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She was here, because tonight, she had seen something else behind all of Shaurya’s anger. A crack in his armour. A vulnerability. And for the first time, she didn’t want to walk away from it.

What scared her more was admittingwhy.

Because somewhere between their silent stares across their adjoining gardens and the firecracker fights over fallen leaves and fruits, something else had crept in—affection.

Yes, even if it sounded silly and ridiculous.

A feeling she hadn’t been ready to name until now. A strange, quiet ache for this man who always looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders but never asked anyone for help. For this grumpy, guarded man who drowned himself in work and isolation as if that was the only way he knew to survive.

Despite everything, she felt for him.

Even when he was utterly infuriating.

Even when his words made her want to throw gardening tools at his head.

She had caught herself thinking about him in ways she shouldn’t—wondering if he ever laughed or if anyone had truly cared for him the way he deserved to be loved and cared for.

And the way her body reacted to him whenever they argued, whenever they clashed, whenever the tension between them practically hummed in the air? That was a whole other conversation she wasn’t ready to unpack.

All she knew was that she couldn’t walk away from this tonight and pretend she hadn’t seen his pain. Or pretend that she didn’t feel something when she looked at him. Even if she was never going to tell him that.

With that quiet confession burning in her chest, Nandini stepped further into the villa, the silence around her mirroring the storm within her.

“Shaurya?” she called softly, stepping in.

No answer.

She glanced around. The place was eerily quiet. Her heels softened over the polished marble as she made her way past the living room and into the dining area.

And there it was, sitting like a trophy at the centre of the table—the brass cake stand. The same one that had sparked yet another petty battle between Shaurya and her grandpa just a few days ago.

She couldn’t help herself; she walked up to it, her fingers brushing lightly over the intricate etched base of the cake stand. Of course, he’d put it on display like some kind of a trophy. So very Shaurya.

But where was he?

Her eyes swept across the room, searching the dimly lit corners. Maybe he was cooling off in the bathroom after that explosive face-off. Or possibly sprawled somewhere, though she doubted a man like him actually rested—he didn’t seem the type. Was he in his home gym again, doing pushups like thatunforgettable Christmas night? Or worse… was he not even home at all?

And just when she was thinking, the lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely, plunging the entire villa into darkness.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, startled. The power outage must’ve hit all of Serene Meadows. As her eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, she spotted a few white candles left unlit on the table. Without thinking twice, she tried to reach for them. The only issue? They were far across the table, out of her reach.

Swallowing her nerves, she perched herself onto the edge of the table and leaned forward. She was about to extend her arm to grab the candles when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing in the silence. The front door creaked open once again, and her heart leapt to her throat.

She froze.

She didn’t need to see him to know who it was. The scent of his cologne reached her before he did. A sharp, woodsy note tinged with something darker. Like leather and storm and every infuriating thing about Shaurya Ahuja.

Great! So, he wasn’t home.

Fantastic. Just bloody fantastic.

If he walked in now and found her sitting inside his home like a nosy burglar in red chiffon, he’d definitely think she’d broken in.

Perfect.

Just the kind of impression she’d always wanted to make on a man she barely tolerated but couldn’t stop thinking about.

She knew he would explode the moment he saw her. She panicked silently, her legs glued to the table, her hands clutching the sides of her red dress like it was a parachute and she was about to jump out of a crashing plane.