Page 66 of ARIDHI: His Never-Ending Desire

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The house was calm at night.

Ruvit slept while wrapping his arms around me, his chest pressed against my back—all the warmth I needed.

My phone was balanced beside me, my mind too tangled to let me sleep.

My thumb hovered over the message app. I’d read the same headlines over and over, watched the same footage on loop until I could recite every apology word by word.

The fact that someone might be watching me, keeping tracks on my every move, sent chills in my bones.

But who would force a billion dollar company to apologise publicly, in favour of me?

My phone vibrated once, enough to make me gulp. Because who the hell is messaging me at 2:05 AM?

When I checked my phone, a message from an unknown number lingered on the screen.

“Did you really think they apologised on their own?”

My eyes widened, heart pounding.

The text blinked back at me, pale letters against the dark screen.

“I know you must have figured out that someone forced it, you are smart.”

My fingers trembled against the keyboard when another message popped up.

“No one hurts what’s mine.”

I didn’t breathe.

The phone was steady in my hand, but my pulse was a frantic staccato beneath my skin.

A shiver ran through me as I remembered that single unknown message during Ridhima’s wedding rituals and my engagement.

I’d never forgotten that feeling.

Tonight, it returned.

It was the same cold certainty I’d felt that night—the way a shadow can stretch across the brightest room.

The way a single line of text can slip through your defenses like a knife.

I closed my eyes.

And for a heartbeat, I could almost hear him/her?

The calm voice behind the message.

The quiet promise in the threat.

The certainty that this wasn’t over.

?

The message is sent.

And I know she’s reading it.

Feeling me.

I’ve never needed her to know my name. I’ve only needed her to know I’m always here.

Watching. Listening. Observing.

I can almost see her—laid down in bed, phone in hand, that perfect line of her shoulders gone stiff with alarm.

I know that flicker in her eyes better than she thinks. The silent calculations, the quiet dread.

She’s always been good at holding her ground. But I’m better at erasing it.

I leaned back in my chair, phone resting on the table. The apartment around me is silent—just the low hum of the city outside and the steady beat of my own pulse.

I watched her this morning, watched the apology unfurl on live TV like a half-sincere confession.

Watched her eyes—narrowed, thoughtful, already trying to piece it together. She’ll never piece me together.

Because this isn’t about them. It’s about her.

And that Ruvit doesn’t see it the way I do. He doesn’t understand what it means to crave her strength like an addiction.

But I do. I always have.

They think they’ve tied up loose ends. That an apology fixes what’s broken.

They’re wrong.

I didn’t do this for an apology. I did it because no one else should have the power to scare her. No one but me.

She should know who’s in control of this story. Who’s been pulling the strings since long before she even started her career.

I will give her time.

She’ll come to me in pieces. Curious. Cautious. Desperate to understand.

And I will be there.

To catch her. To remind her that no matter what he promises her in the light, I will always be waiting in the dark.

?

When Ruvit told me that we needed to get him clothes, I thought he meant it as a practical statement.

But he, of course, interpreted it as a romantic date.

“Are we going to shop for me,” He asked as we moved through the mall, “Or are you going to pick things and insult my taste while pretending to do me a favor?”

“Same thing.”

He smirked, “You just like having an excuse to undress me in public spaces.”

I rolled my eyes at his audacity.

The mall was quiet for once—weekday morning, half the shops still opening.

It was a blessing in disguise. Fewer eyes. Fewer distractions. No media and its questions. And more us.

I didn’t tell him about those messages from last night. Yet. I love him, yes, but my stubbornness will never let me depend completely on him.

I will tell him when the right time comes—when I completely break down. But right now? I shouldn’t ruin the mood when he is giving efforts to light it up.

We started with basics, shirts, trousers, some casual layers.

He let me pick everything, only raising a brow when I held up a pale pink linen shirt.

“Pink?” He deadpanned.

“I thought it was your favourite colour?” I teased.

“Baby, it's my favourite colour when it's on you.” My cheeks heated, and I know even if he didn’t mean it that way, I couldn’t stop myself thinking about the same.

“You didn’t pack anything decent.” I said, changing the topic.

“I packed essentials.” He casually shrugged.

“One hoodie and cologne are not essentials.”

He leaned closer, voice low, “The hoodie is sentimental. The cologne is for you.”

I raised my eyebrows when he added, “I wasn’t paying attention to what I was packing because of grandma who was talking about rituals and blah blah blah.”

I burst out laughing in the middle of the aisle when the store clerk looked at me with concern.

Composing myself, I just shoved a charcoal shirt at Ruvit’s chest, “Trial room. Go.”

“Yes, madam.” He saluted like a soldier going to war and disappeared behind the curtain.

When he appeared in the charcoal shirt, I eyed him up and down, “Hmm, noixe.”

I hated how effortlessly he wore things. Like they came designed for him.

“What is your opinion on deep maroon?”

“Too dramatic.”

“What about navy blue?”

“Hot.”

“What about me shirtless?”

“Preferable.”

He paused before stepping inside, “Then come with me.”

“To the trial room?”

He leaned closer, “I promise I will give you a good show. Of me. Being shirtless.”

I scoffed, “Get lost.”

He disappeared behind the curtain again, throwing a sly smile in my direction.

Within seconds, I heard rustling, followed by, “Okay, that pink shirt is tight. Like criminal-type-of-tight.”

He poked his head out, hair a little messy from pulling shirts over his head.

I blinked.

He raised a brow, “You still wouldn’t come inside?”

“No,” I said, “It seems fine to me from this angle.”

“Fine?” He repeated, mock offended, “This shirt is sculpting my body. That’s all you have got?”

I rolled my eyes, then casually pushed the curtain aside halfway before he could stop me. He stood straight, giving me space.

Well...the shirt was really criminally tight.

It stretched over his chest in ways that made my knees genuinely consider buckling.

The sleeves hugged his arms, and the collar was one undone button away from scandalous.

I swallowed. Hard.

“Say something.” He encouraged, raising a brow.

I shrugged, ignoring the way my eyes may or may not have dropped to his chest, “The lighting is flattering. Don’t get cocky.”

He stepped closer.

The trial room was small. Too small. His hands found my waist. Mine found his shoulder, his muscles tensed under my touch.

“Let’s buy it.” I whispered.

He smiled, “Why?”

“Because you will never be allowed to wear it outside our room.”

His eyes darkened, “That’s the hottest thing you have ever said to me.”

My breath hitched for half a second before I masked it with a grin, “Now, wae should you have all the fun?”

A cocky smirk appeared on his face, but before he could retort, the curtain suddenly rustled.

“Sir, how is the fit?” The sales guy asked from the other side.

I startled. Ruvit held back a laugh, barely.

“Perfect.” He called out, voice a little strained.

We scrambled apart, and I slipped out of the room before I embarrassed myself further.

By the time we were heading out, he was holding five shopping bags and finishing my smoothie.

“I don’t remember agreeing to share that.” I scoffed, gesturing to the cup in his hand.

“You handed it to me.”

“For one sip.” I rolled my eyes but didn’t ask for it back. But when he forwarded the cup in front of my lips, I took it.

As we walked through the mall, hands brushing, smiles lingering, I realized something.

Even in the middle of chaos, even with fears unspoken and threats unseen, he could still make me laugh as he promised.

He still made me feel like the world could be held together with the sound of his voice and the weight of his hand in mine.

We stepped out of the store, his hand loosely holding mine, laughter still hanging on my lips from whatever ridiculous thing he’d whispered seconds ago.

We were walking side by side, carefree, careless, like nothing in the world could break the rhythm between us.

Until my phone buzzed.

Not a ping. Not a call. A vibration.

The same unknown number.

I slowed my steps instinctively, loosening my hold from his hand.

“Is he that interesting?”

I froze.

Ruvit kept walking for another step before he noticed. He turned back, brows furrowed, “What is it?”

I quickly locked the screen and offered a half-smile, “Just a client.”

I didn’t know why I lied. I just did.

Because something about that message made my stomach twist—not in fear, but in confusion.

It didn’t feel threatening. But it didn’t feel safe either.

I stared down at my reflection in the dark glass window beside me.

Someone out there had just taken credit for the public humiliation of Jayant Group and now, keeping an eye on me.

Is he that interesting?

My eyes drifted to Ruvit, who was waiting one step ahead of me, his eyes fixed on me. I couldn’t help but feel guilty.

Maybe I should tell him about these messages right now? But before that, I am not letting this creep win.

I unlocked my phone and dropped a reply to his text. One word. Four letters.

?

She laughed again.

That same laugh I memorized long before he ever earned the right to hear it.

That smug bastard with one hand on her waist and stealing moments that don’t belong to him?

He doesn’t deserve her. Not the way I do. Not the way I have waited. Watched. Studied.

He saw a woman. I saw a symphony.

And he thinks because he bled a little and ran through some rain, he understands her?

Cute.

But pathetic.

She doesn’t even know what she is being pulled into—who is orchestrating every thread behind her perfect little days.

But this? This little shopping date? This mockery of love in trial rooms?

They think it’s real.

They think they are untouchable.

That’s adorable.

Because when I separate them—and I will—it won’t be loud. It won’t be messy.

It will be surgical.

Precise.

They have escaped my first plan, but not the second, which intends to be my last.

Because when she cries again, she will cry into the arms of the only one who never left her side.

Me.

The one who has always seen her.

The one who has always been hers.

Even when she didn’t know it yet.

I pulled out my phone—using an unknown number that is not capable of tracing—I sent her.

A single message that could show my jealousy.

Then my eyes drifted to her.

She read it.

Did you see that? The way her body stiffened, how her steps faltered. She felt me.

She just doesn’t know it’s me yet. Not yet.

She will. Soon.

When I thought I scared her enough for the day, my screen brightened up with her reply.

I looked up from my phone, only to find them both kissing in a corner.

You messed up, Aridhi.

You messed up.

I wasn’t planning to threaten her right away but she tried to play the devil.

So, I typed another message slowly, each word a carefully chosen weight, which has been my last option.

She might already know that—given that I sent her the crash video that day. My first plan, that failed.

She didn’t check her phone immediately but I saw how her shoulders tensed on the sound of the notification.

Her eyes closed, as if she was praying for something—maybe that the message is not from me, but that’s exactly what it is.

Opening her phone once again, her mouth part in a silent gasp.

She was starting to understand. Finally.

I sent the last line. The beginning of my second plan.

My promise. My ultimatum.

I leaned back, phone cooling in my hand.

I watched the phone light up in her hand from the security feed—small, subtle flickers of panic that most wouldn’t notice.

But I’m not most.

She read the message once, her brows knitting in that perfect way I have seen a thousand times.

A pause. A breath.

Then she read it again.

I imagined her heartbeat—steady at first, then climbing, thrumming in her throat like a trapped thing.

Good.

She needed to know this was real. That no matter how bright her world shone, there were shadows she couldn’t banish.

She should feel me—in every breath, every shiver that crawled up her spine. Every time she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, she’d remember—

I am watching. I am waiting.

And she? She is mine.

And that bastard—Ruvit?

He is standing just steps ahead of her, waiting for her, now. But later, when I separate them, he won’t be even close to what’s mine.

And this time, I won’t fail because I have targeted right.

They thought playing a little act of breakup fooled me? At first, it did. It did make me go easy on them.

But when I saw their engagement in front of the public, I lost my sanity.

And now, they will become the victims of my insanity, till I do them apart.