Page 115 of Entangled Vows

The air between them pulsed, hot and dangerous. It wasn’t just anger. It was fire and frustration tangled with something deeper neither of them wanted to name. His chest twisted, not with rage, but with a sharp longing and fear of losing her. He didn’t want her to go anywhere.

All this time, he had assumed she was chasing some distant dream to escape her responsibilities. That she just wanted space. A break. An excuse to detach. But now he realised she wasn’t running away. She was trying to reach for something that had always felt like hers… her freedom.

And damn it, he hated himself for every moment he’d dismissed her dream of owning that place, citing it as childish, or her wanting to relocate to another country as running away. It wasn’t an escape at all. It was her way of healing.

She had lived her whole life holding everything together for a father who’d clipped her wings, and for a family who rarely saw the real her. She had played the obedient daughter, the silent caregiver, the quiet fighter in a house where no one truly heard her. And even now, she was trying to carve something out that was only hers. Quietly. Without fanfare. She wasn’t selfish… she was genuine. Pure. And he realised he’d been blind to it all this time. No one saw her the way he was seeing her now, and the truth of that struck him hard in the chest.

He took a deep breath and reached for his phone, his voice quieter this time.

“Tell me your pen name,” he said. “I want to see what you’ve written.”

She hesitated. “You’re not angry? You’re really okay with this? What if someone you know finds out I write romance? Won’t that… embarrass you?”

His gaze sharpened. “The only thing I’m angry about is that you didn’t tell me sooner. And why would I beembarrassed? Are you serious, Momo?” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “You write love stories. That’s not weak. That’s fucking powerful.”

She blinked. “But... you don’t believe in love.”

“Says who?” he scoffed, a corner of his mouth twitching. “Just because I don’t talk like a poet doesn’t mean I haven’t seen that real love exists. I’ve watched my friends fall in love and change for the better because of it. So stop assuming things about me. Just tell me. What’s your pen name?”

She bit her lip, then whispered, “M.J. Rose.”

He searched for her immediately on Picturegram. Her author profile appeared on his screen, and his eyes widened at the follower count. One million followers.

His head snapped up. “Fuck, Mahika… you’re famous.”

She gave a small shrug. “It’s nothing. They’re just numbers. I only want to write. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I want to tell stories that make people feel something. That gives them an escape, or maybe helps them understand their own hearts a little better.” She paused, her voice softening. “It sounds silly, I know, but when the world felt too loud growing up, books were the only place I felt safe. I want to give that to someone else. Even if it’s just one person.”

There was a spark in her eyes that was full of purpose and quiet determination. She wasn’t doing it for attention. She was doing it because it fed her soul. Vikram watched her closely. There was something different about her when she talked about her books. It was like a hidden version of her came alive, a perfect blend of brilliance, beauty, and fire.

Fuck. She was nerdy, sexy, and totally his. And all he wanted was to devour every inch of her.

This woman was going to be the death of him. She already was. She was in his bloodstream, in his head, underhis skin. He thought about her in board meetings—dreaming about her lips, her sassy attitude, and her velvety soft skin. He also imagined the way her hair would feel wrapped around his fingers, and the way her body pressed against his.

She looked down at him, her brows drawing together. “What are you staring at?”

“You.” His voice was low, unfiltered. “You’re just... so gorgeous.”

Their eyes locked, and the air around them thickened with tension.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, tapping his nose with her finger. “Gorgeous in a grumpy, overbearing, broody kind of way.”

He lifted a brow. “You calling me gorgeous, Momo?”

“Yes. Difficult and bossy as hell, but still, grizzly and gorgeous.”

He let out an amused scoff. “That’s the most confusing compliment I’ve ever received.”

She smiled playfully. “You hide behind that arrogance, but I see through it. I see you. And I missed you. These ten days without you were... not fun.”

His jaw tightened, the honesty in her voice hitting something deep inside him. “I missed you too.”

He wrapped an arm around her again, pulling her to his chest. Her head rested just beneath his chin, while his fingers curled into her waist, like he needed her there to keep his own heartbeat steady.

Then his voice dipped. “After what happened tonight, you’re not going anywhere alone.”

She tilted her head up. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m damn serious.” His tone left no room for argument. “You shouldn’t have stepped out without Max. Why the hell did you even go to the office today?”