𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗣𝗼𝘃 :

Azael stands by the gate’s stone ledge, one foot resting against it as he takes a slow drag from his cigarette. His hair is messy—deliberately careless, making him look maddeningly good. Dressed in a black shirt, sharp yet casually unbuttoned at the top, he looks every bit ready for the Thanksgiving party at his place. But right now, he seems in no hurry, the glow of his cigarette flickering in the evening air as he exhales a slow, curling trail of smoke, his gaze distant, lost in thought.

Just then, the quiet is broken by the sharp hum of an approaching car. A sleek black vehicle glides to a stop right in front of him. Azael lifts his gaze, slow and unbothered, the dim glow of his cigarette illuminating the sharp angles of his face. And at this moment—right now—he looks devastatingly hot. Not just attractive, but the kind of breathtaking that could make any girl go weak in the knees, ready to fall for him without a second thought.

The car door swings open, and Aria steps out, she moves toward Azael, her brows slightly raised, eyes scanning him with mild curiosity. He takes another slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the cool night air, his expression unreadable.

Stopping right in front of him, she crosses her arms. “Tum yahan kis ka intezar kar rahe ho?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.

(Who are you waiting for here?)

Azael doesn’t answer right away. He flicks the cigarette between his fingers, watching the ember burn down before finally looking at her.

“Maaz kahan hai?” Aria presses, impatience lacing her tone.

(Where is maaz?)

Azael exhales another slow drag, then lifts his hand, motioning lazily toward the house. No words—just a simple gesture.

Aria narrows her eyes. “Tum muh se nahi bol sakte kya?” she huffs, clearly unimpressed.

(Can't you speak with your mouth?)

For a moment, she waits, as if expecting a reply. But when none comes, she exhales sharply, shaking her head. Then, just as she turns to leave, she pauses, her voice softer this time. “Alright, forget it. There's no point in asking anyway… And yeah, thanks.”

Without waiting for a response, she strides inside, disappearing through the open doors of the house.

Even then, Azael remains lost in his thoughts, his expression unreadable. It’s impossible to tell what’s running through his mind, but something about the way his jaw tightens, the way his features grow tense, makes it clear—he’s troubled. Deeply. As if he’s on the verge of losing something, and the thought alone unsettles him.

His thoughts come to a halt when Alizeh steps out of the car, the rich red bodycon dress hugged her like a second skin, its fabric molding to her every curve as she ran her hands over it, settling it into place. With a delicate touch, she adjusted the neckline, her fingers grazing the smooth fabric as she set it just right. That single, fleeting motion sent a sharp jolt through him, his eyes tracing the path of her hands with an almost punishing intensity.

Azael had seen beautiful women before. Countless. But none of them had ever made him forget himself the way she did. His cigarette burned idly between his fingers, neglected, the smoke curling into the cold night air as his focus tunneled onto only one thing—her.

His gaze darkened, jaw tightening, as his mind twisted with wicked thoughts. He remembered that sinful little mole. The one that teased him. The one he had glimpsed before but never quite fully seen. And now, the need to see it again—properly, completely, unobstructed—gnawed at him like an unbearable hunger.

The thought alone sent heat rushing through his veins, an ache settling deep in his chest. His restraint wavered. How unfair was it that a mere dress—a fragile piece of fabric—stood between him and the sight that had begun to torment him?

“Bina kapdon ke kya qayamat lagti hogi ye.” He murmured, his voice, low, sinful, meant only for himself, a slow smirk curved his lips, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched her.

(She must look absolutely catastrophe without clothes)

As Alizeh straightens, her fingers linger at the neckline of her dress, a subconscious attempt to fix what can’t be undone—to conceal what she knows he has already seen. The smooth glide of fabric beneath her fingertips does little to ease the awareness prickling at her skin.

Azael watches, his smirk deepening, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the unspoken tension crackling between them. His gaze flickers to the delicate movement of her hands, amusement curling at the edges of his thoughts. She was trying to hide, but from what? From him? From the way his eyes had already traced the forbidden glimpse she wished to take back?

And then—her voice cuts through the moment, pulling him back.

"Aria?"

His smirk stills, the trance momentarily breaking as she calls out for Aria again, her voice firmer, more urgent. And just then, before the silence can stretch any further, another voice pierces through the air—

“Jo yahan nahi hai, woh kaise reply karegi, princess?” Azael's voice was teasing, but his gaze held an intensity, hinting at something deeper beneath his usual calm demeanor.

(How will she reply when she isn’t even here, princess?)

Her breath falters, and slowly, her gaze lifts—only to meet Azael’s.

She whirls around, her fingers still clutching the fabric of her dress, heart stammering against her ribs. "Si— I mean, Mr.khan.... aap yaha?"(Are you here?)

—She barely stops herself in time. The word "Sir" lingers on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it down, her mind flashing back to the way he had warned her not to call him that—

Azael takes a step closer, the faint trace of cigarette smoke blending into his scent, heady and intoxicating. His gaze doesn’t waver—not for a second. It lingers, dark and unrelenting, right where her fingers nervously fidget.

“Since the moment you started trying to hide that little mole,” his voice drops lower, deliberate, laced with something undeniably sinful.

Alizeh’s breath catches, and she does what she always does when he looks at her like that—she averts her gaze, her fingers clenching at the fabric.

Azael chuckles, the sound rich, almost amused. “You’re adorable when you panic, but tell me” He leans in just enough for her to feel the whisper of his breath.

“Why are you even trying? You do realize, the more you hide it, the more I want to see it.”

Alizeh’s lips part, heat blooming across her face. “aapko sharam nahi aati, Mr.khan?

( do you have no shame at all?

Azael exhales a slow breath, his smirk deepening, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Sharam to bohot hai mujh mein

lekin tumhe dekhte hi bhool jata hoon, bas tumhe besharmo ki tarhe dekhna yaad rehta hai”

(I have plenty of shame… but the moment I see you, I forget it all. All I remember is looking at you—shamelessly)

And then, in a tone so casual yet so devastatingly sinful, he murmurs—

“If I’m being honest… just seeing it isn’t enough. I want my lips on it—soft at first, then slower, deeper… tracing every curve, tasting every sigh, until nothing exists but the heat between us… maybe even more than th—”

Alizeh gasps, cutting him off, her hands flying to his chest as if to push him away—but Azael doesn’t budge.

Instead, he tilts his head, that infuriating smirk still intact. “You’ll be the one to turn shameless first, princess. Mark my words.”

Alizeh drifts into her thoughts, lost for a moment. But then,

Azael’s voice reaches her, smooth and teasing. “Kahan kho gayi ho, princess?”

(Where are you lost?)

She blinks, snapping out of it, she startles back to reality.

“Let's go.” Azael extends his hand towards her, his gaze steady

Alizeh hesitates for a moment before straightening. “Main khud chali jaungi.”

(I will go by myself)

With that, she turns and walks away, her steps firm.

Azael watches her go, his smirk deepening as he murmurs to himself, “Yahi attitude... isi pe to fida hoon main, tumpe, meri jaan.”

(This very attitude… that’s what I’m obsessed with— you, my love)

              ════ ✣✤✣ ════

The party was lit. The hall looked like something out of a movie – chandeliers glowing, gold and burgundy everywhere, and the floor so shiny it was basically a mirror. The garden outside? Fairy lights, flowers, and vibes that screamed luxury. People were casually laughing and chatting, the whole place buzzing with excitement.

Then, Azael’s mom and dad made their entrance. Everyone turned to look as they came down the stairs, spotlight on them. Azael’s dad was all serious, but his mom’s smile? Pure warmth. The crowd couldn’t stop watching them.

When they got to the bottom, Azael’s mom turned to him, taking in the lively atmosphere of the party. “Beta, was all this really necessary?” she asked, her voice soft with affection. She paused for a moment before adding, “But still, thank you. It means a lot.”

She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, and a wave of applause echoed around them. It felt like a scene straight out of a movie—warm, heartfelt, almost surreal.

Then, as the noise settled, she glanced around and looked back at him with a knowing smile. “So… aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

Azael let out a quiet chuckle, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Mom, you’ve already met Maaz” he teased.

His mom laughed, nudging him playfully. “Yeah, yeah, but introduce me to your other friends”

Azael then brought Aria over. “Mom, this is Aria,”

he said, and Aria greeted her with a smile. Azael’s mom turned to Aria, her voice warm with appreciation, “Thank you so much, beta. You and Maaz have really helped with the preparations.”

Aria chuckled. “Aunty, there’s no need to thank me. You’re like my mom too.”

Azael’s mom laughed softly. “Of course, beta. Why not?” she said, then turned toward Alizeh.

Aria quickly introduced her. “And this is my best friend, Alizeh. She just arrived a week ago and is studying fashion design here.”

Azael’s mom smiled warmly. “Oh, thank you for coming to the party, beta. By the way, you look so beautiful tonight.”

Alizeh smiled back. “Not more than you, Aunty.”

Azael’s mom gave a soft smile. “You’re such a sweetheart.” Her voice was gentle, her warmth evident in her expression.

Meanwhile, Alizeh could feel Azael’s intense gaze on her, its weight impossible to ignore. Before she could glance at him, his mom spoke again.

“Alright, girls, enjoy the party. I’ll go meet my friends.” With that, she walked away with Azael’s dad.

Alizeh turned to Aria. “I’m going outside for some fresh air,” she murmured before slipping away.

                ════ ✣✤✣ ════

Alizeh walked slowly through the garden, the soft grass cool beneath her heels as she breathed in the crisp night air. Fairy lights hung from the trees, their golden glow flickering like fireflies, casting a warm hush over the space. She pulled out her phone and dialed her mother’s number, her fingers instinctively tightening around the device as she waited for the call to connect.

“Hello, beta.” Her mother’s voice was warm, familiar—like home.

A smile spread across Alizeh’s lips. “Mom…” Her voice came out softer than she intended. “How are you?”

“We're doing well. Tell us, how's everything there?”

Her father's deep voice joined in, grounding her in a way only he could.

Alizeh sighed, her gaze drifting toward the twinkling stars above. “Switzerland is nice, Dad… but I miss you both.”

Her mother chuckled. “Weren't you the one always saying, ‘Dad, one day I want to do everything on my own’? And now that you’re actually on your own, you're missing home?”

A small laugh escaped Alizeh, though her throat tightened. “Sometimes, it feels like everything here is perfect, and other times, it feels like something is missing.”

Her father, as if trying to lighten the mood, hummed thoughtfully. “Anyway, forget all that… tell me, has my daughter made any new friends?”

Alizeh rolled her eyes, brushing her fingers over a flower as she walked past. “Dad, my best friend is already here. So, I don’t really need to make new friends.”

Her father sighed lightly. “Alright, beta. Whatever feels right to you. Just remember, sometimes meeting new people can be a good thing.”

Alizeh nodded slightly. “Okay, Dad. I’ll talk to you both later.”

Her mother’s voice softened. “Alright then, take care of yourself, beta.”

A gentle smile played on Alizeh’s lips. “You both too.” Saying this, she ended the call. The cool night breeze brushed against her skin, but deep inside, a strange silence settled within her.

Inside the party, the music pulsed through the air, blending with the hum of conversations and clinking glasses. Aria wove through the crowd, spotting Azael near the bar.

“Hey, did Alizeh come back inside?” she asked casually.

Azael's gaze flickered toward the entrance before he shook his head. “No.”

“Okay, thanks.” Aria nodded, about to turn when Azael’s voice stopped her.

“Where are you going?” His tone held a sharp edge.

She blinked. “I’m going to get Alizeh. She’s been outside for too long.”

His jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Stay here. I’ll go get your friend.”

Aria hesitated for a beat, sensing the shift in his demeanor, then finally shrugged. “Alright.” With that, she turned back toward the crowd while Azael strode toward the exit, his movements swift and deliberate.

The distant hum of laughter and music from inside the house barely registered. It felt like background noise—something happening far away, disconnected from me. The night stretched endless above, a soft breeze carrying the scent of roses and freshly cut grass, but even that did little to calm the unease twisting inside me.

Who was she?

The girl he had gone to the boutique with. The thought had settled deep, refusing to fade. My stomach tightened at the possibility, my mind running in directions I didn’t want it to. Was she just a friend? Or… his girlfriend?

The word left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I had no right to care—I knew that. And yet, the thought gnawed at me, relentless and sharp. Had she been holding his hand, laughing with him, standing too close? Had she seen that side of him, the teasing smirks, the low, indulgent way he spoke when he wanted to get under someone’s skin?

I swallowed hard, pressing my fingers to my temples, trying to shove the thought away. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

But somehow, it did. Just then—

“That was my mother,” a voice came from behind, deep and laced with quiet amusement.

My thoughts screeched to a halt. A shiver ran down my spine as I spun around, my breath catching mid-gasp. And then, standing under the dim garden lights, hands casually tucked into his pockets, smirk firmly in place—Mr. Khan.

“What?” The word slipped out before I could stop it, barely more than a whisper.

His smirk deepened, something wicked glinting in his gaze. “That’s what you were thinking, right, princess?” His voice was unhurried, teasing—like he already knew.

My stomach twisted. How? Was he reading my mind? Or—god forbid—did he have some psychic ability I wasn’t aware of? Because there was no way he could just know what I was thinking.

I straightened, masking every ounce of my flustered state. “Who told you I was thinking about you?”

Azael let out a low chuckle, stepping in just enough for the space between us to shrink. His eyes flickered over my face, slow and deliberate. “I don’t need anyone to tell me, princess,” he murmured. “Your face does a pretty good job of saying it for you.”

My breath hitched.

I forced my posture to relax, arms crossing as I tilted my chin up, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’re overthinking, Mr. Khan. Thoda apne dimag ko aaram dijiye,” I said, my voice smooth, composed—or so I hoped.

(Give your mind some rest)

Azael’s smirk didn’t waver. If anything, his amusement grew. “ok princess,” he drawled, head tilting slightly. “If you say so.”

Azael’s gaze lingered on me, something unreadable flickering in his blue eyes before a slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. “You know…” he murmured, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine. “I liked that you stopped calling me sir.”

His words were soft, almost indulgent, as if he were savoring the thought. He took a step closer, the air between us shifting, thickening with something unspoken.

“And more than that,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “I like this new name… but what I really like…” His eyes darkened slightly, tracing the curve of my lips before flicking back up to meet my gaze. “Is the way you say it. The way Mr.Khan sounds coming from your lips.”

My breath caught for a fraction of a second.

I scoffed lightly, tilting my head. “I didn’t stop calling you sir to please you. If I want, I can still call you that.”

The moment the words left my lips, Azael’s entire demeanor shifted. The teasing glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by something darker, something unhinged. His jaw clenched, his smirk wiped clean as if my defiance had struck a nerve so deep, it rattled the very core of his restraint.

“Dare to call me that,” he murmured, his voice low, deadly—dripping with something possessive, something dangerous. His fingers twitched at his side, his entire frame taut with unspoken intensity. Then, his eyes flickered back to mine, his next words laced with a promise that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Say it…” he murmured, his tone nothing short of a command. “And see how I shut that mouth of yours. I swear, you won’t be able to speak for the next twenty minutes.”

His breath fanned against my lips as he loomed closer, his gaze pinning me in place, daring me to test him. The air between us thickened, electric, suffocating in the best way possible. His dominance wasn’t just in his words—it was in the way he looked at me, the way he owned the very space I occupied.

And in that moment, I knew—he wasn’t bluffing.

The space between us had collapsed into nothing. His breath grazed my lips, his voice settling deep into my skin like a slow-burning fire. His eyes, dark and consuming, refused to waver as he held me captive beneath his gaze.

My heart slammed against my ribs, a wild, erratic rhythm that betrayed my composed facade. His dominance wrapped around me like an invisible restraint, his presence suffocating yet intoxicating. Every inch of me was hyper-aware of him—his scent, his heat, the raw energy radiating from him like a storm barely held at bay.

I swallowed hard, my mind a mess of frantic thoughts.

“Lo, mushibat. Logon ki zindagi mein khud aati hai, aur maine usai khud dawat di hai. Wah, Alizeh. Ready raho, is baar yeh sirf choomega nahi. Es baar toh yeh tumhe pakka kha hi jayega”

(Great. Trouble finds people on its own, but I went ahead and invited it myself. Wow, Alizeh. Be ready—this time, it won’t just be a peck. This time, he’s definitely going to devour you)

His fingers flexed at his side, the restraint evident in the tension coiling through his muscles. Then, just as I was bracing myself for whatever madness was about to unfold, his lips parted, his voice a slow, mocking drawl.

“Kya hua, princess?” Azael drawled, his voice rich with mockery, his smirk deepening as he watched me struggle. He leaned in just enough to let the warmth of his breath graze my skin. “Ab nahi bolna ‘sir’?”

(What happened?)

(Don't speak now?)

My face burned instantly. Embarrassment. Humiliation. Betrayal. All by my own brain. This wasn’t fair—he was using my own words against me, twisting them into something else entirely.

Wah, Alizeh. Lagta hai ye sirf teacher nahi, lawyer bhi hai. Har baat ko tumhare hi khilaf use karne ka talent hai iske paas.

(Wow, Alizeh. Looks like he's not just a teacher but a lawyer too. He has a talent for using everything against you)

I cleared my throat, willing my voice to cooperate, but all that came out was a pathetic sound somewhere between a cough and a squeak.

Azael’s smirk widened, his amusement practically radiating off him. “Kya? Bolti band ho gayi?”

( What, lost of words?)

My pride bristled. I opened my mouth—only for nothing to come out.

Azael tilted his head, studying me with slow, predatory satisfaction. Then, after a deliberate pause, he murmured, “You're good at that.”

I blinked, utterly lost. “At what?”

His chuckle was pure sin, deep and knowing. “Being speechless.”

Lo, Alizeh, yahi baaki reh gaya tha. Ab tujhe yeh bhi yaad dilayega ke tu kitni bechari lag rahi hai.

(There you go, Alizeh. This was the only thing left. Now he’ll even remind you how helpless you look)

I averted my gaze, desperate to escape the sheer superiority in his expression. My mind scrambled for an escape. Kuch bhi. Koi bhi topic. Biryani ka recipe bhi chalega, bas yeh nahi.

(Anything else. Even a biryani recipe would do, just not this)

“why are you here?” I blurted out, my voice a notch higher than necessary.

For a moment, Azael didn’t respond. He just stood there, watching me with that same unreadable intensity, like he was debating whether to entertain my distraction or call me out for it.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke. “Your friend is looking for you”

I blinked, processing his words. That was it? That was why he was here? And he took this long to say it?

Frustration laced in my voice as I asked, “And it took you this long to say that, Mr. Khan?”

His lips twitched, barely holding back another smirk. “Well, I got a little distracted, princess”

That damn smirk of him….

Without missing a beat, I stepped in, closing the already small gap between us, my index finger pressing lightly against his chest. His smirk faltered—just for a second, but I caught it.

“Next time,” I said, voice deliberately sweet, “skip the theatrics and just get to the point, hmm?”

Azael glanced down at my hand, as his gaze dragged over me, slow and deliberate. His eyes flickered from my face, trailing down my neck, lingering at my chest, then lower—each second stretching unbearably. By the time he met my eyes again, something dark and unreadable burned in them.

And then, he spoke.

“Next time,” his voice was quieter now, rougher, yet laced with that same teasing arrogance, “don’t show up looking like such a damn distraction. Maybe then I’ll give you a straight answer.”

And just like that—like he hadn’t just sent my pulse into chaos—he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, breath faltering, heart hammering wildly, and heat pooling low, dangerously, right where it shouldn’t.

My fingers trail over the rim of my glass,

slow and deliberate, but my mind is fixated on just one thing—my princess. I watch her from a distance, my gaze sharp, unwavering, as she moves through the crowd. I can see the way her eyes dart around, searching, scanning. I know exactly who she’s looking for.

She’s searching for Aria.

But that doesn’t matter.

Because now—she will see me.

And just like that, our eyes collide.

Fuck.

Those brown eyes, blazing, fierce, and utterly intoxicating.

A slow smirk tugs at my lips as I drink in the sight of her—every damn inch. That sharp look she gives me, the way her lips part just slightly as if she’s caught off guard. She wasn’t expecting me. But I was expecting her. I’ve been waiting for this moment, for that one second where she’d finally acknowledge my presence.

And now that she has—I won’t let her look away.

I can see it, even if she won’t admit it.

She likes watching me. Just like I love watching her.

Her gaze flickers over me, but she quickly looks away, pretending like she doesn’t care. Oh, princess, you’re such a terrible liar. I can see it in the way she clenches her fingers, the way her breath stutters for half a second. I affect her. And she hates that I know it.

God, that attitude.

The way she walks—confident, untouchable, as if she owns the damn world. The way her body moves, the subtle sway of her hips, the elegance in every step. She’s fucking lethal. A dangerous mix of fire and ice, softness and steel.

And that body…

Perfection. Absolute fucking perfection.

My jaw tightens. She’s a walking temptation. A sin wrapped in silk. And worst of all? She has no idea how much power she holds. No clue what she does to me. No idea how hard it is for me to just stand here and watch.

And then, just when I think she’s going to come closer—she collides into someone.

My entire body goes rigid as my gaze sharpens, locking onto the bastard who dared to touch her. Zeydan. Of all people, it had to be him. My jaw clenches as a deadly realization hits me—I didn’t invite him.

Which means… This was Dad’s doing.

My fists curl, knuckles turning white as I snap my head toward him. He’s already looking at me. The moment our eyes meet, he exhales heavily, as if he already knows what I’m thinking. And then—he nods.

A silent confirmation.

Fury claws at my chest.

Dad. Dad. Dad. Kya karun main apka

(What the fuck am I supposed to do with you)

Dad knows exactly how much I despise him, yet he still invited him…

Just for a fucking business deal, he’s blind to the torment his own son feels at the mere sight of him.

My mind is a storm, my rage burning like wildfire—But after that, what I saw made my entire blood boil.

Zeydan’s hand on my princess.

She stands in the middle of the ballroom, her body caught in an unwanted spotlight, and that motherfucker—he’s holding her hand. My breathing slows, my entire being going terrifyingly still as realization settles deep in my bones. He forced her into this.

I know her.

I know she hates attention like this. I know she can’t say no.

But princess… I’m sorry.

Because what’s about to happen next—you might not forgive me for it.

The hatred in my eyes must be lethal, because people around me start shifting, sensing the shift in the air. I don’t care. My focus is solely on the stage, on her, on the way her body is locked in place, her discomfort evident even from across the room. And that bastard? He’s fucking smiling.

And then—I hear it.

A song.

The same song that played the first time I saw my princess.

Everything inside me snaps.

I don’t think so. I move.

Music Playing in the Background 🎶

“Meri bechainiyon ko chain mil jaye,

Tera chehra jab nazar aaye…”

The music plays, each lyric crawling under my skin, dragging me back to a moment I’ll never forget.

My princess—standing there, lost in her own world, unaware that she had just ruined mine. She didn’t even know what she did to me.

I knew the second I saw her that she was mine.

And now—someone else’s hands dare touch what belongs to me?

I snap back to the present, my gaze dark and lethal as I see it. Zeydan’s filthy hand on her waist. He’s about to twirl her, about to make a fucking spectacle of what’s mine—not happening.

A deadly snarl rips through my throat as I lunge. My fist collides with Zeydan’s face with a sickening crack as I growl.

“Saale madarchod— haath kese lagaya tune usko?”

(Fucking bastard—how dare you touch her?)

My voice is razor-sharp, slicing through the gasps and murmurs around us.

Zeydan stumbles back, crashing onto the ground with a grunt. A sharp gasp rises from the crowd, and that’s when I see it—a deep, crimson streak trickling from the corner of his mouth, staining his jaw. The sight only fuels the storm inside me.

But at same moment, I hear her voice.

“Mr. Khan, haath chodiye humara... sab dekh rahe hain.”

(Mr. Khan, let go of my hand... everyone is watching)

She tries to pull her hand away from mine, but I don’t release her. Instead, I gently pull her closer, my lips dangerously close to her ear as I speak, my voice low and taunting.

“Achha? Mere haath pakadne se loug dekh rahe hain? Aur jab usne tumhe chhua tha, tab loug nahi dekh rahe the?”

(Really? My holding your hand makes people stare. But when he touched you, no one was looking?)

She winces, struggling against my grip, her voice breaking as she gasps, “Please... it hurts.”

My jaw clenches, a slow, dangerous smirk curling on my lips as I whisper against her trembling skin, “Meri princess, ko dard ho raha?”She nods slowly, her body trembling, the soft hitch of her breath breaking me a little more.

I swallow hard, the weight of her pain crashing over me, and I can't help but say it. “Mujhe bhi abhi thodi der pehle kuch aisa hi dard ho raha tha... balki isse zyada.”

(My Princess, does it hurt? Because just a little while ago, I was feeling something similar... actually, even worse)

My words come out thick with something raw, the kind of feeling that claws at my insides.

A single sob escapes her lips, her body shivering as she chokes out, “Please...”

And I snap.

My grip on her tightens, my voice dropping to something dark, possessive, and completely unyielding. “Chup….. Bilkul chup….ab ek aur lafz nahi. Warna yahi, sabke samne... kiss kar doonga.”

(Silent... completely silent. Not another word. Or else,I will kiss you right here in front of everyone)

The moment the words leave my mouth, she freezes—like a child caught doing something forbidden, her breath hitching, lips parting in silent shock. She goes utterly still, as if she truly believes I'll kiss her right here. The way her breath trembles, the uncertainty flickering in her eyes—fragile, captivating. A slow, knowing curve tugs at my lips, because honestly? I don’t just like it. I love it.

I can’t help but think—she has no idea, but in this bodycon dress, she looks sinfully irresistible. And those flushed cheeks, that delicate nose—turned even rosier after crying… utterly intoxicating. It stirs something dark in me, something possessive. I swear, I just want to take her to every corner of this hall, make sure she knows exactly who she belongs to.

Look at them. Every filthy pair of eyes in this room is on her. But they don’t know—she isn’t theirs to admire. She is my woman. Only mine. In every lifetime, she belongs to me.

I shake those thoughts away, turning to glance behind me. And that’s when I notice it—every single damn gaze in this hall is on us.

I can feel it—hundreds of eyes burning into my back, their whispers crawling through the air like insects. They’re watching, waiting, judging. But they don’t fucking matter. Nothing matters. Not their shocked expressions, not their pathetic murmurs. Only one thing matters.

Her.

My princess—standing in my grip, her breath uneven, her eyes wide, her delicate wrist trembling in my hold. And it pisses me off. It pisses me off that she’s looking at me like that—like I’m a monster. Like I’m someone to be afraid of. As if I’d ever hurt her.

A dark growl rises in my chest, my patience snapping like a frayed thread. My voice explodes through the hall, booming, uncontrollable, a sound that demands submission.

“Saalon, tum logon ko alag se invitation dena padega?! Party khatam ho chuki hai—ab niklo yahan se!”

(You guys need a separate invitation?! The party is over—now get the hell out of here!)

The power behind my voice shakes the air itself. The music cuts off abruptly, and for a fraction of a second, the entire room is deathly still. Then, movement—people shifting, whispering, gathering their things. Obeying.

One by one, they scurry toward the exit like the insignificant pests they are. Some glance back, hesitating, as if daring to defy me. But the moment their eyes meet mine, filled with unforgiving rage, they quickly look away. They know better.

And still—I don’t fucking care.

A slow smirk tugs at my lips, a dark, knowing amusement curling in my chest. I know exactly how I look right now—unhinged, terrifying, fucking obsessed—but that’s what I am. I am insane, but only for her. I would burn the whole damn world down if it meant keeping her safe. And I don’t regret a damn thing.

Just as I’m about to step closer, my gaze shifts—and lands on the one thing that makes my blood fucking boil again. Zeydan.

That bastard is still on the ground, groaning, clutching his jaw like the pathetic piece of shit he is. My jaw tightens, my hands flexing at my sides as rage coils deep in my gut. I feel the possessiveness surge through me, sharp and consuming, as my fingers twitch with the need to break something—to break him.

Without a second thought, I release Alizeh’s wrist, and before she can even process the shift in my stance, I lunge. My fingers fist into Zeydan’s collar, yanking him up with a brutal force that makes his head snap back. His feet barely touch the ground as I lift him, my grip suffocating, merciless.

“You think you can fucking touch her?” My voice is a growl, raw and edged with venom, my grip tightening as I shake him like a ragdoll.

His hands claw at my wrist, his face turning red, eyes widening in sheer panic as he struggles to break free.

“You think you can put your filthy hands on what’s mine and walk away breathing?” My voice drops to a lethal whisper, my fingers pressing harder against his throat, savoring the way he gasps for air.

And then—

My father’s voice booms across the hall, sharp and commanding, cutting through my rage like a blade. “Your madness has gone far enough, Azael! Let him down” His tone leaves no room for defiance, but I don’t release my grip just yet.

Azael, didn’t you hear me? Put him down—NOW!” His voice hardens with more authority as he steps forward, frustration and anger lacing every word.

Only then, with the weight of his anger pressing on me, I release Zeydan, shoving him roughly to the floor. My chest heaves with the need to fight, but I take a step back, glaring at him.

“Lijiye, Dad. Chhod diya aapke Zeydan ko,” I say, my voice dripping with mock obedience.

(Here you go, Dad. I let your Zeydan go.)

As soon as I loosen my grip and let go of Zeydan’s collar, he stumbles back like a lifeless weight, crashing onto the floor with a sharp “Ahh!” of pain. I watch him, utterly unbothered, a slow smirk tugging at my lips.

My father exhales sharply, his gaze flicking to Zeydan, who is still on the ground, blood trickling from his mouth. And, of course, his concern goes straight to him. His face softens as he takes a step forward, his voice now gentler.

“Zeydan, beta, tum theek ho?” (Zeydan, son, are you okay?)

The words make something sharp coil in my chest, irritation settling deep in my veins. Of course, Zeydan being on the floor is the problem. Not the reason he ended up there.

Zeydan's jaw clenches, his dark eyes burning with something almost sinister. He wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand before looking up, his gaze locking onto mine—quiet fury simmering beneath the surface.

His voice is low, dripping with venom, each word a slow promise.

(This insult... I will never forget it. And I won’t let you forget it either.)

A sharp, mocking laugh rips from my throat, unhinged and amused. I tilt my head, watching him with pure disdain.

“Arre bhai, main toh sach mein darr gaya.” (Oh, brother, I’m fucking terrified.)

I take a step closer, my lips curling into a smirk, eyes glinting with merciless intent.

“Jab tu dobara uth sakega, tab koi badla lene ka sochna.” (Think about revenge when you can stand up again.)

“Aur haan—ye yaad rakhna. Kyunki agli baar agar tum bhool gaye toh—” lean in, my tone dropping to something darker, more menacing.

(And yes—do remember this. Because next time, if you forget—)

“Tum aise yaha zameen mein nahi pade rahoge balke” My smirk widens, a twisted satisfaction burning in my chest.

(You won’t be lying here on the ground like this, but)

“Seedha zameen mein gaad dunga tujhe”

(I’ll bury you straight into the ground)

The threat hangs heavy in the air, the weight of my words pressing into his skin like a blade.

"Azael, I said STOP THIS!" My father’s furious voice lashes through the tension, his patience snapping like a brittle thread.

My head jerks towards him, my entire body thrumming with raw, untamed rage, my eyes alight with defiance.

“You want me to stop?” I scoff, shaking my head, my chest rising and falling as my fury roars inside me like an untamed beast.

“That’s not happening, Dad. Not now. Not ever.” My voice is steel, my dominance unshaken, my wrath unwavering.

“But if you really want to save this piece of shit from dying at my hands—” I take a slow step back, my knuckles cracking from how hard I’ve clenched my fists.

“—then you better shut him up yourself.”

“Azael!”

My mother’s voice cuts through the air, sharp with disbelief, her eyes filled with something between anger and disappointment.

“Is this how you speak to your father?” Her words are laced with a quiet reprimand, her stare piercing straight through me.

My fists clench at my sides, my body wound so tight I feel like I might snap. My mother’s voice cuts through the chaos—soft, pleading—trying to soothe a storm that refuses to be tamed. But she doesn’t understand. She could never understand.

“You don’t know what this is doing to me, Mom,” I grit out, my breath sharp, ragged. My fingers twitch, aching to wrap around Zeydan’s throat again, to finish what I started. “You have no fucking idea how much this—this—drives me insane.” My voice is shaking, but not with fear. With something far worse.

“That my princess—my world—was touched by someone else.” The words taste like poison on my tongue, my vision burning red at the thought. “It makes me want to destroy every single bastard who even dares to look at her the wrong way.”

Fine. Let’s talk about it.

My gaze cuts to my father now, my voice thick with something darker, something dangerously possessive.

I turn, my gaze locking onto my father. “Tell me, Dad,” I spit, my chest heaving. “Why the fuck did you invite him?”

My father exhales, slow, measured, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “Azael—”

“And forget the fucking invitation!” I cut him off, my voice like a blade slicing through the tension. My jaw tightens, my vision burning red.

“How the fuck did that bastard even even dare to touch her?” My breathing is erratic, my blood roaring in my veins, my hands trembling with the force of my restraint.

“You don’t even know who she is.” My voice is lower now, more raw, filled with something that isn't just rage—but something far deeper, far more dangerous.

“You don’t know what she means to me.” My eyes glisten with something unspoken, something wild and consuming.

“She’s not just some girl, Dad.” My voice wavers, my throat tightening, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“She’s my fucking world.”

“And for her—” my breath comes out ragged, my fists clenching so hard my knuckles turn white. “—I will cross any damn limit. Break any fucking rule. Tear through anyone who dares to come between us.” My voice is a low snarl, raw with the weight of my madness.

“I don’t care if it’s right or wrong. I don’t care if it destroys me.” My eyes gleam with something feral, something unhinged.

“If it’s for her—I’ll walk through fire, I’ll become the devil himself.” My jaw tightens, my entire body radiating an unrelenting fury.

“And if anyone—anyone—tries to take her from me…” I exhale sharply, my lips curling into something deadly.

“I’ll show them just how far I can go.”

Silence

And then my father sighs, the weight of the situation settling over him, his voice carrying something akin to regret.

“I do know who she is, Azael,” he says slowly, watching me with unreadable eyes.

“But what I didn’t know—”he continues, his expression turning cold, “—was that my son had become this… this version of himself. A man of rage. A man of violence.”

A sharp, humorless laugh rips from my throat. My head tilts back, my lips curling into a smirk that feels more like a snarl.

“Violence?” I repeat, my voice dripping with madness.

I raise a finger, silencing him before he can say another fucking word.

“Shhhh, Dad.” My voice is quiet, eerily calm, but the madness beneath it hums like a beast ready to strike.

“You think this is violence, Dad?” My eyes glint with something untamed, something no one—not even my father—can control.

“No.” I exhale, my breath steady now, my pulse slowing.

“This is love.”

A love so fucking eternal, it could outlive centuries.

My fingers twitch at my sides as I step forward, each movement deliberate, controlled. My father doesn’t speak. No one does.

“This isn’t rage.” My voice drops lower, a whisper of something dark, something obsessive.

“This is possession.” A breath. A heartbeat. A truth so deep it burns inside me.

“My possession”

Mine only. Mine

My lips part, my voice steady, final, absolute.

And she…She is my endless possession.”

My lips are still parted, my breath slow, controlled, the weight of my words thick in the silence that follows. But then—

A scoff.

“Uncle, your son has lost his fucking mind,” Zeydan spits, his voice laced with something between disbelief and mockery. “He shouldn't be in this house—he belongs in a mental asylum.”

A sharp crack of fury ignites in my chest, my entire body snapping toward him before I even register the movement.

“You bastard, you’re still here?” My voice is deathly quiet, my head tilting as my rage sharpens into something lethal.

Then I move.

My steps are slow, unhurried, but the fire in my veins burns hotter with every inch I close between us. My jaw tightens, my fists clench, my muscles coil, ready to rip him apart —

“Azael, stop.”

The authority in my father’s voice slams into me like a fucking wall.

“Zeydan, leave. Now.” His voice leaves no room for argument, no space for defiance.

Zeydan hesitates, his lips parting like he wants to challenge it—but one look at my father’s hardened gaze, and he swallows whatever the fuck he was about to say.

His glare flicks back to me, and for a second, something unspoken passes between us.

He knows.

He knows this isn’t over.

But he turns.

He fucking leaves.

The silence Zeydan leaves behind is heavy, thick with unspoken rage. My hands are still fisted, my chest rising and falling in measured breaths, the madness inside me barely contained.

Then—

“Alizeh! Are you okay?”

Aria’s voice.

My breath catches, and suddenly, everything else ceases to exist.

Fuck. I messed everything up

My princess.

She’s still here

I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t careful. I just fucking said it.

I should’ve controlled myself. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.

Shit shit shit. What am I going to do when she asks me?

“Since when have I known her, and why doesn’t she remember me?”

The thought alone sends a sharp jolt through my chest. How the hell am I supposed to answer that? How do I explain something I was never supposed to let slip in the first place?

Just like the past, today once again, I have shattered everything.

Panic grips me, my mind spiraling—

But then I see my princess.

Her face is pale, her breaths uneven, her wide, dazed eyes barely able to focus. Her fingers tremble at her sides, her body swaying, like she’s moments away from—

Fuck.

Before the thought even fully registers, I move.

The world blurs, my pulse roaring in my ears as I lunge forward. My arms reach for her just as her knees buckle, her body giving out beneath her weight—

“I caught her just as she collapsed, and now she is in my arms.”

“Alizeh!” My voice is rough, desperate, as she collapses into me, her head falling against my chest, her breaths faint, fragile.

My hold tightens instantly, my arms locking around her like a fucking lifeline, like letting go isn’t an option. Her body is small against mine, delicate, warm—but unnervingly still.

“Baby, open your eyes,” I murmur, my voice thick, my throat tight. My fingers shake as I cup her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen across her cheeks.

No response.

A shuddering breath rips through me as I pull her closer, pressing her against me, like somehow, my warmth could bring her back.

She’s in my arms.

Where she belongs.

And I swear on every fucking breath in my lungs—

I’ll never let her fall again.

Word count: 7000+

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