CHAPTER 68! LOVE
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I opened my eyes to complete darkness.
The heavy curtains near the balcony stirred lazily in the cold night wind, letting thin ribbons of silvery moonlight spill across the dark wooden floor.
Before my brain was fully wake, my body reacted on instinct. My arm stretched across the wide mattress, searching for Aryav's warmth.
There was nothing there.
The bedsheets on his side were cold and undisturbed. He had been gone for a long time, leaving so quietly that I hadn't even stirred.
A hot knot of anger tightened in my chest. I had been so mad at him when we went to bed. I had deliberately turned my back to him, pulling the heavy blanket all the way up to my chin to ignore him completely. And now, instead of trying to apologize or fix things, he had simply walked away?
"Fine," I whispered into the quiet room, pulling the blanket tighter around my neck.
I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my face deep into the soft pillow while telling myself over and over that I didn't care. Let him go wherever he wanted. I wasn't the one who had made a mistake tonight-he was.
Ten seconds passed. Then twenty.
My eyes snapped open, my heart hammering against my ribs. It wasn't anger keeping me awake anymore; it was a restless, painful ache right in the center of my chest.
Where could he even go at two in the morning?
I kicked off the heavy blanket and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The moment my bare feet touched the cold marble floor, a sharp chill ran all the way up my spine.
I moved through the room, feeling increasingly lost. The bathroom was dark and quiet, the counters completely dry.
His dressing room was equally empty-his silver watch and car keys were lying on the wooden tray, but he was nowhere to be seen.
I pulled open the bedroom door and stepped into the long, silent hallway.
"Aryav?" I called out softly.
My voice sounded small and fragile in the massive house. Nobody answered.
I took a few slow steps forward, my toes curling against the freezing floor. Then, a low, dull thud reached my ears.
Thud.
A short pause.
Thud.
It was a heavy, rhythmic sound coming from the far end of the house, right where the private gym was located.
My feet moved on their own, carrying me faster toward the noise until I reached the massive double doors.
A thin strip of warm yellow light stretched across the floor from underneath the wood.
I pushed the door open an inch and looked inside.
Aryav was standing in the middle of the room, shirtless, facing the heavy black punching bag.
His back was glistening with sweat, his shoulder muscles pulled taut, his hair falling messily over his forehead.
There was nothing polished or controlled about him right now.
No expensive suit, no watch, no calm composure. His jaw was tightly clenched as if he were fighting desperately to keep control of himself.
His left palm was bleeding; As though something sharp had cut his hand. dark drops of his own blood smeared against the surface and dripped onto the floor.
But he didn't seem to care at all.
How had he even gotten injured? He was fine before I fell asleep.
Right now, he looked like a man in deep pain-a man who thought beating up a heavy bag was easier than facing his own emotions.
I had always known my husband was devastatingly handsome. He was the kind of man women looked at not just for his power or wealth, but because of his sheer presence. I wasn't blind. I had seen women stare at him at parties, business dinners, and family events.
I had seen the extra second they held his gaze, the way they touched their hair or softened their tone when speaking to him.
Sometimes I had caught them looking and felt a quiet, secret pride because he was coming home with me.
It had never bothered me before because I believed no other woman could ever get through to him.
He never gave anyone a second look. But tonight was completely different.
Tonight, there was a real name attached to those looks: Sameera. A real woman who had looked at my husband and believed she actually stood a chance.
And standing here, watching him sweat and strike that bag over and over, I understood why she wants that. He was unfairly, painfully attractive.
I looked away quickly before my thoughts spun out of control. This was ridiculous. I was supposed to be angry with him, yet here I was at two in the morning, staring at his bare back, his shoulders, and his abs.
I should turn around and go back to our room, but my body refused to obey my mind.
I swallowed hard and pushed the door open. It closed behind me with a soft click that sounded loud in the quiet gym.
Even though he didn't turn around, his entire body went rigid. The heavy bag kept swinging slowly on its iron chain, but his hands dropped to his sides, leaving streaks of his blood behind.
The only sound left in the room was his deep, rapid breathing.
I walked toward him, my steps slow and quiet. When I was directly behind him, I raised my hand toward the warm, damp skin of his bare shoulder.
Before I could touch him, he moved
His hand wrapped firmly around my wrist.
In one fluid motion, he turned and pulled me forward. The soles of my feet slid across the floor, and a second later, my back met the hard wall behind me.
He kept his grip on my wrist while his other hand slid into his pocket, looking entirely unbothered-yet effortlessly holding both of my hands trapped with just one of his. He boxed me in completely between his body and the wall.
His face was only an inch from mine, his bare chest rising and falling heavily.
Heat radiated off him, wrapping around me like a blanket. A single drop of sweat slipped from his hairline, traced the curve of his cheek and jaw, then slid down his Adam's apple to his chest before disappearing beneath his trousers.
The entire process took a full minute, and I didn't look away for a single second.
When I finally looked up, heat rushed into my face, embarrassment burning beneath my skin.
His dark eyes scanned my face before locking onto mine.
"What are you doing here, Aadhira?" he asked softly.
"You weren't in bed," I whispered, my voice trembling. Even though his grip on my wrist wasn't painful, being this close to him made all my anger melt into something soft and dangerous. "So I came looking for you."
His jaw clenched hard. "You were angry with me."
"I am."
"You didn't want me near you."
"I didn't."
He searched my eyes, looking for the cold distance I had shown him a few hours ago. "Then why did you come looking for me?"
I opened my mouth to give him a sharp answer, but the words caught in my throat. The truth sat heavily between us: I was still hurt by what had happened, but the moment I felt that cold, empty space beside me in bed, being away from him felt a hundred times worse than being mad at him.
When I remained quiet, his thumb began to move against my wrist, tracing the sensitive skin on the inside of my arm in a slow, soothing circle.
"You worry too much for someone who is angry with me," he murmured.
Then I felt a faint warmth against my wrist and remembered his injured palm. But before I could speak, he lowered his head, burying his face in the space between my neck and shoulder.
He took a long, deep breath against my skin, his solid chest pressed firmly against mine.
He was breathing me in.
"Aadhira..." he muttered softly against my skin. His voice was low and dark-not driven by simple desire or anger, but by something far heavier.
I finally understood what it was. Obsession.
He slowly pulled back, his eyes moving from my gaze down to my lips before returning to my eyes. He pressed a quiet kiss to my forehead.
"Go sleep, Aadhira. You must be tired."
He released my wrist and stepped back, taking a small towel from a nearby bench to wipe the sweat from his face and neck, his eyes never leaving mine.
I looked down at his bleeding hand.
"Let's go to our room. You're injured."
"It's nothing," he said calmly. "I'm fine. Go."
"Aren't you coming?" I pressed.
He stared at me for a beat. "You didn't want me near you," he repeated quietly, as though reminding himself not to touch me-fighting the urge to pull me close and kiss me until I was breathless.
The distance between us suddenly felt intolerable. I couldn't stand it.
I took a step forward.
He didn't move away. Closing the tiny gap between us, I stepped directly onto his bare, warm feet so I could reach higher.
Even then, he towered over me, so I pushed up onto my toes, pressing my chest tightly against his. One of my hands rested on his bare shoulder for balance while the other wrapped around his waist.
As he saw me struggle, his hand slid around my waist to steady me.
"What are you trying to do, darling?"
Darling! He rarely used that word, but whenever he did, my heart skipped a beat.
"I'm trying to kiss you," I whispered.
His eyes darkened. Before he could speak, I pressed my mouth to his. I slid my hands up his damp shoulders, running my fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, pulling him close to stop him from stepping back.
I bit his lower lip, but he didn't part his mouth.
"Open your mouth, Aryav." I breathed against his lips.
And he did.
I pushed my tongue inside, tasting him, pulling his lower lip between mine. The kiss was messy, wet, and completely mine.
For three straight minutes, I did whatever I wanted, and his hands never left my body for a single second.
When I finally pulled back, breathing heavily, he looked at me. "Satisfied?"
I looked away, my chest heaving. "No. I want you to kiss me."
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"
"Just kiss me," I said, looking back at him. "The way you want to..."
Before I could finish the sentence, his mouth was on mine again.
Soft at first, then deep and claiming.