Page 7 of When Love Trespassed

Then, in the corner, she spotted his cricket bat. He still played matches with the kids here, bragging about his skills. Perfect.

She grabbed it and, with zero hesitation, tiptoed toward the garden. The mango tree’s branches rustled in the chilly air. She pressed a hand against the bark, whispering, “Daadi, bless me with courage. And if I die… please, please haunt Shaurya for not locking his backdoor properly.”

The wind picked up, making the leaves rustle even more. She knew her Daadi was probably laughing over her silliness.

Taking a deep breath, she crouched near the bushes, her eyes locked on the shadow inside the villa. The backdoor was still ajar from where the intruder had entered.

Nandini gulped down her fear and hurried to step inside the villa using that same door.

As soon as she entered, there was this distinct smell in the air, like expensive wood polish and something undeniably masculine.

The villa was plunged into darkness, but thanks to the moonlight spilling in through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, she could tell that it was huge.

The sheer size of the place was ridiculous—high ceilings, grand chandeliers, sleek furniture that screamed class and money unlike theirs which was more of old wooden charm.

Focus, Nandini. You’re not here to admire your enemy’s stupid rich-guy aesthetics.

Suddenly, a low grunt from a nearby room made her tense. The semi-dark glow from inside cast moving shadows on the floor.

Oh God. The thief was lifting something heavy.

She positioned herself before the half-open door, gripping the bat tightly.

One.

Two.

Three!

With a kick, she burst into the room, raising the bat mid-air.

“FREEZE, YOU—”

“What the F*ck?!”

The room flooded with light, and Nandini froze in sheer horror.

Standing in the middle of that room was definitely not a burglar.

It was Shaurya Ahuja.

Shirtless. Only in his joggers.

His sculpted abs glistened under the dim lights, his arms flexed from where he had been mid-pushup, and his skin glistening with a sheen of sweat.

Heat crept up her neck. Good Lord!

His furious glare flicked from the bat in her hands to her stunned, guilty expression.

“You? What the hell are you doing in my house? With that?” he barked, gesturing to the bat.

Nandini lowered it instantly, her tongue refusing to work.

“I…” She swallowed hard. “I thought… you were a thief.”

Shaurya ran a hand through his hair, visibly trying to control his temper. “A thief? In my own damn house?”

She nodded frantically, stepping back. “I’d seen you driving out a few hours ago. And then, I saw a shadow entering your house, that too from the back door. So obviously, I thought—”

“You thought it was a thief? Seriously?” he snapped.

“How would I know it was you? Your whole house was plunged into darkness. Even your car wasn’t parked outside. I thought you were still out.”

“My car is at the service centre. I took a cab home.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” She huffed, trying to regain some dignity. “But why did you enter through the backdoor?”

“Because my main door keys are in my car!” His hands clenched into tight fists. “And so what? It’s my house. I can enter from wherever I damn well please!”

“Fine. But you didn’t even turn on the lights after getting in. Who does that?!”

“I like working out in dim lighting. Gosh,” he shook his head in exasperation. “I can’t believe you broke into my house in the middle of the night?”

Her jaw dropped. “And I can’t believe you do push-ups in near darkness. I mean… seriously?”

Shaurya took a step forward. She instinctively stepped back.

Another step from him, and then another until finally her back hit the doorframe. Before she could even think of escaping, Shaurya caged her in, his palms resting against the doorway on either side of her, his sudden proximity stealing her breath.

Nandini swallowed hard. Big mistake.

His clean, fresh scent, with a hint of something dark and intoxicating, wrapped around her, making it impossible to think.

She willed herself not to look at him. But naturally, her eyes betrayed her.

He was all muscle and heat, his skin warm and flushed from his workout, his chest rising and falling in controlled breaths. Her gaze trailed lower, tracing the ridges of his abs, down to where his joggers hung dangerously low on his hips.

Oh… Oh.

Heat coiled in her stomach. She felt underdressed, standing there in her night shorts and an oversized tee, her bare legs exposed to the winter air and his sharp, observing gaze.

Wait. WHAT?

Was he… checking her out?

Her heart stuttered as his dark eyes flickered over her, as if he was slowly assessing her too, before his expression hardened again.

No. He wasn’t.

The man was probably just calculating how fast he could throw her out. Still, her skin felt hotter, despite the fact that it was freezing cold outside.

Shaurya’s jaw ticked before he leaned in just a fraction closer.

“It’s my house, Miss Raichand. I can do whatever I want. Who the hell are you to question me?”

She swallowed, her mind blanking at how close he was.

“I’m Nandini… your vigilant neighbour and a responsible resident of Serene Meadows.” She cleared her throat. “I was just making sure you weren’t getting robbed. And instead of thanking me, you’re scolding me!”

Shaurya let out a low, sarcastic sigh. “Thanking you? For almost knocking me out with that silly cricket bat?”

“I was here to hit a thief, not you!” she scoffed. “It’s not my fault you sneak around your own villa like a damn intruder!”

Their eyes locked, fire meeting fire.

“Maybe you should put up a sign outside. ‘If you see shadows inside, don’t worry, it’s not a thief—it’s just me, creeping around like a living ghost.’”

Suddenly, Shaurya stilled, and his expression darkened, as if she had said something that didn’t just prick but stabbed his soul.

“Do. Not. Say. That. Again.”

The warning in his tone made her stomach twist. Clearly, that phrase hit a nerve. But what part of it? And why?

But before she could question it, the doorbell rang.

Ding dong!

Her eyes widened in horror as she heard the voices of her grandpa and his other elderly friends.

“Oh God. Santa Claus is here!”

“What?” Shaurya’s frown deepened.

“Daadu! He’s outside, going villa to villa, distributing gifts. If he sees me here—” She spun around in panic. “Hide me!”

“Hide you?” Shaurya stared at her like she had lost her mind.

She grabbed his arm in desperation. “I can’t be caught sneaking into your villa at night. Do something!”

Shaurya gritted his teeth, glancing at the door, and then at the sheer mess of a situation she had created.

And then the doorbell rang again.

“You have a whole damn villa to hide in, Raichand. Figure it out,” he hissed, exhaling sharply. Just as he was about to leave to open the door, Nandini yanked his arm back, forcing him to face her again.

“It’s Nandini… Call me Nandini. No Miss Raichand or kiddo. Understood?” she scowled before dashing behind the curtains of his gym room. Shaurya cursed under his breath. Unbelievable!

Shaking his head, he reluctantly went to face his unwelcome Christmas guest.

He opened the door, and there they were—the elderly gentlemen of Serene Meadows, lined up like a group of festive troublemakers. And even if his main enemy, Mr. Keshav Raichand, was disguised in a Santa Claus outfit, Shaurya would recognise him anywhere.

“Yes?” Shaurya drawled, leaning against the doorframe, his gaze landing directly on Keshav Raichand, who stood front and centre, holding a large red sack of gifts over his shoulder.

Keshav’s expression was less than enthusiastic as he muttered, “Merry Christmas,” with all the warmth of someone wishing their arch-nemesis a long life.

Shaurya smirked. “Merry Christmas,” he replied, though his tone was just as reluctant.

Mr. Mukesh Verma, the ever-cheerful gentleman from Villa 5, stepped forward, his twinkling eyes filled with holiday spirit. “Shaurya, my boy! We’re here to spread the Christmas cheer, just as we do every year, distributing gifts to every home in Serene Meadows.”

Shaurya nodded, already reaching for the gift so they could all leave.

But Grandpa Keshav wasn’t done yet. He dug into his sack and pulled out a shiny red gift box, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he gave it to Shaurya.

“I sincerely hope that this Christmas and New Year, God gifts you with some sanity, so you stop fighting silly battles.”

Shaurya’s smirk widened. “And I hope God gifts you a measuring tape this year, so you can finally figure out where your property ends and where my patience begins.”

Grandpa’s fake Santa smile vanished instantly.

Before he could retaliate, Mr. Verma’s gaze shifted past Shaurya. His expression changed to one of curiosity. “Wait a minute… Is someone else here?”

Shaurya stiffened. “What?”

“I just saw someone move toward the backdoor,” Mr. Verma said, squinting into the dimly lit villa.

Shaurya’s pulse spiked for a second before he masked it.

All the old men were now peering behind him, their curiosity piqued. Shaurya stood taller, his broad form blocking their view.

“You’re all probably imagining things,” he said smoothly. “There’s no one in my house.”

Mr. Verma shook his head. “No, no. I swear I saw a woman running toward the backdoor.”

Shaurya exhaled slowly through his nose. “Then, Mr. Verma, maybe you need a full night’s sleep. It’s quite late, and at your age, staying awake too long can cause… well, let’s just say, imaginative tendencies.”

The men chuckled, except for Grandpa, who folded his arms, narrowing his eyes.

“No need to worry about our sleep,” Grandpa shot back. “We are tough men, unlike you young ones who need eight hours of beauty sleep just to function. Even without rest, our eyes and minds remain sharp.”

Shaurya pretended to be in deep thought before he smirked. “You’re right, Mr. Raichand. Your generation is tougher. In fact, I’m sure you all could survive without sleep for weeks. But let’s not test that theory tonight. I’m really very sleepy. Goodnight, gentlemen.”

Grandpa huffed in irritation.

“No manners. No politeness,” he muttered, adjusting his Santa hat before stomping away, his sack of gifts swinging aggressively behind him.

As the group walked down the path, Mr. Verma still looked unconvinced. “I’m telling you, Keshav, I really saw a woman.”

Grandpa nodded knowingly, lowering his voice. “I believe you. Maybe he was hiding her on purpose.”

The men chuckled. “Why do we care? Unless that woman wasn’t from Serene Meadows…” Mr. Verma added with a wink.

Shaurya, who had heard their receding talks, clenched his jaw and shut the door, exhaling sharply.

If only Grandpa knew the truth. That the woman they had seen wasn’t just from Serene Meadows, but was his own granddaughter, Nandini Raichand.

That little menace had actually broken into his house.

He pushed off the door and stalked toward the back, just to be sure. The backdoor was still ajar. She had actually sneaked out like a damn thief.

Unbelievable.

Her little stunt tonight had truly shocked him. And that was saying something, considering he had faced ruthless boardrooms, aggressive acquisitions, and an ugly divorce.

But this woman? She was something else entirely.

He replayed the last few days in his head.

Ever since he had first seen her, she had done nothing but intrude on his space.

First, in the garden. He had been minding his own damn business, doing push-ups, when he had felt her stare at him.

That day, when their eyes met, he had known instantly that she was trouble.

Then, the other morning, the song she had played on the radio had lured him outside against his own will. And when their eyes had locked across the garden, something had shifted.

And now, tonight. This ridiculous break-in.

His fists clenched.

And yet…

His lips pressed into a thin line as he recalled the way her body had felt, pressed so close to his when he had pinned her against the door.

Soft. Warm. Too damn distracting.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, hating the fact that for a split second, he had actually noticed her.

The way her breath had hitched when he stepped closer.

The way her eyes had widened, darkened, just for a moment.

The way her night shorts had revealed far too much of her smooth, bare legs.

He cursed under his breath. No. Not happening.

She was Keshav Raichand’s granddaughter.

There was no way she would be any less exasperating than him—silly, impulsive, tantrum-throwing.

That family was nothing but trouble.

She was nothing but trouble.

And yet, no matter how hard he tried, his mind kept replaying the way her body had felt against his tonight.

It had been far too long since he had been so close to any woman, and the realisation grated on his nerves.

The very thought of feeling such an undeniable spark for someone he barely knew was infuriating.

With a sharp exhale, he slammed his fist against the side table, frustration tightening his jaw. He needed to shut this down.

Turning on his heel, he strode toward his bedroom.

Sleep. That’s what he needed.

By morning, he would be too consumed by work to let these pointless thoughts linger.