CHAPTER 14! IT SHOULDT MATTER
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The soft, mechanical click echoed through the cabin the moment the heavy door shut behind her, sealing out the rest of city.
Aadhira barely had time to settle into the deep leather seat before Aryav's thumb swiped across a sleek, unlabelled black button near his armrest.
A thick, soundproof tinted partition rose between them and the front cockpit, cutting off the driver.
Private.
Ruthlessly private.
Her breath caught in her throat. The sudden, total silence inside the Rolls-Royce felt less like privacy and more like a beautifully upholstered trap.
The faint, sharp scent of his cedarwood cologne mixed with the smell of cold rain and premium leather, filling the narrow space around her like a physical weight.
Aadhira became acutely aware of everything at once. The suffocating proximity. The dim amber lights overhead.
The steady, heavy drumming of monsoon rain beginning to lash against the reinforced glass windows.
And him.
She lowered her gaze, her fingers twisting together in her lap, her silver bangles chiming with a frantic, telltale frequency.
Beside her, Aryav remained still. He didn't lean back. He didn't relax. He sat with the posture of a man who owned the air space he occupied, his breathing slow and even, unaffected by the confined space or the woman he was forcing into a legal merger.
Even silence seemed to make room for him.
Aadhira wet her dry lips, then regretted the reflex the exact millisecond Aryav's gaze shifted downward.
His eyes locked onto her mouth, staying there for one second too long-a quiet, heavy beat where the air seemed to thin between them-before disappearing as though it had never happened.
Her heartbeat stumbled, a sharp prickle of heat racing up her neck.
Radha Rani...
The vehicle moved seamlessly through the rain-washed city's streets while a heavy silence settled between them-the kind that felt full of terms, conditions, and unexpressed authority.
Outside, rainwater slid down the dark tinted windows in silver streaks, blurring the city lights into golden smears beneath the storm.
Aadhira kept her eyes fixed on her hands because looking at him directly already felt dangerous.
Then suddenly-
"Stop doing that."
His baritone cut through the quiet, low and stripped of warmth. It wasn't a request; it was an executive directive issued from a boardroom floor.
Aadhira blinked, her head snapping up. "...What?"
Aryav's gaze dropped briefly toward her intertwined, restless fingers.
"You're readable."
Her hands went still.
Of course he had noticed.
Aadhira cleared her throat softly, desperate to claw back some remaining fragments of her autonomy. "You observe people like they're targets under review, Mr. Shinghania."
"No," Aryav said, his tone unbothered as his gaze returned to the dark streets outside. "You react too honestly."
Aadhira forgot how to process oxygen for four full seconds. He wasn't being gentle; he was telling her to fix her defenses.
Before she could form a coherent response, the Rolls-Royce slowed smoothly, pulling beneath the massive, glowing canopy of City's most restricted luxury shopping enclave.
Rain poured steadily now, a low rumble of thunder vibrating through the chassis of the car.
The private security detail stepped forward, a large black umbrella unfolding in a synchronized motion.
But before the guard could reach for the rear door handle, Aryav was already moving.
He stepped out into the rain, ignoring the umbrella for a fraction of a second. Rainlight reflected sharply against the stark white of his collar and the dark, unyielding lines of his tailored suit as the cold wind swept into the open door.
He didn't offer his hand like a gentleman waiting for a dance. He extended it like an ultimatum.
Aadhira placed her palm into his.
The moment her fingers met his skin, his hand closed around hers before she could pull away.
Not tight.
Not painful.
Just impossibly certain.
As though the decision had already been made somewhere long before either of them entered the room. His grip was intentional. Steady. A physical manifestation of the contract sitting in his office safe.
Aadhira stepped out beneath the massive umbrella, the wind whipping the edges of her pink dupatta against his dark coat. The entire VIP entrance of the district had gone still.
Armed security guards straightened their spines. Elite luxury store managers stood in a rigid line, their faces pale with a visible, panicked deference.
Even the passing conversations of high-society patrons lowered into hushed whispers.
Without breaking his stride, or loosening his iron grip on her fingers, Aryav adjusted his path, pulling her directly into his personal space until her shoulder brushed his arm.
"Don't disappear from my sight," he commanded quietly.
Aryav didn't look down at her when he said it. His eyes were locked onto the towering glass doors ahead. He simply started walking, and the path cleared automatically.
One of the managers rushed forward nervously, rainwater dotting his expensive suit. "Mr. Shinghania, we prepared the private floor exactly as instructed-"
Aryav didn't even slow down. "You changed the lighting."
The man froze. "Sir, I-"
"I approved a plan. This isn't it," Aryav said calmly. "Fix it before I come back down."
Color drained from the manager's face. "Immediately, sir."
Aryav kept walking.
The elevator doors opened directly onto an empty luxury floor.
Aadhira blinked. "Where is everyone?"
"I cleared it," Aryav said simply.
She stared at him. "You cleared an entire floor?"
"I dislike noice."
Aadhira swallowed hard. "...And the owner allowed that?"
Aryav pressed the elevator button once. "You're assuming I asked permission."
He paused. For the first time since entering the building, Aryav looked directly at her, his dark eyes holding hers captive. "Besides, this building belongs to me."
The elevator doors slid open with a muted, mechanical chime.
The entire private luxury floor looked less like a commercial shopping enclave and more like a highly curated fantasy built exclusively for royalty. Massive crystal chandeliers glowed softly overhead, their heavy golden light fracturing and spilling across the polished, mirror-like marble floors.
Mannequins dressed in breathtaking haute couture lehengas and diamond-threaded gowns stood beneath calculated spotlights like priceless museum artifacts.
Every rack, every custom perfume display, every heavy silk drape whispered of ancestral wealth.
But that wasn't what made her chest tighten into a painful knot.
It was the people.
Stylists, elite personal shoppers, luxury consultants-all standing alert, their spines snapping straight the millisecond Aryav stepped out of the private elevator enclosure beside her.
Every single eye in the room moved to him first, tracking his posture with practiced deference. Then, inevitably, they shifted to her.
And suddenly, whispers started moving beneath the surface of the room like poison traveling under clear water.
The staff, huddled near a velvet drape at the far end of the display racks, didn't notice the acoustic design of the high ceilings.
"She's prettier than I expected..."
"Pretty enough to secure a Shinghania, apparently. Look at her."
"How old is she? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?" A quiet, condescending laugh cut through the ambient music.
"Classic gold digger blueprint. Secure the legacy, secure the bank account."
"Please. Men like Aryav rai Shinghania don't marry for love. She's a temporary placement."
"Look at the pink suit. She looks like she walked out of a local boutique."
Aadhira's entire spine locked into a rigid, freezing line. Her fingers tightened slowly, agonizingly around the embroidered edge of her dupatta, her knuckles turning a stark white.
The nervous, chaotic chiming of her silver bangles-the rhythm that had followed her all afternoon and the one thing that mapped her anxiety-suddenly went silent.
She only stopped touching them when she was genuinely, deeply undone.
Aryav noticed it.
His eyes, which had been scanning a row of custom silks, darted down to her hands, then up to the tight line of her jaw.
An unfamiliar shadow shifted across his expression. It wasn't understanding, but a sharp, localized irritation.
He didn't understand why the sudden silence of her jewelry annoyed him, but his focus narrowed.
Aadhira kept walking for six more seconds before stopping completely beside a display of heavily embroidered midnight-blue gowns.
The women weren't even attempting to lower their voices properly. Maybe they assumed an Agrawal didn't have the leverage to strike back.
Or maybe they simply knew that powerful, detached men rarely broke their composure to defend the women standing beside them.
Her throat burned with a sudden, humiliating heat.
Without another glance around the floor, she turned sharply on her heel and walked straight toward his tall, imposing silhouette.
Aryav's conversation with the store director stopped mid-sentence the millisecond her shadow crossed the marble light near his chair.
The director beside him fell silent, lowering his tablet.
Aadhira avoided looking directly at either man, keeping her chin up through sheer force of will. "I don't want to buy anything," she said, her voice quiet but slow. "Can we go home."
A heavy pause settled over the space.
Aryav studied her face. His obsidian eyes moved over the tension in her jaw, the slight flush on her cheeks, and the way her breathing was shallow.
He analyzed her clinically, mapping her micro-expressions.
The director looked confused, stepping forward. "Ma'am, the entire winter couture collection was specially flown in from Italy and Paris this morning for your inspection-"
"Leave."
One word from Aryav. Low. Flat. It emptied the surrounding space.
The director disappeared from the perimeter, not even pausing to gather his notes.