Chapter Thirty One
Ria's POV
The soft creak of the swing chair echoed through the quiet garden, the pages of my novel fluttering with the breeze. The villa was wrapped in calm - too calm, almost eerie in its silence. My eyes flickered to the antique wall clock hanging near the glass doors. 3:00 p.m.
"Already?" I muttered under my breath, blinking at the clock's hands as if they were lying to me.
I had completely lost track of time. The morning had been.
.. strange. I'd woken up early, toured the massive villa - every marble hallway screaming wealth and power - and made myself breakfast just to keep my hands busy. Anything to stop thinking about him.
But now, hunger stirred again. I sighed, closing my novel, and rose from the swing. My bare feet pressed against the cold marble floor as I wandered through the corridor, my eyes on my patterned dupatta instead of the path ahead.
And that's when I collided - hard - into something solid.
No, not something. Someone.
The impact jolted through me. I gasped, stumbling back, already bracing for the fall. My heart leapt into my throat - but before I could hit the floor, a pair of strong arms gripped my waist. Firm. Unyielding. Possessive.
I froze.
My lashes fluttered open... and my heart stopped.
Those eyes. Cold, sharp, and bluer than a winter storm.
Aansh Rathore.
For a moment, neither of us moved. His hold didn't soften.
His gaze didn't waver. It was as if the air itself refused to breathe between us.
I could hear the faint rhythm of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears.
His scent - sharp, dark, and dangerously masculine - tangled around me, suffocating my senses.
Then, just as suddenly as he'd caught me, he let go.
My body hit the floor with a dull thud.
I winced, pain shooting up my elbow. My eyes flew up to him - he was still staring down at me, emotionless, unmoved, as if he hadn't just let me fall.
His lips parted. His voice - deep, rough, and utterly commanding - filled the space.
"I'll pick you up at eight. Be ready."
No explanation. No softness. Just orders - like always.
My throat went dry. I forced myself to speak, though my voice trembled. "W-Wait... where are we going? What should I wear?"
He stopped walking but didn't turn to look at me.
"It's none of your concern," he said coldly, his tone laced with contempt. "And I don't give a damn what you wear. Just be ready."
The words were knives. Short. Sharp. Deadly.
He walked away without a second glance.
I stayed there on the floor, staring at his retreating back, my pulse still racing. I hated how my body reacted around him - the way fear mixed with something I couldn't name. Something I refused to name.
"Devil," I muttered, standing and fixing my dupatta. "Absolute devil."
I stormed to the kitchen, hoping food would distract me, but even as I cooked, his cold eyes haunted my mind.
---
Later, I stood before the open closet, hands on my hips, frustration boiling inside me. I rummaged through what I had packed.
"What am I even supposed to wear?" I groaned. "That man can't even give proper instructions-"
A knock interrupted me.
"Come in," I said, frowning.
Jaya, the head maid, entered with a graceful smile. In her hands was a box - elegant, expensive-looking, tied with a black ribbon.
"Sir sent you this," she said softly.
I blinked at the box, then at her. "Are you sure it's for me?" I asked not quite believing my ears.
She smiled again, unfazed. "Yes, he said it's for you."
My eyebrows shot up. "Aansh... sent me this?" I asked incredulously. The words felt unreal on my tongue that it almost made me laugh.
"Yes," Jaya confirmed, placing the box gently on the bed before leaving.
I stared at it like it might explode. Slowly, I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid - and gasped.
Inside lay a black dress. Sleek. Elegant. Dangerous.
The fabric shimmered faintly under the light, hugging the shape of my hand as I lifted it. It wasn't just a dress - it was a statement. A weapon, maybe. Something meant to make me look powerful... or vulnerable.
I swallowed hard. I'd never worn something like this before. Western clothes weren't my thing - I preferred my soft kurtas and modest dupattas. But this... this was a piece of his world. Cold. Dark. Intimidating.
"Did he really send this?" I whispered to myself. "Why?"
I kept the dress back in the box and headed to the bathroom to take a shower.
---
The warm water cascaded down my skin, but it did little to wash away the confusion burning inside me. Every drop reminded me of his voice, his stare, his indifference. By the time I wrapped a towel around myself and stepped out, my mind was still tangled in him.
But then my heart froze.
He was there.
Aansh Rathore - shirtless, back turned, searching for something in the wardrobe like he owned the world.
My breath hitched. The air felt suddenly too thin. I panicked and tried to retreat back into the bathroom - but in my haste, my elbow struck the corner of a table, knocking a porcelain vase to the ground.
It shattered with a sharp crash.
The sound sliced through the silence.
Aansh turned.
His voice dropped, low and lethal.
"Stop."
I froze mid-step, every muscle in my body locking. My grip on the towel tightened until my knuckles whitened.
His footsteps approached slowly - deliberate. Predatory.
"Turn around," he ordered, his voice calm but deadly.
My head shook instinctively. "No-"
"Turn around," he repeated, this time colder. "Before I do it for you."
The threat in his tone made my stomach twist. My eyes burned with humiliation as I forced myself to turn, trembling slightly.
He stood barely a few feet away, eyes flickering over me - not lustfully, but with dominance, like a lion inspecting prey.
"Look at me."
I swallowed, forcing my gaze up to his. The moment our eyes met, the world shrank to nothing.
"Why... why are you here?" I whispered, my voice weak, small.
He didn't answer. Instead, he took a step forward. Then another. I retreated instinctively until my back hit the cold wall.
His face was unreadable, but the fury in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Why the hell were you running?"
My heart hammered in my chest. "I-I forgot something in the bathroom," I stammered, my voice barely audible.
Aansh studied me for a long, heavy moment. Then he stepped back, his jaw tight.
"Next time," he said, his tone like ice, "if you break another thing, there will be consequences."
His words sliced through me. Not loud, but sharp enough to draw invisible blood.
He turned and walked out, his footsteps echoing in the hall. The moment he was gone, I exhaled shakily, clutching my towel tighter around me.
My eyes drifted to the broken vase on the floor - shards glittering like the pieces of my pride.
"Consequences," I muttered bitterly, mimicking his deep voice. "That fool probably doesn't even care about the damn vase. He just likes scaring me."
I sank to the floor, pressing my hand to my racing heart.
But no matter how much I tried to calm myself, his voice - deep, cold, and unforgiving - echoed in my mind.
And somewhere, buried beneath the fear, a dangerous truth stirred:
I could hate him all I wanted... but something about him still had the power to shake me to my very core.
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