Chapter 34 Flame and Moth
Even a doctor can't treat what politics poisons.
- Author
"Ace, are you ready?" he asked again, his eyes still fixed on the phone as his fingers typed out a quick message.
When he finally looked up, the words died in his throat. She was walking toward him in a flowing pink gown, the fabric catching the light with every step. For a man who rarely let himself be distracted, he found himself... struck still.
"Is it looking good?" Adhrita asked, adjusting her hair in the mirror. The back of the gown was daringly bare, her hairstyle new, deliberate.
Silence.
She frowned and turned, only to find him watching her-not with words, but with the kind of gaze that spoke louder than any compliment.
Finally, he leaned back, smirk tugging at his lips. "Good? No, Ace. That dress should come with a warning label."
She rolled her eyes, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. "So that's your idea of a compliment?"
He didn't bother to answer. Instead, he reached for the vanity, picked up her mangalsutra, and held it loosely between his fingers.
"You want to show everyone you're mine?"
Her eyes narrowed. She understood instantly. With that gown, wearing it would be out of place. He would never spell it out, but his meaning was clear. Quietly, she slipped it into her handbag.
As she turned back to the mirror, he stepped closer, his gaze catching on the small constellation of moles scattered across her neck.
"Cover your landmines," he said, tapping his own neck to show her where. "one wrong stare and things go boom."
She glanced at her reflection, makeup already perfectly settled.
He moved beside her, leaned in, and brushed his fingertip lightly against the moles on her skin, leaving her breathless for a moment. Then he pulled back, scratching at his beard like nothing happened, and walked away without another word.
She dabbed a little concealer over the moles, just enough to tone them down under the party lights. She picked her hand bag up and walked toward the door, where Vritant was busy on a call, his expression sharp and focused.
??? V ? A ???
The party was in full swing when Vritant and Adhrita stepped in. Crystal chandeliers scattered light across the room, music pulsed softly, and laughter floated above the clinking of glasses.
Adhrita felt a twinge of awkwardness. She knew no one here-except her husband. Around her, familiar faces and easy conversations surrounded strangers, and for a moment, she felt like an outsider in a glittering world.
Vritant, on the other hand, moved as if he owned the room-his presence sharp, controlled, impossible to ignore. He slid his hand lightly into hers, a subtle anchor, and whispered dryly,
"Relax. Tonight, I'm your entire social circle."
Adhrita glanced up at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips, feeling both reassured and slightly exasperated by his effortless dominance.
As they made their way through the crowd, Adhrita spotted Aryan and Saanvi across the room. Relief and familiarity softened her shoulders-at least a few friendly faces amid the strangers.
Vritant's hand tightened lightly around hers, guiding her effortlessly past the chatter and laughter. "There," he said quietly, nodding toward Aryan and Saanvi, "your people."
Aryan's grin was impossibly wide, practically sparkling with over-the-top enthusiasm, while Saanvi gave a mock-serious nod, her eyes twinkling as if silently judging both of them in the most theatrical way.
"Finally, the couple of the hour," Aryan called, exaggerating his voice for effect.
Saanvi added with a playful lift of her chin, "Took you long enough to show up. We were starting to think you'd forgotten us."
Aryan hugged his brother Vritant, all drama and noise. Vritant endured it for a second before murmuring, just loud enough for him to hear, "Save some theatrics for the stage, Aryan. You're over budget already."
Then Vritant turned, his gaze catching on a private table at the far end of the hall. A rare smile touched his lips when he saw the lady seated there. Without a word, he slipped his arm around Adhrita's waist, drawing her close.
"I want Adhrita to meet our friends," Saanvi chimed in.
"Later," Vritant cut her off smoothly, his eyes never leaving the table. "First, there's someone she needs to meet."
Adhrita glanced at him, curiosity flickering, as he guided her across the room.
The moment the woman at the table spotted him, she rose to her feet. The next second, Vritant embraced her-warmly, almost fiercely, like old friends reunited after years apart.
Adhrita froze for a beat, surprise washing over her. Vritant, who kept his distance from almost everyone, hugging a woman with such affection?
He pulled back just enough to glance at his wife. "Adhrita, meet Princess Iva of Paris."
"Well, hi, Adhrita. Now I am Queen Ivikaa Agnivanshi of Mumbai," she said warmly, extending her hand.
"Hi," Adhrita whispered, shaking it. A flicker of realization crossed her mind-the label on her gown. Rū by Iva x Agnivanshi.
"You're looking stunning," Iva smirked, her voice rich with amusement. "No wonder people can't stop staring at you."
Heat crept into Adhrita's cheeks. She lowered her gaze for a moment, whispering, "Thank you... for this."
Vritant, who until now had only watched the exchange in silence, suddenly straightened. "You two talk. I'll be back in a while." He left without so much as an introduction, swallowed up by the crowd.
Adhrita blinked, stunned for a second. He didn't even introduce me...
Iva, however, smiled knowingly, as if she'd noticed the omission too. "Men like him assume the world already knows who their wives are," she said lightly, though her eyes sparkled with something sharper.
"Let's sit," Iva said, and Adhrita eased into the chair beside her. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap until Iva's gaze caught them.
"Are you nervous?" she asked gently.
Adhrita quickly shook her head.
Iva tilted her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "Okay then-are you my husband's long-lost sister?"
Adhrita blinked, baffled. "What?"
Iva laughed softly, waving her hand. "Relax. You're behaving exactly like him. He's just as uneasy in large crowds." She passed a glass of whiskey to Adhrita, but she shook her head. Iva smiled, realizing Adhrita didn't drink.
"You're... married?" Adhrita asked, surprised.
"Yep. Moved from Paris to Mumbai because of him," Iva said proudly. Then, as though remembering her manners, she leaned in. "Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Ivikaa Agnivanshi-also known as Ivikaa Viren Ambani."
Adhrita's eyes widened. "You're the daughter of the Education Minister."
"Correct," Iva nodded with a graceful smile. "And a fashion designer. Your husband's good friend."
Adhrita whispered almost to herself, "He never mentioned you."
Iva's smirk deepened, her finger tracing the rim of her glass. "If I weren't important, do you think he'd leave you alone with me? And without an introduction?"
Adhrita lowered her gaze. "Sorry, I'm just not..."
"...Good with people?" Iva finished for her. "Told you-long-lost sister of my husband." She leaned back, her eyes gleaming. "By the way, you looked stunning in your wedding dupatta."
Adhrita's head lifted in surprise. "You designed it?"
Iva's smile widened. "That idiot called me, so I had to.
And it turned out better than he deserved.
" She chuckled, then leaned in conspiratorially.
"Your relationship and wedding were all over the news for a long time, so I know more than enough about you.
But now I have a question for you-how do you tolerate him? "
Adhrita blinked, then broke into an incredulous smile. "By pretending I'm not tolerating him."
Both women laughed, the sound easing the last of Adhrita's stiffness. For the first time in the evening, she felt at ease-not because the crowd had changed, but because she'd found someone who understood exactly what it meant to live with a man like Vritant.
??? V ? A ???
Vritant slipped into the private area and moved straight for the man everyone else kept a respectful distance from. Abhijeet Bapat looked up, startled-he hadn't expected Vardhan Vritant at his birthday party.
"Vritant Vardhan?" the CM managed.
Abhijeet stepped forward and offered a hand. "Vritant Vardhan-please, come." He shepherded him into a small room, blinking at his own good fortune. PM's son himself... the guest list writes itself tonight.
Vritant sat. Rawat hovered behind him, clutching a small wrapped box like a prop. Abhijeet's smile was brittle, pleased to the point of disbelief.
"Kyun nahi? Vritant apne mama ke ghar toh aa hi sakta hai na. Mumbai ka bhanja hoon main, hai na CM-saab?" Vritant said lightly-sarcasm precise as ever.
(Why not? Vritant can always visit his uncle's house, can't he? I am Mumbai's nephew after all, right, Mr. Chief Minister?)
"Kyun nahi, beta," Abhijeet babbled in relief. "Aur aap toh PM sahiba ke bete-CM saab ke jamai hain... Samarjeet bhau ke bhanje-beshak, aap toh aa sakte hain." He beamed.
(Of course, beta," Abhijeet babbled in relief. "And you're the Prime Minister's son... the Chief Minister's son-in-law... Samarjeet-bhau's nephew-of course you can come." He beamed.)
"For sure. Happy birthday and have a blast, CM-saab." Vritant gestured to Rawat.
Rawat handed over the box. Abhijeet hesitated-this was getting oddly theatrical-but obliged.
"This?" Abhijeet blinked, baffled. First Vritant's presence - then a gift? He knew this visit wasn't merely a social call.
Vritant unwrapped a smile and said, theatrically, "This is a bomb. It will blast and your life will be - BOOM." He punctuated the word with a small, casual chuckle.
A bead of sweat appeared on Abhijeet's temple.
"Arre Rawat, tumhare manners kahan hain? Humne birthday song toh gaya bhi nahi - open your gift, CM saab," Vritant continued, voice light as if urging someone to cut a cake.
(Arre, Rawat, where are your manners? We haven't even sung the birthday song-open your gift, Mr. Chief Minister.)
Vritant cocked his head and, with mock cheerfulness, began singing off-key:
"Baar-baar yeh din aaye... baar-baar yeh dil gaaye... CM Jiye hazaro saal... hai meri yeh aarzoo..." The absurdity of the song sat on Abhijeet's shoulders like a warning.
(May this day come again and again... may this heart keep singing again and again... May the Chief Minister live for a thousand years... that's my only wish.)
Reluctantly, hands trembling, Abhijeet opened the box.
Inside were files and photographs, neatly stacked. His grin faltered. He frowned, rifled through them, sweat appearing at his temples.
Vritant smiled-no warmth. "Not the explosive kind.
The kind that detonates reputations." He tapped the photos.
"Culprit of the Delhi riots. Look closer.
" His voice dropped into that cinematic register people remembered from news reels.
"Culprit's name: Abhijeet Bapat, Chief Minister of Maharashtra. "
Abhijeet's hands trembled as he scanned the pages. "This is fabricated. This is impossible-someone has forged-"
Vritant already knew Abhijeet wasn't the mastermind. Every word, every gesture was calculated - he had manipulated the CM into believing the online trail pointed to him, while the real story remained hidden.
"Maybe." Vritant let the word hang. "Or maybe your fingerprints are just where the cameras don't expect them. Either way, you do understand the implication." He stood, moving with the slow certainty of a man who knows he controls the room.
Abhijeet looked up, sweating.
"Say the same thing in front of the Prime Minister," Vritant said, deadpan. "Or I can have my message delivered. We're... practically relatives-my wife's mother-in-law, remember? And our pigeons are cooperative too."
Abhijeet set the box down as if it burned. "You've got it wrong," he said firmly, though the slight tremor in his hand betrayed his nerves. "I'm not involved. I've never touched any of this."
Vritant slid back into his chair and leaned on the table, palms flat. A slow smile tugged at his lips.
"Birthday boy ko toh gift dena hi padta hai, CM saab..." His eyes narrowed, voice dropping into a taunt. "Ab baat karte hain return gift ki."
("The birthday boy has to get a gift, Mr. CM..." His eyes narrowed, voice dipping into a taunt. "Now let's talk about the return gift.")
He flicked a folder toward Rawat, who placed it neatly in front of Abhijeet.
Abhijeet's eyes skimmed the agreement. He paled as he read.
"You want to hand over the Mumbai ports and give sea-control to me. You'll be a CM in name only-no paperwork signed without my nod. All decisions taken by this Mumbai's nephew," Vritant said, thumb nodding toward himself with a casual arrogance that tasted like a threat.
"Samarjeet bhau-" Abhijeet began, voice tighter.
(Bhau as in brother)
"My mama ji? Well, he's family. This party is run by him, and now guess what? Vritant Vardhan is here for a summer vacation at his mama's house," Vritant said, his tone light, almost teasing.
The words hit. Abhijeet's eyes widened for a fraction, realizing that Vritant hadn't come empty-handed. The implication was clear. He simply nodded. Deal done.
Vritant rose, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Then, without a hint of hesitation, he began to sing, low and confident:
"Chingaaree koee bhadake, to saawan use buzaaye, Vritant jo agan lagaaye, use kaun buzaaye?"
(If a spark flares, the monsoon rains can put it out. But if Vritant sets the fire... who can extinguish it?)
The lyrics hung in the air, a warning and a statement, perfectly in tune with his persona - untouchable, untamed, and in complete control.
??? V ? A ???
Vritant saw Iva and Adhrita chatting with Shweta bua, Saanvi, and Aryan.
"Well, we should leave," he said.
"No, you're coming home," Shweta bua insisted.
"Sorry, bua ji. I have a night shoot, so won't be able to join you today."
"You liar! You're not even an actor," she accused.
"Thank God you remember, bua ji," Vritant said, draping a hand around Adhrita. "I'm a businessman... a bit busy tonight."
(bua as in paternal aunt)
Iva stepped back. "I'm leaving too."
Shweta wanted to argue, but she knew better than to cross him.
Vritant slid a hand behind Iva and guided both ladies out of the venue with effortless control.
"So, Mr. and Mrs. Vardhan are staying at the Taj?" Iva asked as soon as they were outside.
"Iva, I was about to-"
"Why do you think I came to this party?" she cut him off, stern and precise. She pointed at him and then at Adhrita. "Both of you are coming with me."
Vritant nodded once, Adhrita hesitated, then followed his lead.
"She is scary," Adhrita whispered, half-amused, half-nervous.
"Iva, you're scaring my wife," Vritant said loudly, drawing an embarrassed glance from Adhrita.
"Don't worry," Iva said, smirking. "I know this sarcastic idiot well enough. Come on."
At that moment, the car pulled up. Vritant pulled out his phone and texted Rawat, already planning the next move.
??? V ? A ???
Adhrita gazed at Agnivanshi Palace, awestruck by its grandeur. It was conveniently close to their hotel.
"This is so beautiful," she whispered to Iva.
"Come inside," Iva welcomed her warmly, and Vritant followed silently, hands in his pockets.
Once inside, Adhrita was led to the living room and sank into the royal sofa, taking in the opulent surroundings.
Just then, Adwait appeared.
"Here, meet my husband, Adwait Agnivanshi," Iva introduced.
"Adwait, meet Vritant Vardhan and his wife, Dr. Adhrita Vardhan," she continued.
Adwait approached slowly, shaking Vritant's hand firmly and offering a small, polite smile to Adhrita. She returned it in kind, curious but at ease.
"Remember I told you about my friend? PM's son? He is..." Iva began, but Adwait simply nodded, already aware.
Martin appeared next with glasses of water.
"Please meet Martin, my sautan," Iva added casually. Adhrita let out a low chuckle at the playful introduction.
"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Vardhan," Martin greeted them before leaving.
"Adwait can be a bit... introverted," Iva explained.
"I'm sure you're enough," Vritant smirked at her, making Adhrita laugh softly.
"Don't make me mad," Iva warned.
"I should be mad. You didn't attend my wedding. Oh yes, someone was sulking in Paris," he said, dripping sarcasm.
"Don't go there!" Iva threw a pillow at him, then leaned slightly on Adwait. "He is married to me, just so you know."
"Adhrita, please make yourself at home," Iva said, and Adhrita nodded, relaxing further.
"Well, I got something for you," Vritant announced, and just then Rawat entered carrying a bag.
"What?" Iva asked, intrigued.
"My wedding album," he said, smirking. "I knew you'd be dying to see the unseen pictures."
Iva jumped up eagerly, but Adwait stepped forward. "I'll take it," he said, collecting the albums. Together, he and Vritant carried them to the table.
"Come, Adhrita," Iva called, guiding her toward the guest room. Vritant and Adwait followed.
They set the albums down on the table.
"I need to change," Vritant said, heading toward the room.
"Adwait, please help," Iva called, and he nodded immediately.
"And listen, Adwait and Vritant," Iva shouted, grinning, "don't come too soon! After changing, we'll be having girls' time - exploring every single picture!"
Everyone laughed, the atmosphere light, teasing, and effortlessly warm.
??? V ? A ???
Adwait and Vritant stepped out of the guest rooms and exhaled in unison.
"Your wife," Vritant said, nodding toward Adwait.
"Just like you," Adwait replied with a faint smirk, disappearing into another guest room.
Vritant changed quickly and joined Adwait, walking together to the kitchen.
"Tea?" Vritant asked, noticing Adwait pull out a beer can. He took it and set it on the counter. Adwait began fetching milk, and Vritant grabbed the jug.
He switched on the stove and started preparing tea, methodical, calm.
"Sugar?" Vritant asked.
"Same," Adwait replied, pulling out mugs and a tray.
"I have control of Mumbai ports," Vritant said casually, almost as if reading the morning paper, while arranging the tray.
Adwait raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to do this? You seem more focused on it than your business. The moment Shaurya uncle finds out-"
"He won't know," Vritant said confidently, "and I'm taking care of my business too, so no suspicion."
The tea was ready. Vritant poured a steaming cup into a mug and handed it to Adwait.
Adwait took a sip, then a slow smile appeared. "Still the same," he said, a hint of approval in his tone.
Vritant leaned against the counter, watching him. "Of course," he murmured, deadpan. "Some things never change. Unlike Mumbai."
??? V ? A ???
It was late at night. Iva had gone to her room, and Vritant had stepped into the guest room, only to find Adhrita carefully putting all the albums away.
"Are you comfortable?" Vritant asked, his voice low.
"Yeah... she's so friendly," Adhrita smiled, holding the picture of their wedding - the moment he had placed the mangalsutra around her neck.
"She is..." he murmured, sliding onto the bed beside her.
"You know, everyone was staring at me at the party," she said, moving closer. Vritant studied her for a long moment, eyes sharp and unreadable.
He got up, rummaged through her bag, and pulled out the mangalsutra. Coming back, he clasped it around her neck with deliberate care.
"You want to prove I'm yours?" she asked, tossing his own words back at him with a sarcastic edge. Her fingers unclasped the mangalsutra, and she set it carelessly on the side table.
"Are you sure you're comfortable here? Iva can be a bit..." he said, clearly trying to steer the conversation away.
"She's so strong and confident," Adhrita murmured as she stretched out on the bed. "I mean, she started her own fashion house and took it to the next level. People might know her as the Education Minister's daughter, but really... she's known for her work."
"What's going on in that head of yours?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"You're comparing yourself to her, aren't you?" he pressed.
She stayed quiet. He shifted closer.
"Ace," he called softly, but she wouldn't look at him.
"You never tell me what's in your mind," she said, her voice low. "So why should I tell you mine?"
He caught her hand and nipped at her finger. She gasped, yanking it back.
"Going to share now?" he teased. She shook her head.
He trapped her palm next, biting just enough to make her laugh and squirm.
"Still no?"
"I said I won't," she retorted, trying to slip away.
In one swift move, he was over her, pressing a quick bite to her cheek. She squealed, pushing at his shoulders.
"Still no?" he grinned.
"Still no," she shot back.
His lips brushed lower, grazing her collarbone, his hand slipping over her waist to rest against her stomach. His voice softened, almost a whisper.
"Still no?"
Her breath caught. She closed her eyes as his fingertips traced idle circles, his mouth finding the tiny moles along her neck. Her arms flew around him without thought.
He rubbed his nose along her neckline, kissed the curve just beneath her ear. She clung to him-one hand around his neck, the other tangled in his hair. Their feet tangled too.
"Aah... got it," he whispered, brushing another kiss behind her ear.
"Please..." The word escaped her before she could stop it.
"Please what, jaan?" he murmured, moving to her other ear, planting more kisses until she trembled. Then he drew back just enough to meet her eyes.
Her lashes fluttered, her lips parted. He kissed her cheek lightly, then hovered, his breath warm against her mouth.
"Still no?" he asked again.
She gave the tiniest nod.
And then he closed the distance, claiming her lips.
Was he asking her to share her thoughts... or just herself?
His mouth found hers, not gently this time but with a hunger that made her gasp against his lips. He caught that breath, swallowed it, and kissed her deeper. His hand slid up her waist, pulling her flush against him as though he couldn't stand a sliver of space between them.
She clutched at his hair, tugging him closer, matching his urgency. The teasing bites from before melted into something fiercer, their lips colliding again and again, parting only so he could taste her, draw her bottom lip between his teeth.
A soft moan escaped her throat, and it sent a shiver through him. He angled his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing hers-slow at first, then demanding, coaxing her into a rhythm that left her dizzy.
Her fingers gripped his shoulders, then slid down his back, holding on as if she might fall. He kissed her like he wanted to memorize every curve of her mouth, like letting go would be unthinkable.
When he finally pulled back for breath, his forehead rested against hers, both of them gasping, their lips still tingling from the fire of it.
"You drive me mad, Ace," he whispered, before crashing his lips back onto hers again, more desperate than before.
"You're making me feel like I mean something to you," she whispered, placing her palm on his cheek.
"You think you don't?" he asked, the softness in his eyes fading.
She looked away. He caught her chin, gently turning her face back to his.
"We were forced into this. If it hadn't been... would you have liked me?" she asked.
"I should be asking that, Ace," he said quietly.
"If it wasn't forced, would you have married me?
Would you have even looked at me? You tell me, jaan-if we weren't bound by a promise, would you have chosen a man who lost himself long ago?
A man doomed, waiting on the platform for the train of death to take him away.
A man who doesn't speak to his family, has no purpose, a gambler, a racer, running his father's business on autopilot.
Oh yes-and on top of it all, an alcoholic and a sarcastic mess.
"Look at you. No scandal. A well-known surgeon. Raised in the U.S. Independent. High morals. And yet here you are. I never knew you overthink like this."
He lay down beside her, staring at the ceiling.
"I understand your insecurities," he said. "Aur maine koi mahan pati wala kaam bhi nahi kiya jo tumhe secure feel kara sakta. But at the end of the day, one thing I know-you're my wife."
(And I haven't done anything remotely husband-like that could make you feel secure.)
"You know why I chose you?" she asked softly. He shook his head.
"You didn't sell me dreams. You held my hand and I felt safe. You took me in your arms and I felt all my scattered pieces coming back together. You kissed me and I felt..."
"You felt what?" he asked.
"I don't know. You confuse me, Vritant. One moment I feel I'm starting to know you, and the next moment you're a stranger. You never share anything with me. I don't know what you think about us. We're getting close physically, but I don't know if..."
"If it's just physical attraction? Sexual tension?" he asked.
She stayed silent.
He pulled her onto his chest, holding her there.
"Ek baat puchhu aapse?" he asked, his tone unlike anything she'd ever heard. This wasn't Vritant; it was someone else entirely.
She looked at him and nodded.
"Would you accept me if I don't share one part of me?" he asked.
She waited for him to continue.
"I can't share all of me. But now, I'm ready to share my half. Because the other half died with my brother. I can't give you that. The ashes of that part of me... they're mine to keep."
"Vritant, I never said I wouldn't accept you. I've never forced you for anything," she whispered.
"Would you accept your husband as he is now?" he asked.
"If I hadn't," she replied, "I wouldn't have married you blindly. I'm not stupid, Vritant. I knew marriage isn't just mangalsutra and vermillion. I knew it would mean all of this - even the physical part."
Her words lingered in the quiet, filling the space between them with something heavier than silence. He stared at her, and for the first time, there was no sarcasm in his eyes, no mask to hide behind-only rawness.
"Adhrita..." he whispered, almost like he was afraid the sound of her name might break the spell.
She looked at him, her palm still resting on his chest, feeling the rapid beat beneath. And in that second, her doubts softened. She lifted her hand, brushing her thumb against his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed at her touch, as if it was the only anchor he had left.
Without another word, he leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that wasn't tentative or playful, but desperate-hungry, as though he needed to prove every unspoken word.
She gasped into him, and he deepened it, his fingers sliding to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, unwilling to let her drift away.
Her lips parted, welcoming him, and the kiss grew fiercer, each movement tugging them deeper into a storm neither wanted to escape. She clung to him, fingers fisting in his shirt, his hair, pulling him down with her as though the world beyond this bed no longer mattered.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, his forehead rested against hers.
"You drive me insane, Ace," he murmured, his voice ragged.
"And you..." she whispered, her lips brushing his, "...you make me forget everything else."
His mouth crashed onto hers again, sealing the truth neither of them dared to say out loud.
She felt him undo the first button of her shirt; his palm slid over her warm skin, his other hand finding the small of her back, stroking slow circles. His thumb brushed the edge of her innerwear, teasing but never crossing the line.
He broke the kiss, and she opened her eyes slowly. There was something in his gaze she couldn't name - something heavy, searching.
"Does my touch make you feel it's only physical attraction?" he murmured, his hand gliding from her neck down to her waist, resting just above her navel, caressing softly.
"Does it feel like just... tension?" he asked again. He gently rolled her onto her side, sliding her shirt up a little and pressing a kiss to her back.
"Physical attraction?" he whispered. She shook her head. He eased her shirt a little higher and kissed the curve of her spine. She closed her eyes, shivering as his lips traced slow paths across her skin.
She felt his lips linger against the fabric of her innerwear. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unclasped it, his breath warm against her skin, and pressed a soft kiss there. A shiver escaped her throat, turning into a quiet moan she couldn't hold back.
His fingers and his mouth moved with a tenderness that sent her floating somewhere she'd never been.
He leaned close, his breath warm at her ear.
"If it was physical attraction Ace, I would have claimed you the very first night. If it was only desire, you wouldn't even have had the chance to ask. The moment I laid my hands on you, I would have taken you."
A tear of relief slipped from her eye, and a small smile bloomed on her lips. She turned, pecking his mouth softly. "Thank you," she whispered, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He held her tightly, his hands resting against her back, caging her to him - not to possess, but to hold. She planted a gentle kiss on his neck and his hands found the loosened straps, clasping them firmly. His touch lingered at the edge of her shirt, but there was only tenderness in it now.
"I should be thanking you for wearing my favorite color," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. Her mouth fell open in surprise.
He laughed softly, and she buried her face in the warmth of his neck, hiding her smile.
??? V ? A ???
At midnight, his eyes opened to find her sleeping peacefully in his arms. Gently, he moved her aside, placed a pillow so she could hug it, and quietly took his phone. Stepping out onto the balcony, He took out his phone and dialed a number.
"I've sent a few pictures," he said, eyes glinting with amusement. "I want them on every news channel by 10 AM. Headline: Vritant Vardhan steps into politics."
"A reliable source reported, 'Vritant Vardhan attended CM Abhijeet Bapat's birthday party last night and met several ministers.
Vardhan, who has already begun working quietly as a party member, is expected to take on a more prominent role soon, signaling a significant shift in the political landscape. '"
"But this isn't true," the other person protested.
He chuckled softly, voice dripping with amusement. "Ah, truth... you know how unreliable it is. News loves a good lie wrapped in a suit of facts. Consider this the new truth-for the media, for the country... and for anyone with eyes to see."
He didn't wait for anyone to argue. That was the beauty of it-decisions made, orders given, consequences inevitable. Leaning against the balcony railing, a slow, devilish smirk curved his lips. The game had just begun, and everyone else was already a step behind.
He turned and walked back to the bed, gently taking the pillow away and wrapping her arms around him.
"I always bluff, always speak in sarcasm," he murmured, his lips brushing her hair. "I know it confuses you... but trust me, jaan, this time the flame is drawn to the moth."
He planted a soft kiss on her forehead, letting the warmth linger. He thought -
A quiet night, a few confessions, a little chaos... and somehow, I still managed to look irresistible.
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