Chapter Thirty
Ria's POV
I sat in the car, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, knuckles white from gripping the seat, my heart hammering as if it wanted to escape my chest. I didn't even know where we were going, and the uncertainty gnawed at me like a thousand tiny knives.
Every turn, every red light, every blur of passing streetlights made my stomach flip.
Beside me, Aansh drove in silence, his posture rigid, muscles tense beneath his dark shirt.
My gaze drifted to his arms for the briefest of moments, watching the way his biceps flexed subtly as he gripped the steering wheel, the veins standing out like black threads under his pale skin.
The precision in his movements, the calm authority, the sharp angles of his face - everything about him screamed danger, yet there was a magnetic pull I couldn't explain.
No. Stop thinking like that, Ria.
I shook my head, trying to rid myself of these treacherous thoughts.
To distract myself, I rolled down the window.
The air hit my face, cool and bracing, whipping through my hair, carrying the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and city life.
I closed my eyes, letting the wind sting my cheeks and try to carry away the tightness coiling in my chest. It worked for a few moments, enough to feel my body relax slightly, my pulse slow just enough that I could think.
When I opened my eyes, I froze.
Aansh was staring at me.
Not a glance, not a passing look - a full, unwavering, predator's gaze.
His knuckles had turned white, the control he exerted on the steering wheel almost violent in its intensity, yet his expression was unreadable, smooth, cold, void of empathy.
There was nothing human in his eyes, nothing soft, nothing that would let me feel safe.
My stomach churned. I wondered, briefly and horrifyingly, if this man even had a soul.
The car seemed smaller suddenly, the air thicker, the silence heavier. Every bump on the road, every turn, every second that passed stretched unbearably long. My fingers dug into the fabric of my jeans, trying to anchor myself to the moment, to reality, to anything.
And then, the hours passed in a strange, suspended silence. I didn't speak. He didn't speak. The world outside became a blur - lights smeared like watercolors on glass, trees stretched into long lines, the wind whispered past the car, and yet nothing inside me felt at ease.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we pulled over at the airport.
I exhaled without realizing it. The sound escaped like a whisper from my lips, and I immediately wished I hadn't made a sound.
Aansh got out, moving with the fluid, controlled grace that only he seemed capable of.
I hesitated. My instincts screamed at me: follow him.
But my body froze, questioning. Could I trust my own courage?
Could I trust that my legs wouldn't betray me?
Finally, shaking, I got out, letting the asphalt hard against my feet remind me I was still alive.
He walked ahead, long strides eating up the distance.
I had to jog to keep up. Every step felt like my chest would split open, every breath like fire.
We arrived at his private aircraft - an entire hangar of gleaming jets - the kind of wealth I had only ever seen on television.
One man greeted us, formally, guiding us inside.
My stomach lurched.
I had never even been inside an airport before, let alone a private aircraft, and now I was here, packed, following a man I hated, yet feared, toward God knows where.
Panic curled in my stomach like a living thing.
My hands shook as I sat in the seat, buckling my belt with trembling fingers, trying to anchor myself to something - anything.
Aansh was nowhere in sight, and a strange sense of relief washed over me. At least for a few moments, I could breathe without him watching, without him measuring my fear like a weapon.
The engines roared to life. The vibration traveled through my seat, through my body, and into my very bones.
My chest tightened. Was it the height? The unfamiliar sensation of ascending into the sky?
Or was it the realization that I had no control, that I was a passenger in this man's world, in his plans, in his power?
I tried to focus on the novel the flight attendant handed me, but the words blurred.
They were meaningless. My mind was elsewhere - counting every heartbeat, every sigh, every moment that might betray me to him.
Finally, exhaustion took over. My eyelids fluttered, and sleep claimed me before I could fight it.
I woke to the soft, hesitant voice of the flight attendant.
"Ma'am, we'll be landing in ten minutes."
I nodded, smoothing the fabric of my kurti over my lap. My stomach fluttered. Ten minutes. It wasn't long now. Ten minutes until the unknown would unfold.
When we landed, the plane slowed, the wheels screeching against the tarmac, and my legs went stiff.
I stepped down, adjusting instinctively, my hands clutching the strap of my bag.
Aansh was speaking to the captain. Even in his stillness, he commanded attention.
His profile was sharp, handsome, lethal.
My heart betrayed me with a flicker of admiration before shame crashed over me - how could I even think like that of a man who had brought me nothing but fear and pain?
"Welcome to Goa, ma'am," said a woman in a crisp uniform.
"Goa?" I repeated, almost breathless. My voice was shaky. It felt surreal. My lips curved faintly, a small flicker of wonder. Goa. The beaches I had dreamed of. The sunsets I had imagined. But now... here I was, under circumstances I could never have imagined. Fear and awe collided in my chest.
The woman led me to a sleek, black Bugatti waiting outside.
Aansh wasn't in the car with me, and for the first time that day, I felt a sliver of relief.
The ride was breathtaking. Palm trees flashed past, the golden sun reflecting off the sea, waves crashing with a rhythm that soothed and terrified me at the same time.
My head leaned out the window, wind whipping against my face, pulling tiny strands of hair in front of my eyes. For a fleeting moment, I felt alive.
After what felt like an eternity, we reached a villa that could have been pulled from a magazine. Glass walls, pristine beach just steps away, heavy security discreetly posted, gates like a fortress. My heart caught. It was beautiful. Almost too beautiful.
Inside, I was greeted by an elderly woman dressed in a maid's uniform.
Her smile was warm, the kind that reminded me of home, and yet it highlighted the emptiness of the world I had been thrown into.
"Ma'am, I was informed that sir has gone to attend a meeting.
He will be back later. Meanwhile, please unpack and feel at home," she said gently.
Without thinking, I grasped her hands lightly, surprising us both.
"Please... don't call me ma'am. You are my elder," I said softly, the words sincere, carrying the last bits of warmth my exhausted heart could find.
She smiled and led me to my room - spacious, luxurious, elegant - yet I felt none of the excitement such a place could inspire. My body was drained, my mind clouded with fear, and my heart heavy with the weight of everything that awaited me.
I didn't unpack. I didn't organize. I didn't even sit on the bed. I sank onto the couch, letting the soft cushions envelop me, and finally, finally, sleep crept over me like a quiet reprieve, lulling my aching body into oblivion.
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Comment and vote to find out what Goa has instill for Aansh and Ria.