Page 2 of Mrs. Rathore

“I will be really grateful,” he hissed, “if you stay the hell away from my sister.”

His jaw clenched as he ran a hand through his hair, his anger barely contained.

“And stop pretending to be some kind of goddess,” he sneered. “I know exactly what kind of woman you are.”

His words sliced through me but I didn’t flinch. I met his gaze, unshaken.

“I am not pretending, Mr. Soldier,” I whispered, my voice steady, “but I promise you, I’ll pretend so well, I’ll become your worst nightmare.”

His expression shifted. His lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Oh really?” he murmured. “Are you going to haunt me now, Mrs. Ballerina?”

I rolled my eyes, even as my cheeks flushed. But he didn’t move away.

Instead, he placed both hands on either side of my wheelchair, caging me in.

His scent overwhelmed me. It was spicy and minty.

“Stop playing the victim,” he said, his voice low, almost intimate. “Start acting like a wife.”

My breath caught.

He leaned closer, just a hair away, his mouth hovering near mine. His breath warmed my cheek. His eyes flicked to my lips, and in them I saw something.

Not hate.

Not contempt.

Something else. Something I wasn’t ready to name.

My throat tightened. One more breath. One more inch and we would’ve crossed a line.

No.

I looked away, breath shaky. He still didn’t move.

Then, slowly, he straightened, ran a hand through his hair, and walked to the door.

He didn’t look back.

But he didn’t need to.

The scent of his cologne still lingered in the room. So did the storm he left behind.

_______

Chapter 1

ARYAN

“One more, please,” Ira said, her voice playful yet sweet. Her wide, pleading eyes locked with mine, those puppy like eyes that had always been my undoing and I felt my resistance crumble like sand beneath a wave.

Damn. She was beautiful.

Not just in the way her dusky skin shimmered under the golden lights of the club, or how her black curls framed her flushed face perfectly, but in the way she looked at me like I was her entire world. We were just two days away from becoming husband and wife. Mrs. Ira Rathore. It already sounded too good to be true. My fiancée. Soon, my wife and my forever.

“You forget our discipline, Ira,” I said, raising a brow with mock sternness. “What were we taught in our army training?”