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They say when two bodies ache for each other, the mind and its carefully constructed walls become meaningless. Both Simran and I had experienced that firsthand that very night.

I had lain awake last night in the guest room, haunted by the warmth of Simran’s body against mine. I had longed to stay, to hold her and Veer through the night, to savour the intimacy I knew I would soon be claiming as my right. But the weight of her deception, of the years she had kept my son from me, had been a simmering pain that refused to subside, even in the face of my baser needs.

It had taken every ounce of my self-control to let them be, to walk away and return to the solitude of the guest room. But now the question lingers: for how long? After two weeks, when she becomes my wife, we will share a bed again. And then, how will I resist her? How will I contain the inferno that rages within me, the hunger for the only woman who has hurt me so deeply, and is also the reason our son has been denied the right to bear his father’s name?

“You gave permission for Simran to go to her boutique today?” The sound of Abhay’s uncertain voice breaks me from my reverie.

“No, I didn’t,” I respond, frowning.

“Well, she’s ready to leave, waiting for me to escort her.”

I clench my jaw, wondering what is Simran up to now. Putting down my mug, I make my way to her apartment, determined to put a stop to this attempt at defiance.

But the moment I see her in the living room, my breath falters. She’s dressed in a fitted navy sheath dress that hugs her curves elegantly, the fabric skimming her waist and hips before falling to a modest knee-length. A delicate gold chain rests against her collarbone, catching the light with every movement she makes, and her heels add a subtle authority to her presence.

For a heartbeat, I forget why I’m here, my eyes tracing the delicate lines of her figure and the soft curves that have haunted me endlessly.

Simran is well aware of my gaze, the way it lingers on her, and I can see the conflicting emotions in her eyes—a spark of defiance, yes, but also a flicker of something deeper, something that calls to the very core of me. She knows the effect she has on me, and I know that she’s trying desperately to remain unaffected.

Simran stops in front of me, folding her arms in a challenging way.

“Are you done admiring me?” she asks, her eyes glinting with that familiar defiance. “Because I really have to get going for work today.”

I come back to my senses, ready to argue, but she interrupts me, pressing on before I get a word out.

“I know you want me to be safe. And I appreciate that; I really do. But I completely forgot about this interview I have today. It’s with one of the top fashion channels, and my important client, Peter, has arranged it for me. Cancelling now could damage both my reputation and his, and I’ve worked too hard to let that happen. So, send whoever you want for my security, but I have to be there, Vishnu. Please.”

The word‘please’from her lips disarms me more than I’m ready to admit. It’s rare for Simran to submit like this. For the first time, I feel the urge to let her go, to trust her instincts, but my gut still tightens with worry. Just as I’m about to reply, Abhay walks in, waiting for my signal.

I glance at Abhay and give him a quick nod, but what comes out of my mouth next surprises even me.

“Abhay, stay here and look after Veer,” I command, turning back to Simran. “I’m taking you myself.”

She blinks in shock, her eyes wide with disbelief as if she couldn’t possibly have heard me correctly.

“You… you’re coming with me?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not speaking in some foreign language here,” I say, unable to resist a smirk. “I said, let’s go—unless you are waiting for me to change my decision about letting you go to work today.”

She rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath about how I can’t ever give a straight answer. But despite that, she quickly grabs her bag and heads for the door. I follow her out with every protective instinct on high alert.

****************

Simran’s Boutique – A Few Hours Later

I stand in Simran’s boutique, my eyes fixed on her as she interacts with her client, Peter, in her cabin. The glass walls provide a clear view of their interaction, of what’s happening inside, and something about Peter sets my teeth on edge—the way he leans in too close, his overly friendly smile, and the way his eyes linger on her for a fraction too long. I know Simran is warm and friendly, but he’s practically eating up her every word, and it doesn’t sit well with me.

The thought of another man eyingmywoman so intently stirs something raw and primal within me. I’ve dealt with countless situations in my life, but this is different—this feeling of possessiveness coursing through my veins is all-consuming.

Julie, her assistant, offers me a cup of coffee, but I wave her off, needing to move, to do something to get rid of this restless energy. I move toward the coffee machine and brew myself a strong cup, all while keeping them in my peripheral vision. The coffee is scalding, but it’s nothing compared to the simmering anger rising in my chest as I watch Peter reach for Simran’s hand, holding it far longer than any professional interaction warrants.

Before I even realise what I’m doing, I’ve downed the hot coffee in a single gulp and am striding towards her cabin. The door swings open under my hand with more force than necessary, making both of them jump. They look up, startled, but I keep my expression calm, even though the sight of their joined hands nearly wants me to wring the idiot’s neck.

Without hesitation, I slide my arm around Simran’s waist, pulling her firmly against my side. The instant contact sends bolts of electricity coursing through my body, and I feel her take an uneven breath. Her scent—a mix of jasmine and something uniquely her—fills my senses, making my head spin.

I meet Simran’s startled gaze and notice the flush creeping up her neck.

“Won’t you introduce us?” I ask, keeping my voice deceptively calm despite the storm raging inside me.