Page 37 of Entangled Vows (Destined Diaries #2)

Vikram sat in his late father’s office… technically his office now.

He nodded along as Mohit droned on about growth margins and profit curves, pointing at the endless columns of numbers on the laptop.

This morning was supposed to be all about work and sharp focus.

But focus had been missing from his life for the past week.

Honestly, the last time he remembered having it was two months ago when they’d kissed.

He had kissed her to assert control, nothing more.

It was a calculated move meant to remind her who held the upper hand in their tangled arrangement.

What he had not anticipated was how badly it would backfire.

Because the instant his lips touched hers, something inside him shifted.

His usually razor-sharp and detached mind burned with a reckless need to lose himself in her warmth without a second thought.

And not just that, he wanted to do it again and again, only to realise that his body was no longer under his command.

He had kissed before, countless times. But it was always controlled, on his terms. But this… this was different. It was wild and dangerous. And it unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

The interruption by the officer had been a relief. Otherwise, he knew he wouldn’t have stopped with just a kiss.

Now, he avoided being alone with her. Not because of her, but because of himself.

Of what he might do if she were alone with him.

And he had no one to blame but himself. He was the one who had pushed her to sleep in his bed.

He had wanted her there. How else could they pretend to be a real couple in public if they couldn’t even share a bed?

Damn it. It was supposed to be practical and simple. But nothing about it felt simple anymore.

Every night since then, she’d gone to bed as if stepping onto a stage.

She’d deliberately slip into shorts and silk camisoles, items no one in their right mind would consider sleepwear in this cold weather.

She never once complained about the sleeping arrangement or set any boundaries.

She simply showed up, put on her silk pyjamas, rubbed magnesium lotion onto her skin, and went to sleep.

And just to test his control, she would innocently ask if he wanted some lotion too, right after catching him staring at her with obvious hunger.

Of course, he had said no. Grunted, actually. Then, he’d rolled onto his side, because facing a wall was better than staring at her. He had promised himself one thing. He would not touch her until she wanted him to, and he had no intention of breaking that promise.

But honouring it required focus, restraint, and the patience of a man entering sainthood… qualities which he clearly lacked.

She knew exactly what she was doing. And he knew she knew. And she knew that he knew she knew. But they both still kept on pretending otherwise. The game was subtle, irritatingly so.

Out in the world… at work, in meetings, around others, they acted as if nothing had changed. As if they weren’t spending their nights lying barely half a foot apart, pretending not to notice every shift, every breath, and every second of charged silence between them.

But Vikram could sense things were changing. Even for her.

He saw it in the way she sometimes froze when their shoulders brushed…

in the way her breath hitched when he leaned over her desk.

And most of all, in the way her eyes flicked to his mouth far too often for it to be a coincidence.

But of course, she would never admit it. That would make things too easy.

This morning, he had submitted Mahika’s leave request. Technically, he had forged it.

It was petty, yes, but also so satisfying.

He’d gone further too. Booked her a full spa day and even sent her a gift.

He knew it would irk her, get under her skin.

That was his goal: to irritate her enough to break that calm facade and make her finally lose control.

After all, she had spent weeks testing his patience in those barely-there negligees, acting cool and unaffected while stealing every bit of his focus.

Call it revenge or a power move, but deep down, he knew the truth.

Vikram had overheard her team whispering about her burnout.

He’d registered it and filed it away, pretending it didn’t matter to him.

That this was purely about pushing her buttons.

He lied to himself that he wasn’t worried about her in the slightest. Because that was not how their marriage worked.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Yes, she was going to hate it. She’d yell and probably accuse him of being a tyrant with a God complex.

Fine. He’d been called worse.

Mohit switched to another Excel tab with the year-end numbers, he guessed. Vikram nodded, but it was all noise now. None of it registered. His focus shattered the moment Ishika’s text lit up his screen.

It was just a photo of his wife, forwarded by Ishika. He could almost picture Ishika grinning when she hit that send button. Just one image… yet it ignited something fierce in him. His blood roared the moment he saw it. His wife. In that silver bikini. The one he had chosen for her.

She looked breathtaking in it. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, gleaming against her milky white complexion. The plunging neckline framed her cleavage with just enough temptation before dipping lower to mould perfectly to her curves.

He took in her beautiful face, caught in a mix of annoyance and daring. The photo made it obvious that she’d agreed to try on that bikini only to shut Ishika up.

He fired off the reply without thinking and instantly wished he hadn’t. Ishika had already read it, and damn, there was no way to unsend it.

He couldn’t unsee how fucking sexy Mahika looked in that bikini.

She was built like a goddess, someone he wanted to worship and, at the same time, slam against the nearest wall and kiss her until she forgot her own name.

She looked like a sinful delight: pure, untouchable, and absolutely irresistible.

The kind of beauty that made men reckless.

His grip tightened around the phone. First came the punch of desire slamming through his chest, then came something deeper, pulling low inside him.

Then it hit him.

A powerful realisation of what she’d done. That behind all these actions, she wanted him too. She had worn his gift. She hadn’t returned it, hadn’t rejected it. She could have if she wanted to. But no. She chose to wear it.

He’d sent it just to mess with her. It had been a reckless, impulsive move meant to piss her off. He’d even smirked when he’d sent her that gift, certain she’d toss it aside without a second thought. He never once believed that she’d actually put it on.

And yet… there she was. Wearing it. Looking like that. Like every goddamn fantasy he’d tried to bury, every midnight thought that had haunted him, and every craving he’d tried so hard to suppress.

Vikram ran a hand down his face, trying to collect himself, but it was of no use. That image was branded into his mind now. The rest of the world blurred into static, leaving only the heat simmering beneath his skin and the relentless thrum of desire pounding against his ribs.

He wasn’t supposed to want her this much.

But damn it to hell, he did. And he told himself it was fine because she was his legally wedded wife.

Yes, it was just a marriage of convenience, but their bodies didn’t seem to care about definitions or boundaries.

Whatever this pull between them was, it drowned out logic.

This fire burning between them was all-consuming.

So he’d spent his days avoiding her as if it were some sort of survival tactic, because at night, there was no running from her.

Now, he sat stiffly in the chair, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the polished wood, but his mind was miles away from the numbers on the screen.

His jaw flexed as his thoughts spiralled back to the wife he shouldn’t want this badly.

This marriage wasn’t supposed to be messy.

It was meant to be a clean deal. One year.

Temporary. Strategic. A signature on paper and a means to an end. Nothing more.

But he quickly realised that this thing with Mahika wasn’t something he could contain within boundary lines or legal clauses.

He stared at her bikini-clad photo once. Twice. A third time. By the fourth glance, it wasn’t curiosity anymore. It was self-inflicted torture. His body ached, a need to consume her burning through it. He shifted in his chair, his jaw too tight, his breath too shallow.

“Vikram,” Mohit’s voice cut through the haze in his head.

He blinked. “Hmm? Yeah?”

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the last fifteen minutes.”

“I’m listening,” he lied smoothly, flipping his phone facedown, the image still seared into his memory. “Just clearing urgent emails.”

Mohit raised an eyebrow but wisely let it slide as he started to speak only to notice again that Vikram's focus was else where.

“Vikram,” Mohit’s voice cut through his spiral. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes,” Vikram nodded automatically.

“Oh yeah, then what did I just say?”

“You were talking about… margins.”

“Nope. Not even close,” Mohit smirked, leaning back in his chair. “I was talking about the fact that you’re going to need to pack a bag.”

Vikram finally snapped out of his reverie. “What?”

“We’re flying to London,” Mohit said, tapping his tablet. “Josh and his team moved the meetings up. We’ll be flying in a week.”

Vikram exhaled, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Fucking fantastic.”

“I thought you were listening,” Mohit teased.

“I was.” Vikram sat up straighter.

“Bullshit,” Mohit drawled, eyeing him. “You looked like you were mentally writing a sonnet. Should I be worried?”

Vikram shot him a deadpan look. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was thinking about the Q3 numbers.”

“Sure,” Mohit snorted. “And I’m Ranveer Singh’s fitness coach.”

Vikram snorted. “You wish.”

Mohit leaned forward. “Cut the crap. How’s my sister?”

Vikram shrugged, pausing for a beat before deciding what to say. He couldn’t exactly voice the kind of thoughts running through his head about his sister.

Finally, he exhaled. “Fine.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“She’s... getting to me.”

“Getting under your skin or into your head?”

Vikram looked away. “Both. As in, she gets under my skin, and I can’t stop thinking about her—”

Mohit slammed his palms against his ears. “Jesus. No. Stop right there. I don’t need the details, man. I regret asking that question.”

Vikram huffed out a low laugh. “Relax, Jaykar. I’m not about to narrate my bedroom escapades.”

“Fucking great. Because I’d like to keep my lunch where it is.” Then Mohit’s tone shifted. “Listen, man. I know how you are… all distant, detached, and pretending shit doesn’t matter. But this isn’t business. This is her.”

Vikram clenched his jaw. “I’m not playing games with her.”

“You better not be. Because I’ve seen her break before, and I’m not going to watch it happen again. Not when you’re the one holding the pieces.”

A heavy silence stretched between them.

“You done?” Vikram finally asked.

“Not even close,” Mohit said. “But for now... yeah.”

“Don’t worry about her,” Vikram muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s just... driving me insane.”

“That’s good. Means she’s settling in just fine,” Mohit teased.

Vikram shot him a sideways glare. “What? By tormenting me on a daily basis?”

“Nope,” Mohit said, smirking. “By keeping you on your toes. You like being in control, Vicky, but Mahi? She doesn’t let anyone run the show alone.”

Vikram leaned back, his jaw tense. “Yeah. That’s becoming painfully clear.”

“And you’re just sitting there, taking it all. Wow. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Vikram scoffed. “She’s not just your pain-in-the-ass little sister anymore. She’s my fucking wife.”

Mohit clapped him on the back with mock sympathy and chuckled, “Exactly. You married the storm, bro. Now don’t act surprised when it rains.”