20. Not so good deeds.
Chapter 21 available on scrollstack.
Forty eight hours passed.
No answer.
No drama.
No Dhwani.
Which meant only one thing—She was coming today. Because if she actually cared about Samarth, she wouldn’t waste another second. And when she did come, I’d see it. The hesitation. The helplessness. The way her pride would crack.
And yes—that thought made me feel good.
You’re sick, my mind commented dryly.
I ignored it and called Ishaan.
He arrived a few minutes later, professional as ever. “Yes, sir?”
I cleared my throat, “I want you to decorate my room,”
He looked around. “Good idea. You haven’t changed it in years. What kind of interior?”
“Not the interior.”
“Oh. Furniture, then?”
“Not furniture either.”
He looked at me. “Okay… sir. Then what exactly am I decorating? The walls? Lighting? Vibes?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “God, Ishaan.”
He straightened instantly. “Sorry, sir. Please clarify.”
I looked him dead in the eye.
“I want the room decorated like a honeymoon suite.”
Silence.
Pure. Horrified. Silence.
His eyes widened.
“…Sir?” he asked slowly. “I just want to confirm—whose honeymoon?”
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Then his eyes flicked over me, head to toe, and suddenly—he started buttoning up his coat, as if I was eye fucking him.
“Oh hell no,” I snapped. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
“I—uh, nothing, sir,” he said quickly. “I just thought—maybe you were,”
“If you finish that sentence, I will fire you and traumatise you for life,” I warned.
He swallowed. “Understood.”
“Decorate the room,” I continued, irritated. “Flowers, candles—whatever bullshit makes it look… presentable for the deed.”
He blinked.
“The deed?”
“And don’t look at me like that,” I snapped. “Just do it.”
He hesitated. “And… with whom exactly are you planning to do this deed?”
I shot him a glare.
“None of your business.”
He exhaled slowly, clearly done with my existence.
“Fine,” he muttered. Then he snapped louder—“Have a good fuck, bastard.” And he ran away with bullet train speed without waiting for another second, because he knew if he stayed, he would be fired.
After a few minutes, the decorations began.
I escaped my room and settled in the hall with my laptop, pretending to work.
After a while, Daadi joined me, sitting on the couch opposite. In her hand were the prayer beads—her fingers moving rhythmically as she murmured under her breath.
I tried to focus on my screen.
Failed.
The problem wasn’t my work. The problem was her eyes.
They followed every single worker who walked past—each tray of flowers, each box of candles, each suspicious decorative item heading straight to my room.
Bloody Ishaan.
He could’ve done this quietly. Discreetly. Like a normal human being.
But no—he had to turn it into a public announcement.
I typed nonsense on my laptop while Daadi stared holes into my skull.
This bomb was going to explode.
I could feel it.
Better to retreat.
I quietly shut my laptop and stood up.
“So,” Daadi said suddenly, not looking at me.
I froze.
“So?” I echoed cautiously.
She turned her head, eyes sharp. “You said it’s a revenge marriage.”
“Yes,” I replied immediately. Too quickly.
She raised an eyebrow. “Then what's all this”
Fuck.
I cleared my throat. “It’s… strategic.”
“Strategic?” she repeated. “Or romantic?”
“No. Strategic,” I insisted. “Very strategic.”
She glanced at the workers again. “Flowers?”
“Psychological warfare.”
“Candles?”
“Mental pressure.”
“Soft lights?”
“Intimidation.”
She stared at me for a long second, then smiled—slow and terrifying.
“So this is your revenge?” Daadi said sharply, her eyes flicking toward the workers carrying flowers. “Trying to turn me into a great-grandmother already?”
I nearly choked.
“What—no!” I snapped. “Daadi, don’t twist things.”
She let out a humourless laugh. “Twist? You dragged that girl into this house calling it revenge, and now you’re decorating your room for not so good deeds.”
“It’s not what you think,” I muttered.
“Oh, I’m thinking very clearly,” she shot back. “You said she’s your enemy. A Rathore. The sister of the man who destroyed us. And yet”—her eyes narrowed—“you look more disturbed than she does.”
I don't know what to say.
“You men lie very badly, Yugant” she continued coldly. “Especially when your anger starts slipping into something else.”
“I’m not slipping,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Good,” she said sharply. “Because remember this—don’t let your weakness make you forget who she is. Don’t let pity—or desire cloud what revenge is meant for.”
She stood up, gripping her prayer beads.
“That girl is here because of your hatred,” she added. “Not because she belongs here.”
Then she walked away, leaving the words hanging like a verdict.
I chuckled under my breath.
Wrong, Daadi.
Dhwani Rathore is here because she belongs here.
I don’t keep things that aren’t mine and she? She’s a goddamn hurricane wrapped in human skin, chaos in flesh and bone. Loud. Defiant. Destructive.
And addictive.
There’s no way I’m letting her go.
Not now.
Not ever.
Even if she tears my world apart while doing it.
Sir, your room has been decorated,” Ishaan said, each word clenched between his teeth.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Good,” I replied flatly. “Now don’t come in front of my eyes or I’ll fire you.”
I turned on my heel. He had already fucked my head enough for one day.
“Sorry, sir,” he said quickly. “Everything just… happened unknowingly. I’ll behave properly next time.”
That made me stop.
I turned back to face him. The bastard didn’t look even 0.01 percent guilty just apologetic enough to keep his job intact.
“Alright,” I said coldly. “Did you bring the first design?”
“Yes, sir.” He handed me the file.
I flipped it open, scanned the contents once, then closed it.
“Good.”
He nodded and turned to leave.
“Ishaan.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Dhrithika is arriving from New York tomorrow,” I said. “Make sure you pick her up from the airport.”
“Daadi already informed me,” he replied. “I’ll be there on time.” He walked away.
I also walked upstairs going towards my room. But I stopped mid-step.
“Mr. Raizaada.”
I turned.
Dhwani stood a few steps away, arms folded across her chest, posture guarded but eyes far too honest. She glanced around the corridor once, making sure we were alone.
“Yes, Mrs Raizaada?” I asked, taking a step closer—but stopping at a decent distance.
“ Ms Rathore would be better.” She reminded me.
“No, I guess Mrs Raizaada is better. It suits you.” I teased.
She looked pissed, and exhaled as if controlling her anger.
“I… I just wanted to tell you that I accept your deal.”
I raised a brow. “Accept what?”
“The deal,” she said, exhaling.
I took another slow step closer not invading, just enough to make her aware.
“Which deal?”
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Her honey-brown eyes lifted to mine. Those lashes fluttered like they always did unintentionally dangerous.
“Five designs,” she said quietly. “In exchange for five nights.”
A slow smile tugged at my lips.
“Oh,” I murmured. “And you’re very sure about what those nights involve?”
She swallowed. Hard.
“It’s… it’s up to you,” she said, forcing steadiness. “Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” I repeated quietly, lifting her chin just enough to make her meet my eyes.
She didn’t flinch.
“Yes, Mr. Raizaada,” she said, steady despite the tremor beneath it. “Whatever you want. I’m ready to put myself on the line… to repay the debt of betraying you.”
“How about you show it,” I murmured, my voice dropping as I leaned closer, close enough for her breath to hitch, “with those pretty, rosey-soft lips of yours?”
My face hovered just inches from hers. “Kiss me,” I finished, eyes locked on hers. “And prove, you really want to do it.”
Her face flushed instantly.
And God that reaction?
That hesitation, that sudden awareness in her eyes?
I enjoyed it far more than I should have.
Not because I wanted to take something from her but because I knew I could, and still chose not to.
I could’ve seen her bare and still kept my hands to myself if she didn’t want it. I wasn’t that man. I’d never be.
But testing her resolve?
Watching her wrestle with choice, fear, and desire all at once?
That was a different kind of thrill.
And right now, she was standing exactly at the edge deciding whether she would step forward…
or retreat.
Either way, I was watching.
“Is it important?” she asked, biting down on her lower lip.
It should’ve been me doing that.
Fuck.
I lifted my hand, brushed my thumb over her lip, easing it free from her teeth. “It isn’t,” I said calmly. “But if you want to… you can.”
She hesitated.
I exhaled, stepped back, letting the space return between us. “In my room, after an hour.” I said, turning away.
That’s when she grabbed my coat.
Hard.
“I’m ready,” she said, voice low, steady. “Right now.”
Before I could react, she stepped onto my shoes, closing the distance completely. Her arms slid around my neck, confident, desperate, real.
Her lips pressed against mine.
For a few seconds, my mind stopped working.
Then I felt it her desperation.
The way she was stretching herself on her toes, trying to reach me. The way she was pressing her lips, uncertain, untrained, like she didn’t quite know how to do this but was refusing to back out anyway.
She was trying. And failing adorably.
I slid a hand around her waist and pushed her back against the wall in one swift movement, trapping her between my body and the cold surface. The sudden closeness made her breath hitch.
I tried to pull away.
She didn’t let me.
Her hands tightened around my face, stubborn, determined.
“Easy, little storm,” I murmured softly. Our eyes locked.
“You don’t know how to kiss,” I asked quietly, more observation than accusation.
She shook her head, cheeks flushed. “I was… trying.”
I couldn't help but chuckle.
“How about I teach you?” I asked.
She nodded immediately.
“My room’s twenty steps from here,” I said, voice dropping, controlled. “I’ll carry you there. But until we reach it—you don’t stop. Move your lips here.” I pointed to my neck.
Her lips parted. She exhaled, nervous and resolved collidethen nodded again.
“One,” I said, lifting her effortlessly.
“Two.”
“Three.”
Her lips brushed my neckhesitant at first, then more confident, warmer. I felt her breathing there, felt the way she clung to me as I walked, step by step, steady despite the storm she was causing inside me.
As we reached my room, the door shut behind us.
Locked.
I reached out, hurriedly extinguished the candle in one breath. And threw the decoration from that vase table which was beside the door in one motion and set her there.
She looked around slowly.
The candles.
The petals.
The room.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, nerves finally catching up with her courage.
And for the first time since she’d kissed me, She understood exactly what she’d walked into.
“Scared?” I asked quietly.
She lifted her gaze to mine, blinkingnervous as hell. And I knew exactly what I was doing to her.
“N-no,” she said, though her voice betrayed her.
“Good,” I murmured. “Then hold on.”
“What?” she asked, confused.
My hand slid to her bare legs, warm skin beneath my palm, the hem of her floral dress brushing her knees. I drew her closer, felt her instinctively clutch my shoulder as I guided her legs around my waist.
“This,” I said softly, steadying her. “This is how you do it. Got it?”
She nodded, breath uneven.
I lifted her chin gently, forcing her to meet my eyes. “And stop hiding behind silence,” I added. “I need words. No more pretending.”
“O-okay,” she whispered.
“Good,” I said. “Now listen to me.”
I leaned closer. “Open your mouth, little storm...”
She hesitated, blinking again then parted her lips slightly.
“Wider.”
She obeyed.
I closed the distance until our lips were barely touching. “Now pay attention,” I murmured. “Feel it.”
I kissed her then slow at first, deliberate guiding her, showing her without rushing. My hand slid into her hair, anchoring her, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened, hunger bleeding through control.
When I pulled back, her breath trembled.
She didn’t wait this time.
She leaned in again, tentative but determined, lips finding mineclumsy, earnest, learning. She followed the rhythm, matched it, kissed me the way she’d just been shown.
And damn, She got it.
Her grip tightened, her body pressed closer, and the kiss turned realheated, breathless, undeniable.
Close.
Trapped.
Chosen.
I didn’t know what came over her lust, defiance, desperation… or all three tangled together.
Her grip tightened instead of loosening. Fingers slid into my hair, tugging as she tilted her head and kissed me again harder, hungrier, like she was daring me to stop her.
And that was the problem.
She was making me lose control.
That wasn’t the plan.
I caught her wrists mid-movement, gripping them firmly, pulling her back just enough to break the kiss. Before she could protest, I tugged the ribbon from her hair and looped it around her wrists behind her back tightly.
“Mr. Raizaada,” she snapped, annoyed, breath uneven, “what are you doing?”
“That’s enough,” I said, stepping away before I did something reckless. “You’re pushing too far. Sit. Quietly.”
I moved toward the couch, every muscle burning, my patience hanging by a thread.
This was a terrible plan.
A fucking terrible plan.
I shrugged off my coat and tossed it onto the bed.
She scoffed behind me. “Isn’t this what you wanted? I’m doing exactly that and now you have a problem?”
I turned just enough to see the challenge in her eyes.
“Or are you scared?” she continued, voice sharp, wicked. “Scared you won’t last long with me? Getting a little old, Mr. Raizaada?”
That did it.
“Don’t run your mouth so boldly,” I warned, jaw clenched. “You don’t have the designs yet.”
She made an exaggerated face, glanced down at her tied wrists, then at the height of the table like she was considering jumping off it anyway.
“Why did you tie my hands?” she snapped. “You’re seriously pissing me off.”
“Lower your voice,” I shot back. “Or Daadi will assume I’ve officially started working on making her a great-grandmother.”
She let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “This is so messed up,” she muttered. “Open my fucking hands, and hand me the first design if you’re afraid of getting intimate, and thinking you’re a bit older for me.”