they walked out of the warmth of the house, They were stepping out into the neon glare of Delhi's New Year, ready to lose themselves in the noise of the city and laughter of their loved ones.

_________

The entrance to Sora was a gauntlet of neon lights and velvet ropes, but the moment they stepped out, the air seemed to shift.

He kept a firm, proprietary hand on the small of Ruhika's back, guiding her through the shivering crowds as she clutched his heavy overcoat around her like a secret.

Inside, the club was a sensory explosion—pulsing bass, amber silhouettes, and the smell of expensive gin and oud. They navigated toward the tiered VIP section, where a sprawling velvet booth sat tucked into a corner that offered both a view of the dance floor and a sliver of privacy.

"Finally! I was about to call the police and report a kidnapping in another ten minutes if you weren't here.

Aarav told already standing near the plush seat, waving a glass of champagne. He had leaned fully into the club aesthetic," wearing a button down in a bold, geometric print of printed muted red and gold, unbuttoned just enough to look reckless. His energy was infectious

Beside him, Rohan looked like the sophisticated anchor of the group. He had opted for a tailored black velvet blazer over a crisp white shirt, no tie—the quintessential modern gentleman. He stood up as they approached

Then, a flash of vibrant crimson caught Ruhika's eye. Isha stepped out from the shadows of the booth, looking absolutely lethal in a structured, red mini-off shouldered dress with dramatic sleeve at her free end Her hair were smoothened into curtains of silk that swayed as she moved.

Isha squealed, pulling her friend into a brief, careful hug to avoid smudging their makeup. "You look like you just stepped off a Parisian runway. Now, please, take off that coat before I die of curiosity."

Ruhika glanced at Shivansh, a playful challenge in her eyes. With a slow, fluid motion, she let the heavy black wool slide off her shoulders and pool onto the velvet seat.

The silence at the table was instantaneous.

Aarav actually choked on his drink. "Okay, wow. Note to self: never invite bhabhi to a party if I want to be the best-dressed person in the room."

Isha's jaw dropped, but then she smirked, "I'm glad you're living up to my expectations, seeing anything less than you looking like a bombshell would lead to another shopping trip, she winked looking sideways at Shivansh, who completely seemed to act oblivious to the conversation

"I told you," he rasped, his eyes dark as they reflected the club's amber lights. "You're going to be the death of me."

The five of them settled into the booth, the dynamic a perfect, chaotic blend of their new lives

The music shifted to a deeper, more rhythmic house beat, the bass vibrating through the velvet of their booth.

As the first round of drinks arrived—a shimmering array of crystal and amber liquid—the group fell into the easy, loud cadence of people who had finally escaped their own reputations.

Rohan reached for a glass, but his movement faltered for a fraction of a second. His gaze, usually as steady and clinical as a legal brief, drifted toward Isha.

She was in the middle of a vivacious story, her hands flying as she described a disastrous medical mishap, the crimson of her structured dress vivid against the dark interior of the club.

For a heartbeat, Rohan didn't join in the laughter. He just watched her. He noted the way her hair swayed with her animated gestures, and how the light caught the sharp, confident line of her kohl-rimmed eyes.

There was a spark there—not the practiced, polite interest he usually showed at high-society galas, but something raw and unbidden. It was a flicker of genuine intrigue for a woman who seemed to occupy twice the space she was given.

"Rohan? "You're staring at the ice bucket like it holds the secrets to the universe."

Rohan blinked, his composure snapping back into place with practiced ease. He took a sip of his drink, his expression returning to its neutral, sophisticated mask.

After they were done snacking and sharing all the gossips they had over the next one hour, it was when Isha noticed, that the high-octane pulse of the music shifted, the bass dropping into a deep, melodic rhythm that seemed to vibrate through the very soles of their shoes.

She reached out, her hand snapping around Ruhika's wrist with playful authority. "Come, the DJ is literally playing our anthem. I am not letting you sit here and while this beat is going to waste.Its been too long!

Ruhika glanced at Shivansh, a teasing, sparking challenge in her eyes. Shivansh didn't protest, instead, he leaned back into the velvet cushions, his arm draped across the back of the booth.

He gave her a slow, encouraging nod, his gaze dark and heavy with a pride that was entirely for her.

"Go," he murmured, his voice a low vibration beneath the music

As the two women wove their way through the crowd toward the center of the floor, the dynamic at the table shifted.

Shivansh's focus was singular. He watched Ruhika as she shed the last of her guards

He noticed the shimmer of her dress moving like liquid light against her skin. He tracked the way she threw her head back, her laughter lost to the roar of the crowd but visible in the curve of her throat.

To the rest of the club, she was a breathtaking woman, to him, she was the anchor of his entire existence, and his possessive, grounding stare never wavered.

Beside him, however, the silence was different.

Rohan had stopped pretending to check his phone or the vintage of the bottles. He sat perfectly still, his glass of scotch forgotten in his hand.

His gaze was fixed on Isha. He watched the way she whipped through the air, the structured sleeve of her red dress framing her as she moved with a fierce, unstudied confidence.

She wasn't just dancing; she was taking up space, her energy a sharp, vibrant contrast to the measured, calculated world Rohan inhabited.

He noticed the way the strobe lights caught the sharp line of her jaw and the defiant spark in her eyes when she caught a stranger's gaze and looked right through them.

"You're doing it again," Aarav's voice cut through the air, dripping with a signature, brotherly mischief.

Rohan didn't startle, but he did tighten his grip on his glass. He didn't look away from the dance floor. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Aarav."

On the floor, Isha spun Ruhika around, the black and crimson blending into a blur of defiance and joy.

Isha caught Rohan's eye for a split second across the distance—a fleeting, accidental contact. She offered a quick, cheeky wink before turning back to the music, entirely unaware that for the first time in his life, the most composed lawyer in Delhi was struggling to remember his next line.

The strobe lights sliced through the amber haze of the club, turning the dance floor into a shimmering mosaic of black and crimson.

From the safety of the booth, Shivansh watched Ruhika.

He noticed the exact moment she realized his eyes were on her—the way her shoulders squared, and a small, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth

She began to move with a new, deliberate intent.

Her dress clung and flowed like liquid, tracing the curve of her hips as she dipped low to the beat.

Her movements became slower, more sultry, her arms rising to trail her fingers through her hair as she arched her back, her gaze locked onto his from across the distance.

It was a silent, beckoning challenge—a private performance staged in the middle of a thousand people.

Shivansh let out a low, rough scoff, a sound of pure, helpless surrender that dissolved into a short, dark laugh.

He set his drink down with a definitive thud on the marble table.

"I can't sit here and just watch this," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He moved toward the floor with a predatory grace, his singular focus on the woman who was currently dismantling his composure.

Aarav didn't need a second invitation. He jumped up, his red-and-gold silk shirt catching the light.

"Finally! I thought I was going to have to start a protest to get us moving , he shouted, already nodding to the beat.

Rohan lingered for a heartbeat, his gaze sliding once more to Isha in her structured red dress.

He realized there was no point in playing the stoic observer anymore; the gravity of the floor was too strong. He straightened his velvet blazer and followed, his expression neutral, but his pulse doing something far more chaotic.

As they reached the center of the floor, the DJ transitioned with a seamless, earth-shaking drop into a high-octane upbeat Bollywood mix

Shivansh reached Ruhika, almost when a stranger—a man in a sharp suit who had been inching far too close to her space—tried to catch her attention.

Before the man could even utter a word, Shivansh was there. He didn't say a word, but he stepped into the gap, his tall, broad frame acting as an undeniable barrier. He slid his hands onto Ruhika's waist, pulling her back against his chest until there wasn't a whisper of air between them.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You're a menace, Ruhi," he rasped, his voice a low vibration that she felt more than heard over the music. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

Ruhika laughed, leaning her head back against his shoulder, her black dress shimmering as she moved in sync with him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Auditor, but the next moment she leaned back into his solid frame, her spine curving against his chest as she matched the rhythmic, driving pulse of the music.

She turned in the circle of his arms, her hands sliding up his chest to lock behind his neck.

She pulled him down, her movements slow and serpentine, her hips swaying in a deliberate, sultry friction against his. Her gaze was locked on his, dark and heavy with a challenge that made the muscle in his jaw flex

"You've been a very bad influence tonight, Mrs.

He responded by tightening his grip, his fingers digging slightly into the soft curve of her hips as he guided her into a closer, more frantic rhythm.

Every time the bass dropped, he pulled her closer, his thighs brushing hers through the silk, the friction sparking a white-hot tension that threatened to boil over right there in the middle of the crowd.

It was a dance of pure, unadulterated passion—a silent conversation held in the language of skin and silk.

To the strangers around them, they were a breathtaking couple lost in the music; to each other, they were the only two people in the world, burning through the last few hours of the year in a fire of their own making.

Nearby, the crowd surged, pushing Rohan directly into Isha's orbit. For a split second, the polished lawyer found himself chest-to-chest with the woman in red.

The scent of her vanilla perfume hit him like a physical blow. Isha didn't pull away; she simply looked up at him, her eyes bright with the heat of the dance, a challenging grin on her face.

"You're actually moving, Rohan," she teased, her voice a soft, melodic hum beneath the music

Rohan didn't retreat. He kept his hands at his sides, but his gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second too long, but he stayed silent.

Aarav, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of pure, unadulterated energy.

He was completely lost in the rhythm, his arms in the air, shouting the lyrics and high-fiving strangers as if he owned the floor.

He didn't notice the silent tensions or the heavy glances; he was the heartbeat of the group, his laughter a bright, soaring sound in the chaos.

They were not aware this continued for how long, But as the beats transitioned into a steady, hypnotic deep-house groove, the women drifted toward the edge of the floor, breathless and glowing.

Ruhika and Isha found themselves at a high glass table, leaning into each other as they signaled the bartender.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, they weren't running their minds they were just two friends.

They began a series of shots, the sharp burn of tequila followed by the sweetness of salt and lime, laughing until their ribs ached.

They drank with a reckless, joyful abandon, something they hadn't allowed themselves since they celebrated their first jobs.

A few feet away, Shivansh and Rohan stood like twin pillars of silent protection. They didn't interfere; they didn't offer unsolicited advice.

Shivansh rightfully, simply watched the way the shimmer of Ruhika's dress shifted with her laughter, how her hair moved his hand casually tucked into his pocket, while Rohan sheepishly leaned against a pillar, his eyes dark and focused on Isha's vibrant red silhouette, though he didn't admit.

They were close enough to intervene if a stranger got too bold, but far enough to let the women own their moment.

However, as the night progressed, the high started to taper into a quiet vulnerability.

Ruhika, slightly lightheaded and heart-full, noticed Isha's thumb flying over her phone screen. The vibrant energy in Isha's face had vanished, replaced by a tight, pained set to her jaw.

"Isha?" Ruhika whispered, leaning in so her shoulder pressed against her frame. "Who are you fighting with at 11:30 PM on New Year's Eve?"

Isha let out a jagged, bitter breath, finally shoving the phone into her clutch.

"It's... a fairly new doctor who joined the gynaecology department, Yuvraj, We've been 'something' for almost six months, but apparently, 'something' doesn't include showing up when it matters.

" Her eyes shimmered with a raw, angry hurt.

Please don't be mad, I didn't tell you sooner as it was just after you got married and still settling in, and seeing you happy, I didn't know if I should bother you, especially when I'm still not sure.

"Like today, He's 'on call,' or so he says. But I know his schedule, Ruhika. Him not being here today... it's proof enough of where I stand on his priority list. Below the cafeteria menu, apparently."

Ruhika didn't offer platitudes. She simply took Isha's hand, squeezing it firmly.

"Listen to me. You are a force of nature.

If he's too blind to see that, he doesn't deserve even a second of your headspace tonight.

You aren't alone, Isha. Not today, not ever.

If you need a place to crash, a shoulder to cry on, or someone to help you delete a contact—I'm right here. "

Isha wiped a stray tear before it could ruin her eyeliner, a small, grateful smile touching her lips. "Thanks, I needed that."

The moment of gravity was shattered by the DJ's voice booming over the speakers. "TEN! NINE!"

The entire club erupted. The countdown was a physical force, the bass vibrating in their chests.

Shivansh was instantly behind Ruhika, his arms locking around her waist, pulling her back into the solid, warm sanctuary of his chest.

The air exploded with gold confetti and the roar of a thousand voices.

Shivansh didn't wait. He turned Ruhika in his arms and claimed her lips in a kiss that was desperate, deep, and filled with the promise of them marking many more years together.

It tasted of tequila, peppermint, and a soul-deep gratitude. For a few seconds, the club vanished; there was only the heat of him and the scent of her.

By the time they emerged into the biting Delhi chill at 2:00 AM, the adrenaline had faded, leaving Ruhika adorably, clumsily drunk.

She was giggling into the lapel of Shivansh's warm overcoat, her silver heels dangling from her hand as he practically carried her to the car.

Isha, despite the shots, managed to maintain a regal, if slightly glassy-eyed, composure, walking steadily beside the group.

The house seemed like a homecoming after the thrumming bass of the club, the cool marble floors a grounding contrast to the neon-lit chaos they'd left behind.

The air was still, scented with the faint, lingering aroma of lavender and cinnamon, the scent of their house.

Shivansh stood in the center of the living room, his coat slung over one shoulder, looking every bit the weary but contented host

"Aarav, Rohan—take the guest room at the end of the hall. There are extra towels in the closet.

He turned his gaze toward Isha, his expression softening with a respectful nod.

"Isha, guest room on our floor is yours.

It's already made up.

I think Ruhika left some spare clothes in the dresser there, she already decided that you'll be here to chat with her through the night, he almost laughed looking at all of them now.

Isha offered a tired, grateful smile, her usual fire dampened by the long night and the conversation on the dance floor. "Thanks Jiju"

Rohan lingered for a second, his hand resting on the back of a barstool, his eyes drifting toward Isha as she started toward her room.

He didn't say anything, but the silence was heavy with the unsaid sparks of the night.

He caught Shivansh's eye—a brief, masculine understanding passing between them—before he followed Aarav, who was already yawning loudly and complaining about the lack of midnight snacks.

Once the hallway doors clicked shut, leaving the living area in a heavy, intimate silence, Shivansh turned his full attention to the woman who was now in his arms.

"And you," he murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, private velvet.

Ruhika looked up at him, her smoky eyeliner slightly smudged, making her eyes look even deeper and more inviting. "And me?"

Without a word, Shivansh hooked one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, hoisting her effortlessly into his arms.

Ruhika let out a small, surprised squeak that dissolved into a contented hum as she looped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the warm, fragrant sweet skin of his throat.

He carried her up the stairs, his footsteps silent on the carpeted treads. He didn't stop until they reached their room

He kicked the door shut behind them, the click of the lock echoing like a final, definitive period at the end of the year.

He didn't set her down immediately, he held her there in the dark, his heart hammering a steady, fierce rhythm against hers.

"Happy New Year, Ruhi," he whispered against her lips, his breath hitching as she tightened her hold on him.

"Happy New Year, Babyyy," she breathed against his neck, the words slightly slurred,the haze of the alcohol still there, to which he smiled.

He started to pull back, intent on getting her settled, but her grip didn't loosen.

"Is this how you wish your wife?"

Her voice, made Shivansh stop in his tracks. He froze, his jaw tightening as he looked down at Ruhika.

She looked utterly wasted, her head lolling back slightly, yet she managed to give a small, defiant nod in response to the question

"Yes" He whispered

Shivansh saw her pout then, a plush, tempting curve of her lips that made his blood simmer.

She was hungrily checking him out, her gaze wandering over the breadth of his shoulders and the column of his throat with a raw, unshielded want.

The ache in his gut was a physical weight, but he gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to cave. He didn't want to do this tonight—not while she was this intoxicated.

He wanted her present, sharp, and aware of every tectonic shift in their world.

"Let's get comfortable and sleep , Ruhi," he murmured, his voice strained with the effort of being a gentleman.

As Ruhika tried to help herself out, her fingers fumbled clumsily against the black shimmer which was secured in its place by a zip.

She let out a frustrated groan, the friction of her movements causing the neckline to dip dangerously.

Seeing her struggle, Shivansh stepped in, his large, steady hands taking over.

He turned her around, his knuckles grazing the bare skin of her back as he worked the side zipper down with remote patience and ease.

But the moment it loosened, Ruhika spun back into his arms, her hands sliding under his sweater to find the furnace-like heat of his skin.

She pulled him in, her body arching into his with a desperate, magnetic force.

Ruhika pulled back just enough to look at him, her expression shifting from hazy to fiercely stern.

She practically scolded him, her voice dropping into a needy, authoritative tone. "I'm just a little drunk, I am not so far gone that I'll forget everything when the sun comes up. I know exactly who you are, and I know exactly what I want."

Her admitting it boldly, momentarily stunned Shivansh

She stepped closer, her chest heaving. "I just want you to stop being a gentleman for today. Stop protecting me and just... take me."

The last of Shivansh's restraint snapped like a dry twig, his eyes darkening until they were nearly black.

He let out a low, guttural growl, his hands sliding from her wrists to her waist, crushing her against him with a possessiveness that made her gasp.

"You asked for this," he growled against her lips, his voice a dark, commanding promise.

He stripped his sweater off in one fluid motion, his bare chest a wall of solid heat against her skin. There was no more gentleness, only a raw, hungry desperation.

He claimed her mouth in a kiss that was deep and devastatingly thorough, tasting of salt, lime, and undying love

As the kiss deepened, as her hands roamed frantically over the corded muscles of his back, pulling him closer, Shivansh's internal compass held steady.

He heard her soft, needy whimpers, felt the way she arched into him, offering everything—but he couldn't do it.

Not like this. Even with her stern scolding and permission ringing in his ears, his love for her was a protective, possessive wall. He wanted her to be fully, sharply present when he finally took her

With a low, guttural groan, he shifted his weight, his hands sliding from her waist to her thighs.

He lifted her effortlessly, her legs locking around his waist as he carried her the short distance to the bed. He laid her back against the pillows

He worshipped her. His touch was a raw, hungry paradox—possessive yet infinitely tender. He moved between her knees, his hands roaming over her skin with a feverish intensity as he began to pleasure her.

He used his fingers with a rhythmic, demanding precision that made her head toss back against the headboard, her breath hitching in a series of jagged, frantic moans.

He followed the trail of his hands with his mouth, his lips searingly hot against the sensitive skin of her waist and inner thighs.

When he finally parted her, he looked at her—really looked at her—with a gaze so dark and heavy it felt like a physical touch.

"Shivansh," she whimpered, her head tossing back against the pillows, her hair a wild, dark halo.

When he moved higher, claiming her with a devastating intimacy, Ruhika's world narrowed down to the sensation of his tongue and the steady, grounding weight of his hands on her hips.

She was a storm of sensation, her fingers digging into the mattress as she shattered under the force of the pleasure he was giving her.

As his fingers moved in her folds, hurriedly relaxed by his tongue, she soaked in pleasure, while he was controlling his need, today it was all about her, this was the first time she asked for it, he couldn't deny but he couldn't do it even for her, while she laid under him wasted under the influence of alcohol in her system.

As she wanted more, He didn't answer with words. He used his thumb, tracing her sensitive spots with a slow, agonizing pressure that made her hips stutter upward, his flickers rhythmic and demanding, swirling with a primal hunger

Ruhika's world narrowed down to the sensation of him. She let out a broken, melodic cry, her legs trembling against his shoulders as he used his fingers in tandem—two, then three, sliding into her with a deep, stretching fullness that made her gasp for air.

He was relentless, his mouth worshipping her while his hand established a pace that was both punishing and perfect.

"More," she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as the tension coiled in her lower belly, tight and electric. "Please, Shivansh..."

He obeyed, his movements becoming faster, more insistent. He used the flat of his tongue with a sweeping, possessive stroke that sent a jolt of pure white light through her nervous system.

Ruhika began to shake, her heels digging into the mattress as she climbed toward a peak she couldn't see.

Her voice rose in a series of soft, breathless shudders, her name for him becoming a prayer on her lips.

When the crash finally came, it was violent and beautiful. She shattered under the force of the pleasure he was giving her, her muscles pulsing around his fingers in a desperate, rhythmic clench.

Her back arched impossibly high, a long, broken moan escaping her throat as the waves of release washed over her, turning her bones to liquid.

Shivansh didn't pull away. He stayed right there, his hands steadying her hips as the tremors subsided, his breath hot and ragged against her skin.

He continued to pleasure her with slow, soothing circles until her breathing hitched one last time and she slumped back into the pillows, completely spent.

In the heavy, post-ecstasy silence, Ruhika opened her eyes, finding his.

She saw the sheer, unadulterated hunger still burning in his gaze—the way his jaw was set in a hard line of self-restraint.

He was vibrating with his own need, she even felt it between her legs while he was focused on her, how he remained poised over her, a guardian of her comfort.

As she looked at him, her heart swelled with a devotion far more intoxicating than the tequila.

She realized that even in his rawest, most dominant state, he belonged entirely to her. And in that quiet moment, as the first few hours of the New Year settled over them, she fell for him all over again

As she surrendered to sleep satisfied, he left a lingering kiss on her forehead though his own breath came in ragged, painful stabs.

Every muscle in his broad frame was coiled tight, a high-tension wire ready to snap

He looked down at Ruhika, her eyes half-closed and her lips parted in a soft, dazed smile of pure bliss, and he knew he couldn't stay a second longer without breaking his own vow.

He pulled away, the loss of her body heat hitting him like a physical blow.

He didn't look back as he retreated into the bathroom

He didn't turn on the main light, opting for the dim glow of the vanity as he braced his hands against the cool marble of the sink.

He caught his reflection—eyes dark with a primal, unyielding hunger, his chest heaving.

He turned on the shower, the hiss of cold water filling the space, the image of her in that dress and in their room moments ago, arched and shattered under his touch, was burned into the back of his eyelids.

He slumped against the tiled wall, the spray hitting his shoulders, but it did nothing to quench the fire she had ignited.

With a low, frustrated groan, he reached for himself. His movements were hurried, raw, and fueled by a desperate, possessive need.

Every stroke was a memory of the way her skin felt under his palms, the way she had called his name in that broken, melodic plea.

"Ruhi..." her name escaped him as a guttural moan, echoing off the tiles.

He closed his eyes, and suddenly he wasn't in the shower; he was back on that bed, feeling her hands against his bare chest.

He thought of the stern way she had scolded him, demanding he stop being a gentleman, and the memory made his grip tighten, his pace of his fingers becoming frantic and punishing.

He wasn't just seeking a release; he was seeking her. He loved her with a ferocity that bordered on worship, a devotion that made his heart hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.

As the climax finally ripped through him, his head fell back against the cold stone, a long, ragged cry of her name torn from his throat.

It was a surrender—not just to the physical ache, but to the reality that he was completely, irrevocably consumed by her.

He stayed under the water for a long time after, the adrenaline fading into a heavy, peaceful exhaustion. When he finally emerged, draped in a towel, he walked back into the darkened bedroom.

Ruhika was fast asleep, a silhouette of grace tangled in the silver sheets.

Shivansh climbed into bed beside her, pulling her small, warm frame against his side. He tucked her head under his chin, his hand resting possessively over her waist.

By the end of the night and the early morning they knows they were grateful to end an year that lead them to each other while waiting for the sunrise of the next of many that they were to see together.

_________

The morning sun of the New Year filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the duplex, unsparing and bright.

For Ruhika, it felt like a personal attack. She woke up with a head that felt like a lead weight and a memory that was a hazy, shimmering blur of the neon lights and the passion that followed

Downstairs, the kitchen was already buzzing with Shivansh, looking annoyingly refreshed in a simple black hoodie and joggers, was moving with the silent efficiency of a man who knew the after effects of nights like the one they had

He was at the stove, the scent of strong, dark coffee and tempering spices filling the air.

"Ugh, who turned the sun on?" Aarav groaned, stumbling into the kitchen with his hair standing in five different directions, clutching a pillow like a shield.

"The Earth's rotation, Aarav. Try to keep up," Rohan remarked dryly from the kitchen island, perfectly poised as he scrolled through his phone.

Isha appeared a moment later, looking surprisingly put-together despite the headache she was clearly nursing. "If there isn't caffeine in my immediate future, I might actually file for medical leave from life."

Shivansh didn't say a word; he simply slid a tray toward them.

On it were glasses of a specialized recovery concoction—lemon, ginger, and honey, mixed in a shot of black coffee and a large bowl of savory poha topped with crunchy peanuts and fresh cilantro.

He poured a steaming mug of coffee and walked it over to Ruhika, who had finally made her way to a barstool near the kitchen island

He leaned in, his thumb grazing her jawline in a private, possessive touch. "Better?"

The breakfast that followed was a chaotic, beautiful mess. They decided to supplement Shivansh's cooking, leading to five people crowded around a kitchen island designed for three.

Aarav tried to flip an egg and ended up wearing part of it; Isha and Ruhika bonded over the sheer absurdity of their tequila-fueled dance moves and Rohan, for all his stoicism, was caught subtly making sure Isha's plate was never empty.

There was laughter that made Ruhika's head throb but her heart swell—a noise that was entirely theirs

As the meal wound down and the caffeine started to kick in, the atmosphere shifted slightly.

Aarav, picking at the last of his breakfast, looked up at Shivansh, his expression uncharacteristically hesitant.

"Bhai... it's New Year's Aarav started, his voice dropping an octave.

"Will you two visit home today?"

The air in the room stilled. Shivansh's grip tightened instinctively on his coffee mug. He didn't look at Aarav for more than a minute, his eyes immediately found Ruhika's.

He was waiting for her, his gaze heavy with the weight of the protection he felt for her.

Ruhika reached across the table, her fingers covering his. She looked at Aarav, her smile soft but resolute.

"Shivansh, you don't need to ask me to go to your home. Ever. It's your family."

A wave of visible relief washed over Aarav, and even Rohan's shoulders seemed to relax.

But Shivansh didn't let go of her hand. He shook his head slowly, his voice firm.

"I'll go.

Aarav opened his mouth to protest, but Shivansh cut him off with a sharp look. "She's spent enough time in that house being made to feel like an outsider. Today is a fresh start.

Aarav nodded slowly, understanding the fierce, protective boundary his brother was drawing. "I get it, Bhai. Honestly, I would have done the same

The rest of the day was a slow, lingering wind-down. They moved to the living room, sprawled across the sofas as they watched old movies and picked at leftovers.

By evening, the light began to fade into a cool, violet twilight. Isha was the first to leave, as her car arrived and she had an early call time the day after.

"Call me if that resident texts you," Ruhika whispered to Isha at the door. "I'll help you draft the most devastatingly savage reply in history."

Rohan followed a while later, as he had to meet his cousin.

When it was time for Aarav to leave, Shivansh grabbed his keys. He looked at Ruhika, who was standing by the balcony, the city lights beginning to glitter behind her.

"I won't be long," he said, walking over to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her into the warmth of his chest. "Just a quick visit to ensure they are fine. Then I'm coming straight back to you."

"Take your time," she murmured, turning in his arms to straighten the collar of his jacket. "Tell them... tell them Happy New Year from me."

Shivansh kissed her—a long, deep, and profoundly romantic kiss that tasted of a new beginning. He left with Aarav, the sound of the door clicking shut leaving the duplex in a peaceful, expectant silence.

As Ruhika watched the car pull away, she didn't feel lonely.

She felt the lingering heat of the night before and the steady, unshakable strength of the man who had fought for her peace.

The New Year had arrived, and for the first time, it didn't feel like a challenge to be met—it felt like a life to be lived.

________

The drive to the Kapoor Mansion, felt like traveling backward through time. As Shivansh steered the car through the familiar iron gates, the heavy estate loomed over them

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive incense and the stifling silence of decorum.

Vikram, looking older but with a rare, genuine brightness in his eyes, met them in the sprawling marble foyer.

"Shivansh," he boomed, stepping forward to clasp his son's shoulder. The grip was firm, a silent acknowledgment of the man Shivansh had become outside these walls. "Happy New Year Beta"The house has been... too quiet without the noise you and your brother make."

Shivansh offered a respectful smile and hugged him "Happy New Year, Dad."

They sat and talked for a while when Vikram asked, "And Ruhika?" his father asked, his voice dropping into a tone of genuine inquiry. "How is she settling into the new place? I hope the transition hasn't been too taxing on her."

"She's doing well," Shivansh replied, it's slowly beginning to feel like home there.

His father let out a short, dry chuckle, a flicker of regret passing over his face before he nodded. "Good. She's a strong woman, Shivansh. Don't let her forget that."

But as they moved into the dining space, Sunita was seated by the fireplace, her silhouette stiff against the velvet upholstery. She looked up as they entered, her smile practiced and elegant, but it didn't reach her eyes.

To a stranger, she looked like a doting mother; to Shivansh, she looked like a woman still guarding a hollow fortress, now with guilt weighing over her shoulders

"Shivansh,How are you Beta, After what happened I didn't think you would be here..

"It would be happier if the table wasn't so empty,"

Sunita remarked, her gaze drifting to the vacant chairs. Her voice was soft, but the longing was unmistakable

Sunita smoothed the silk of her sari, her expression turning distant, a mask of cold disappointment. "A year that broke this house apart, Shivansh. I'm happy you're here, truly, but it's hard to celebrate when the foundation has been cracked.

The bitterness in her tone was clear, but for the first time it was not entirely directed at Ruhika.

Shivansh looked at his mother—the distance between them now feeling like a vast, unbridgeable canyon. He realized then that he didn't need her approval to be whole.

He stayed for the hour, answering his father's questions about the firm, their new house, Ruhika's well being and navigating Aarav's attempts to lighten the mood, but his mind was already miles away.

As he finally stood to leave, he felt a profound sense of relief.

He hugged his father, offered a polite nod to his mother, and walked out into the crisp evening air. The mansion was a gilded cage of the past, but the duplex—and the woman waiting for him inside it—was his future.

He climbed into the car, the engine's roar a promise of the life he was returning to, leaving the hollow echoes of the legacy behind.

_________