CHAPTER 14
Saturday Evening - The Grand Taj Ballroom
Nimisha stood in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom, barely recognizing herself.
The saree was a masterpiece—deep emerald silk with intricate gold embroidery that caught the light with every movement.
The blouse was fitted, showing just enough skin to be elegant rather than provocative.
Her hair was styled in soft waves, pinned on one side with a gold clip.
Diamond earrings—a gift from Samarth that morning, delivered without explanation—sparkled at her ears.
She looked like she belonged in his world.
For once.
"Ready?"
She turned to find Samarth in the doorway, looking devastating in a black tuxedo that fit him like it had been painted on.
Her mouth went dry.
"You look beautiful," he said, his voice rough.
"Thank you. You look—"
"I know." A hint of arrogance in his smile. "But tonight, I'm just the man lucky enough to walk in with you on my arm."
Her heart stuttered.
He crossed to her, pulling a velvet box from his pocket. "One more thing."
He opened it to reveal a stunning necklace—emeralds and diamonds in an intricate pattern.
"Samarth, this is too much—"
"It matches your saree." He moved behind her, fastening it around her neck. His fingers lingered on her skin, sending shivers down her spine. "Besides, I want every man there to see you dripping in jewelry I bought. Let them know exactly who you belong to."
Possessive. Always possessive.
But tonight, she didn't mind.
The Grand Taj Ballroom - 8:34 PM
The gala was everything Saroj had promised—lavish, exclusive, attended by Mumbai's elite. Politicians, business tycoons, Bollywood celebrities, and underworld figures all mingled in expensive clothes and fake smiles.
The Ranawat family made a grand entrance.
Raghbir and Saroj led the way. Shaurya followed with Tanisha, who was still furious about the Kabir incident but putting on a brave face for the cameras.
Then Samarth and Nimisha.
The room went silent.
Nimisha felt every eye turn to them, heard the whispers start immediately.
"Is that Mrs. Ranawat?"
"I didn't know she was that beautiful."
"Samarth never brings her to events. This is rare."
"Look at that saree. And those jewels. He's staking his claim."
Samarth's hand settled on her lower back, warm and possessive, guiding her through the crowd.
She was acutely aware of the stares. Men's eyes lingering too long. Women's gazes sharp with envy or curiosity.
"Breathe," Samarth murmured in her ear. "You're doing fine."
"Everyone's staring."
"Of course they are. You're the most beautiful woman here." His hand tightened on her waist. "And you're mine. Let them look. Let them want. They can't have you."
The possessiveness in his tone sent heat pooling low in her belly.
They made their rounds, greeting guests, accepting congratulations on the foundation's work. Kritika was there, looking beautiful in a blue gown, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes when she saw Samarth and Nimisha together.
Saroj was in her element, playing hostess, though Nimisha noticed her mother-in-law's gaze lingering on them with something like confusion.
Her son was being attentive to his wife. Publicly. Possessively.
It was unprecedented.
"Mr. and Mrs. Ranawat," a politician Nimisha didn't recognize approached. "Wonderful event. The foundation does incredible work."
"Thank you," Samarth replied smoothly.
"And Mrs. Ranawat, you look radiant. Your husband is a lucky man."
Samarth's hand on her waist tightened almost imperceptibly. "I'm aware."
The man laughed, not noticing the edge in Samarth's tone. "I was just telling my wife, we should—"
But Nimisha had stopped listening.
Because across the room, she'd seen Kabir.
He was dressed impeccably, playing the part of the perfect fiancé, standing beside Tanisha.
But his eyes were on Nimisha.
Hungry. Possessive. Wanting.
She shivered.
Samarth noticed immediately. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just cold."
His eyes followed her gaze, landing on Kabir. His expression went deadly.
"Excuse us," he said to the politician, already moving Nimisha toward a different section of the ballroom.
They spent the next hour never staying in one place long enough for Kabir to approach. Samarth kept his hand on her at all times—her back, her waist, her hand. Claiming her in a way he never had before.
And she loved it.
Hated herself for loving it, but couldn't help it.
The Auction - 10:15 PM
The charity auction was the highlight of the evening. Expensive items donated by wealthy patrons, with all proceeds going to the foundation.
Nimisha watched with mild interest as a painting by a famous contemporary artist went for two crore rupees.
Then the auctioneer presented a sculpture—a beautiful bronze piece depicting two dancers in an intimate embrace.
Nimisha's breath caught. It was stunning.
"Do you like it?" Samarth murmured in her ear.
"It's beautiful."
"Then it's yours."
"Samarth, no—"
But he was already raising his paddle.
The bidding started at fifty lakhs. Samarth bid one crore without hesitation.
Someone countered with one-twenty.
Samarth: "Two crore."
Gasps around the room.
No one countered.
"Sold to Mr. Ranawat for two crore rupees!"
Applause erupted.
Nimisha stared at him. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to." His eyes were intense. "You wanted it. I got it for you."
"That's not how this works—"
"It's exactly how this works." He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Everything you want, I get for you. Everything you look at with those beautiful eyes, I buy. Everything that makes you smile, I acquire. That's how this works now."
Her heart was racing. "Why?"
"Because you're mine. And I take care of what's mine."
The auction continued. A vintage first edition book. Nimisha admired it briefly.
Samarth bid. Won.
A painting of the Mumbai skyline. She paused to look at it.
Samarth bid. Won.
By the time the auction ended, he'd spent over seven crore rupees. All on things she'd shown even the slightest interest in.
"You're insane," she said as they left the auction area.
"About you? Increasingly." He pulled her closer. "Every man in this room has been staring at you all night. Imagining. Wanting. I needed them to understand something."
"What?"
"That you're not available. Not to them. Not to anyone. You're mine, and I'm not a man who shares."
"I've never wanted anyone else."
"I know." His hand slid up her back. "But they don't. So I'm making it clear."
"By spending a fortune?"
"By showing them I'll bankrupt myself to give you everything you want." His eyes were dark, intense. "Money means nothing. You mean everything."
The words hung between them, loaded with implications neither was ready to address.
"Dance with me," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"Dance with me. I want to hold you in front of all these people who've been staring."
He didn't wait for an answer. He led her to the dance floor where couples swayed to slow music.
The Dance - 10:47 PM
Samarth pulled Nimisha into his arms with practiced ease, one hand at her waist, the other holding hers.
They moved together like they'd been dancing for years instead of never.
"Everyone's watching us," she whispered.
"Good." His hand tightened on her waist, pulling her closer until there was barely any space between them. "Let them see you're mine."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true." He spun her slightly, his hand spanning her entire back. "And because I need to remind myself as much as them."
"Remind yourself of what?"
"That I have you. That you're real. That somehow, despite everything I've done to push you away, you're still here."
Her breath caught. "Samarth—"
He danced her into the shadows at the edge of the floor, away from prying eyes.
Then his mouth was on her neck, kissing, tasting, marking.
"Samarth, we're in public—"
"I don't care." His teeth scraped her pulse point. "I've watched men look at you all night. I've seen them imagine what it would be like to have you. I need to remind myself that they can imagine all they want—you're mine."
Her body responded traitorously, melting into him.
"We should stop," she said weakly.
"Should we?" His hand slid lower on her back, dangerously close to inappropriate. "Or should I take my wife home and fuck her until she forgets every man who looked at her tonight?"
Heat flooded through her. "The gala isn't over."
"It is for us." He was already leading her off the dance floor, his arm possessive around her waist.
They made their excuses to Raghbir and Saroj—both looked surprised but didn't protest.
Then they were in the car, partition up, privacy assured.
And Samarth was on her like a starving man.
Car Ride Home - 11:15 PM
"Come here," Samarth commanded, pulling Nimisha onto his lap.
She went willingly, straddling him in the back of the car, her saree bunching around her thighs.
"I watched men stare at you all night," he growled, his hands gripping her hips. "Watched them imagine touching you, kissing you, having you."
"I only see you," she breathed.
The truth in her eyes undid him.
He kissed her—deep, consuming, claiming. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting the champagne she'd had at the gala, tasting her.
His hands roamed her body, learning her through the silk of her saree. When he found the edge of her blouse, he didn't hesitate. He unbuttoned it with practiced efficiency, revealing the lacy bra beneath.
"Beautiful," he murmured, his mouth moving to her breast. "So fucking beautiful."
"Samarth, the driver—"
"Can't see us. Can't hear us." His hand slid under her saree, finding her bare thigh. "And I don't care if he can. I need you now."
His fingers found her center, stroking through the damp silk of her panties.
"Already ready for me," he said with satisfaction.
"Always."
He pushed the fabric aside, his fingers sliding into her wet heat. She gasped, her head falling back as pleasure shot through her.
"Look at me," he commanded.
She obeyed, her eyes locking with his as he fingered her with deliberate strokes.
"Who do you belong to?" he asked.
"You."
"Say it again."
"I belong to you, Samarth. Only you."
He added another finger, stretching her, filling her. His thumb found her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her whimper.
"Come for me," he ordered. "Come on my fingers so I can feel you clench. Then I'm going to fuck you right here, and you're going to try to stay quiet even though we both know you'll fail."
The dirty words, the commanding tone, the expert touch—it was too much.
She came with a muffled cry, her body shaking in his arms.
He didn't give her time to recover. He freed himself from his pants, positioned her over his cock, and thrust up into her in one smooth motion.
She cried out, her hands clutching his shoulders as he filled her completely.
"Shh," he murmured, even as he started moving. "Unless you want the driver to hear how well I fuck you."
She bit her lip, trying to stay quiet as he set a brutal pace. The car rocked with their movements, the leather seats creaking.
It was filthy. Desperate. Perfect.
"You're mine," he chanted with each thrust. "Mine. Mine. Mine."
"Yours," she agreed, her nails digging into his shoulders through his tux jacket.
When she came again, she buried her face in his neck to muffle her scream.
He followed seconds later, spilling inside her with a groan of her name.
They sat there, tangled together, both breathing hard.
"We just had sex in a car," she said eventually.
"We did."
"The driver definitely knows."
"I definitely don't care." He kissed her forehead. "But we're not done."
"We're not?"
"Not even close." His eyes were dark with promise. "Tonight, I'm going to worship every inch of your body. I'm going to make you come so many times you forget your own name. I'm going to fuck you in every room of our wing until the only word you remember is mine."
She shivered with anticipation.
"Yours," she whispered.
"Damn right."
Master Bedroom - Midnight to Dawn
Samarth made good on his promise.
He carried Nimisha to their bedroom and proceeded to take her apart, piece by piece, pleasure by pleasure.
Against the wall first—rough and fast, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping her ass as he pounded into her.
Then in bed—slower, more thorough, his mouth tasting every inch of her skin.
On the floor—because they didn't make it to the bed in time, desperate and hungry and unable to wait.
He learned her body like he was memorizing it. Every sensitive spot. Every place that made her gasp. Every touch that made her come undone.
"You're so responsive," he murmured against her breast. "So perfect for me."
"Samarth—"
"Say my name. I love hearing it from your lips."
"Samarth, please—"
"Please what, baby? Tell me what you need."
"You. Just you."
He entered her again—had to be the fifth or sixth time, she'd lost count—and it was different this time.
Slower. Deeper. His eyes locked on hers, refusing to let her look away.
"You're mine," he said, each word punctuated with a thrust. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Samarth. Only yours."
"Always?"
"Always."
He came with her name on his lips, buried so deep inside her they felt like one person.
And for the first time ever, he didn't pull away after.
He rolled to his side and pulled her against his chest, his arms wrapping around her possessively.
"Sleep," he murmured.
"Are you staying?"
"Yes."
Her heart soared. "All night?"
"All night. And tomorrow. And every night after that." His lips brushed her hair. "No more leaving you alone in our bed. No more pretending I can sleep without you."
She was afraid to believe it. "What changed?"
"I did." His arms tightened. "Or maybe you changed me. I don't know anymore. I just know that watching you tonight, seeing every man want you, knowing you're mine—it broke something in me. Some wall I've been hiding behind."
"Broke it how?"
"I can't keep pretending," he admitted, his voice raw. "Can't keep pretending you don't matter. That this is just duty. That I don't—"
He stopped.
She waited, barely breathing.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said instead. "But I'm terrified I will. It's what I do. It's who I am."
"You're more than that."
"Am I?"
"Yes." She turned in his arms to face him. "You're also the man who read my book. Who protected me from Kabir. Who spent a fortune tonight just to see me smile. That's not a monster. That's a man who cares."
"Caring isn't enough."
"It's a start."
He studied her face in the dim light. "You deserve better than a start."
"I deserve you. Exactly as you are. Broken pieces and all."
Something cracked in his expression. He pulled her impossibly closer, burying his face in her hair.
"Sleep," he said again. "We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."
She closed her eyes, feeling safer and more cherished than she had in a year of marriage.
It wasn't a declaration of love.
But it was something.
And for now, that was enough.