Chapter 2 #3
"Your name is already ruined!" Poorvanshi shot back, taking a step towards him. "Your brother ran away on his wedding night! You can lock me up in a guest room, you can force rings on my finger, but you cannot fix the reality that your family humiliated mine!"
She expected him to get angry. She expected the terrifying 'Devil of Delhi' to shout, to punch a wall, to threaten her.
Instead, Siddhant just watched her.
His dark eyes tracked the fiery anger in her brown eyes, the flush of emotion on her cheeks, and the absolute lack of fear in her posture.
Every single person in his life, his parents, his brother, his business rivals, his employees, trembled when he looked at them.
They bent to his will out of pure terror.
But this woman, this twenty-six-year-old architect who had lost everything just hours ago, was standing in his private sanctuary, yelling at him, challenging him with every breath she took.
She wasn't afraid of him at all.
Siddhant felt something strange twitch in his chest. It was an unfamiliar feeling. A spark of pure, undeniable amusement.
"You are very loud, Miss Rathore," Siddhant murmured, his voice dropping slightly, becoming a soft, dangerous rumble.
"And you are very controlling," Poorvanshi fired back, refusing to back down even an inch.
Siddhant pushed himself off the desk. He took slow, deliberate steps towards her. He was much taller than her, much broader, and as he closed the distance between them, his powerful presence filled the room, swallowing the oxygen.
Poorvanshi’s heart began to hammer wildly against her ribs, but she forced her feet to stay glued to the floor. She tilted her head back to maintain eye contact as he stopped just inches away from her. She could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
"Rule number one," Siddhant said softly, looking down at her lips before locking eyes with her again. "You will not speak to the media. If a reporter approaches you, you will walk away. My team will handle all statements."
"Fine," Poorvanshi breathed out, hating how breathless she suddenly sounded.
"Rule number two," Siddhant continued, leaning just a fraction closer. The scent of black pepper and cedar washed over her senses. "You will not leave this house without Ishaan or myself. There are dangerous people looking for my brother, and they might think you are a useful bargaining chip."
That made Poorvanshi blink in surprise. "Dangerous people? What has Aryan done?"
"That is my problem, not yours," Siddhant cut her off smoothly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Rule number three. You will attend family dinners.
You do not have to be polite to my stepmother, but you will not cause a scene in front of the staff.
We will present a united, unbroken front to the world. "
"And what if I disagree with these rules?" Poorvanshi challenged, her chin lifting defiantly. "What will you do? Fire me?"
A tiny, almost invisible smirk touched the corner of Siddhant’s mouth. It was gone in a flash, but Poorvanshi swore she saw it.
"If you break my rules, Miss Rathore," Siddhant whispered, his voice dangerously soft, "I will find creative ways to ensure you never do it again. Do we have an understanding?"
They stood there, trapped in a silent battle of wills.
The tension between them was thick, electric, and completely unexpected.
Poorvanshi felt a strange rush of adrenaline, an addictive thrill rushing through her veins.
Fighting with Siddhant Chaturvedi was terrifying, but it was also the most alive she had felt since this entire nightmare began.
"We have an understanding," Poorvanshi said finally, her voice steady. "But I have a rule of my own."
Siddhant raised a single, perfect eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Yes," Poorvanshi said, poking a sharp finger directly against the lapel of his expensive suit jacket.
It was a bold, dangerous move, but she didn't care.
"You do not order me around like a servant.
I will cooperate with you to protect my family's peace, but I am not yours to control.
Do not ever mistake my cooperation for submission, Mr. Chaturvedi. "
Siddhant looked down at the delicate finger pressing into his chest, and then back up to her fierce, beautiful face.
He had spent years building walls of ice around himself, keeping everyone at a calculated distance.
But as he looked at Poorvanshi Rathore, standing fiercely in his territory, he realized something alarming.
The ice was already starting to crack.
"Noted, Miss Rathore," Siddhant replied softly.
He didn't step back. He didn't pull away from her touch. He just stood there, looking at her with a dark, intense fascination that made Poorvanshi's breath catch all over again.
The Devil had taken charge of her life, but as Poorvanshi looked into his dark eyes, she realized that she was not going to be an easy prisoner. She was going to fight him every step of the way.
And heaven help her, Siddhant looked entirely ready to enjoy the war.