I woke up in silence, my body still trembling from last night. Every inch of me felt heavy, as if fear itself had wrapped around me and refused to let go. I stayed still, staring blankly at the ceiling, too scared to move.

Slowly, I turned my head toward him. He was still asleep. The sunlight pouring through the glass window fell directly on his face, lighting up every inch of him. His messy, curly hair framed his forehead perfectly, and those long lashes rested so softly against his skin. His jawline... sharp and defined, looked almost unreal in the golden light. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing slow and steady, the sound faintly filling the room. He looked so peaceful, so calm-like he wasn't the same man who shook me to my core last night.

I kept staring at him. I don't know why. Maybe I was trying to understand him, or maybe I was trying to understand myself. My fingers twitched, wanting to reach out, to push back those curls from his face, but I couldn't. How could I? After everything that's happened... what am I even thinking?

My thoughts drifted to Vansh. The way he treated me, how easily he pushed me away like I was nothing. Like I didn't matter. I still remember the coldness in his words, the way he made me feel so small, so... unworthy. And now, here I am, with Ishaan. This man-this obsessive man-who refuses to let me go no matter what I do. He's like a storm that I can't escape from, one I never asked for. How did it come to this? I blinked the tears that had already started forming, but it was no use. My face still felt swollen, the ache of crying for so long still lingering. My chest felt so heavy, I thought I might break. Why, Ishaan? Why are you like this? I asked him silently in my mind.

Why is it that the one man I ran from-the one I tried so hard to avoid-is the only one who's here now? The one who refuses to leave me?

I was looking at his face, letting the tears slip onto the pillow, soaking it silently. My sobs were quiet this time, but inside, I was breaking all over again. Somewhere deep down, I just wished for everything to stop. I wished I could go back to when things were easier, to when my heart wasn't this heavy, and to when none of this pain existed.

I remembered how much I had run... how far I had tried to escape. I ran and ran, thinking I could leave it all behind, thinking I could disappear. But for what? Just so he could find me so easily, wrap me up in his world, and make it impossible for me to break free? My mind wandered back to last night, to the moment he said those words in that deep, heavy voice again and again that still echoed in my ears. "I love you." Those three words... so simple yet so heavy.

Words that had always been so difficult for me to say. Words I had taken years to say to Vansh. I had to gather every ounce of courage, every piece of my heart, to say them. But this man... he said them to me so easily, so effortlessly, as if they were the simplest thing in the world. Why? Why does he feel this way? Why me? Those words weren't supposed to mean anything, But now, they've taken a new weight-a weight I don't know if I can carry.

I looked at him, lying there so peacefully, as if all the chaos he brought into my life didn't exist. My thoughts spiraled as I questioned everything-everything about him, about myself, about what had happened. After all that he did-his obsession, his anger, his control over me-There was one thing, why didn't I feel the same disgust I felt back then, as a child, when that stranger's touch had made my skin crawl? Why was his presence different? Why didn't his touch feel as repulsive as those hands from my past?

And last night... how did he stop? He could have done anything to me, and I wouldn't have been able to fight back. I'm not strong enough-not physically, not emotionally-to stop someone like him. Yet, he didn't cross that line. He could've let his obsession consume me completely, but he didn't. Why? Did he actually have control over himself, or was there something about me that held him back? For the first time, I questioned whether he truly was the monster I had convinced myself he was-or if there was something buried beneath that obsession, something even he didn't fully understand.

I didn't even realize when I had gotten so lost in my thoughts, so consumed by the whirlwind of emotions, that I failed to notice him waking up. His eyes were open now, and he was looking at me. I look into his deep eyes. My gaze locked with his, unable to look away. His eyes weren't just looking-they were searching, piercing through the layers I had buried myself under. And then, without breaking the silence, he lifted his hand and gently touched my face.

The back of his fingers brushed against my cheek, soft and careful, as if I might shatter under the weight of anything more. His thumb moved slowly, wiping away the tears. His voice, low and quiet, broke through the thick silence.

"Don't waste them," he said softly, his tone carrying a strange mix of tenderness and command. "They don't suit your face."

I didn't say anything. I just kept staring into his eyes, and he into mine, like we were trying to read each other's thoughts in that silent moment. His words lingered in the air, heavier than they should've been, and I found myself wondering if he really meant them-or if it was just another layer of the enigma he had become to me.

I looked at him and softly said, "I want to meet my relatives before leaving."

Ishan, who had been calm so far, stilled for a moment. His expression shifted, and I could feel the subtle change in the air between us. His hand, resting lightly against my lips, tightened just a little, enough to make me nervous. I didn't dare say anything else. Instead, I slowly closed my eyes, my breath uneven, and whispered, "Just this once."

His voice, low but commanding, broke the silence. "Open your eyes," he said.

I hesitated. A part of me feared what his reaction might be if I disobeyed. But my body didn't respond immediately, and I kept my eyes shut. His tone hardened, yet there was still a thread of control in it. "Don't force me, Naina."

Hearing those words, I slowly opened my eyes and found myself staring into his. They held a dangerous calm, as if he was deciding whether to let this go or take control of the situation.

"Why didn't you meet them when you ran away?" he asked, his voice quiet but heavy with unspoken accusations.

I didn't have an answer ready, so I took a moment before replying softly, "I don't know."

His lips twitched into an almost mocking smirk, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's your answer?" he said, his tone laced with skepticism.

I didn't respond. Instead, I turned my face away from him, my body shifting slightly so I was now facing the ceiling. My eyes focused on the faint patterns on the ceiling, anything to avoid meeting his gaze. But even without looking, I could feel his eyes on me, burning into me as if he was trying to read the thoughts I wasn't ready to share.

Suddenly, I felt his hand on my waist. He pulled me closer, his body now pressed against mine. "I don't trust you, Naina," he murmured near my ear, his voice soft yet sharp enough to make me shiver.

I knew what he meant. His words weren't just about trust; they were about control. He was afraid I'd try to run again, afraid I'd slip away if he gave me even a moment of freedom. And deep down, I couldn't blame him for thinking that.

But why hadn't I met my family these past few days? The question lingered in my mind, unanswered. Maybe I didn't want to see them, or maybe I didn't want them to see me like this-broken, confused, unsure of who I had become. Maybe I had been avoiding the guilt, the questions in their eyes.

Still, now that I knew there was no escaping Ishan, no other path but the one that led back to him, I had to meet them. Just once. Before this chapter of my life closed forever. I kept staring at the ceiling, my thoughts a chaotic mess, and whispered softly, "Please..."

As soon as the word left my lips, I felt his grip on my waist tighten. It wasn't painful, but it was firm enough to remind me of his dominance. He shifted slightly, his body moving closer. Propping himself up on one arm, he rested his head on his forearm, leaning toward me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.

His eyes locked onto my lips and said, "You look even more beautiful in the morning," and gave a small kiss... I was surprised but didn't say anything. he again tilted his head slightly, his voice low and deliberate. "Just this once, I'll listen to your request," he said, his tone carrying both warning and reluctant approval. His face was so close now, his words brushing against my skin like a quiet storm.



He paused, his gaze searching mine for a reaction. Then, with a slight smirk, he added, "But next time, don't expect me to agree so easily. There won't be any 'just this once' again."

I felt the weight of his words, the promise of control that lay behind them. I didn't dare push further, knowing this moment of leniency was as much as I'd get. His eyes lingered on me for a moment longer before he leaned back just a little, his presence still overwhelming, but slightly less suffocating. I didn't say another word; I simply nodded, knowing there was no room to argue.

I let out a long, shaky breath, a faint sense of relief washing over me. Finally, he agreed. At least for now. My heart, which had been racing all this time, seemed to settle into a steady rhythm, giving me a moment of calm I hadn't felt in days.

He moved slowly, lifting himself off the bed with his usual calculated grace. Standing tall, he stretched slightly, his movements deliberate yet effortless, like he always had complete control-over everything, including me. Without looking at me, he said in a low, calm voice, "If you need to rest, do it now. The journey ahead is going to be long."

Then, as if he had remembered something, he turned halfway toward me. His gaze caught mine, holding it for just a moment too long, before he added, "Rest, Naina. You'll need it." His tone had softened slightly, but the underlying authority remained. And just like that, he stood upright and abruptly walked away, leaving me staring after him, unsure whether I should feel relief or the gnawing tension that always came with his presence. I watched as he moved further from the bed, my thoughts spiraling back to the unknown journey ahead and everything it might bring.

He walked out of the room, his footsteps fading into the silence, and I stayed right there, lying motionless on the bed. My body felt heavy, too drained to move, and my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts-chaotic and relentless. The faint scent of him still lingered in the room, mixing with the crisp morning air coming through the slightly open window. I stared blankly at the ceiling, my thoughts shifting back to, Why did he agree so suddenly? Why now? His words replayed in my mind on a loop, each one carrying a weight that was hard to ignore. I closed my eyes, hoping to find some peace, this strange relief of him agreeing to let me meet my family. It felt surreal, almost too good to be true.

I clutched the edge of the blanket, pulling it closer as if it could shield me from the storm inside my head. The room was silent now, but my mind wasn't. It kept whispering questions I didn't have answers to, dragging me deeper into my thoughts. And so, I lay there, lost in the maze of my own mind, unsure of what to feel, what to think, or what to do next.



Naina, lost in her thoughts and overwhelmed by the emotional whirlwind she had endured, eventually succumbed to sleep. The weight of everything-her fear, confusion, and slight relief at Ishaan agreeing to her request-had drained her. She knew it was already morning, but her exhausted body craved rest. Her mind, finally quiet for a moment, allowed her to drift into an uneasy slumber.

Meanwhile, Ishaan walked out of the room, his face calm but his mind restless. As he reached the living area, he pulled out his phone and dialed Faris. The call was answered quickly. "Sir," came Faris's voice.

"Have the cars ready when I call. Before heading back, we need to make a stop... for Naina," Ishaan instructed firmly.

"Understood, sir," Faris replied without hesitation. Ishaan hung up, the call ending with a sharp beep.

Last night, long after Naina had fallen asleep, Ishaan had already called Faris to arrange for a hotel. He didn't want Naina to wake up in the middle of the night and be startled or frightened if she saw anyone unfamiliar, especially Faris, who was always hovering near Ishaan whenever they traveled. Ishaan had planned every move meticulously, ensuring that even the smallest details were taken care of.

Now, sitting in the living area, Ishaan's thoughts drifted to the night he learned Naina had escaped. His chest tightened, and his jaw clenched as he recalled the uncontrollable rage that had consumed him. The very idea of her running from him had driven him mad. It was as if something primal had been triggered within him-a possessiveness so deep it almost scared him.

When his men had informed him that Naina was hiding in a small rented room, he hadn't wasted a second. In his fury, he had the room set ablaze. It was a warning-a declaration that there was no place in the world where she could hide from him. The excuse given Naina about this being a friend's house of Mr. Khurana was far from the truth. In reality, the penthouse they were in now was something Ishaan had purchased just two days ago, solely for her.

Everything had been planned meticulously, but that didn't mean it had been easy. Ishaan had used his immense power to get to her, starting from interrogating the restaurant worker with a gun to his head. The worker had given him the name of the cab company, and from there, the cab driver had been forced to reveal the location. Step by step, Ishaan had pieced everything together, sparing no one in his quest to find her.

It sounded simple when spoken aloud, but it was far from it. What made it possible wasn't just Ishaan's resources as a successful businessman but the terrifying fact that he was much more than that. Behind the polished image of a wealthy entrepreneur lay the identity of a mafia kingpin-a man whose influence and power were unmatched. For Ishaan, breaking people, rules, and boundaries wasn't a challenge. It was second nature.

As he sat back on the couch, Ishaan's lips curled into a faint smirk. Finding Naina hadn't just been about power or obsession-it had been about reclaiming something he believed was his. And now that she was here, in his world, he wasn't going to let her go. Not again.

Ishaan picked up the rose that had fallen from Naina's hand the night before, when he had roughly pulled her through the stairs. He held it delicately between his fingers, bringing it up to his nose. As he inhaled its faint fragrance, a dark thought crossed his mind.

"Just like her," he muttered to himself, his gaze fixed on the rose. "Delicate, fragile."

The way she had tried to escape, to run away from him-it only made him more certain of her value. She was his obsession, his possession now. And though she might resist, fight him, or even hate him, deep down, Ishaan knew that this softness-this vulnerability-was exactly what made her more intoxicating to him.

The rose's scent lingered, a reminder of her, and he smiled darkly, his thoughts swirling with the certainty that Naina was something he wouldn't let slip away. Not ever again.

🥀

A few hours later, Naina and Ishaan were seated in the back seat of a sleek black car. The driver silently handled the wheel up front, while a convoy of vehicles followed closely behind-each one belonging to Ishaan. The atmosphere in the car was heavy yet silent. Naina sat by the window, her gaze fixed outside, lost in the blur of passing scenery. Ishaan, on the other hand, was busy on his tablet, seemingly engrossed in work.

He didn't say a word to her during the ride. He knew this was her final visit to this place-her last connection to her old world. Or maybe not the last, but if she ever returned, it would only be with him. Still, he let her stay in her thoughts, in her silence, not wanting to disturb her. He could sense her unease but chose to let her process it in her own time.

After a while, the car pulled up outside the home of Naina's relatives. Ishaan's sharp eyes caught the way her body tensed as they approached. Her hands were tightly clasped in her lap, and her breathing had grown shallow. He could feel the fear radiating from her-the fear of facing the remnants of her family, the fear of revisiting memories she had buried deep inside.

Naina was terrified. Her mind was racing with thoughts of what lay ahead. How would she face them? Would seeing them stir up all the pain she had tried so hard to suppress? What if she couldn't control herself and broke down completely? Her anxiety had built up to a suffocating point, and she felt as though her chest might explode from the pressure.

And then, suddenly, she felt something warm against her hand. Ishaan's hand had slipped over hers, his strong fingers curling gently around hers. His touch wasn't harsh or possessive this time-it was steady, grounding. She froze, her breath catching in her throat as she turned to look at him.

His expression softened just a little as he leaned in closer, bringing his lips near her ear. In a voice that was low but firm, he whispered, "It's okay."

His words weren't just words-they carried a strange kind of assurance, as if he understood exactly what she was feeling. For a moment, she stared at him, her wide, uncertain eyes meeting his. She was trembling slightly, but the warmth of his touch and the calm in his voice gave her a flicker of stability.

Naina nodded slowly, her hands still shaking in his grasp. She turned her face back toward the window, trying to control her breathing. She wasn't trembling because of him now-it was the thought of stepping inside and seeing what little remained of her family. It wasn't fear of Ishaan, but fear of confronting the echoes of a past she had tried to forget.

Ishaan watched her for a moment longer before letting go of her hand. He leaned back against the seat but kept his eyes on her, knowing this was one of those moments where he didn't need to push-just support.

Ishaan stepped out of the car, his tall frame radiating an aura of power and authority. He walked around to Naina's side, opened the door, and offered his hand to help her out. She hesitated for a brief moment, her gaze flickering to his extended hand, before placing hers into his. His grip was firm yet gentle, as if silently assuring her that he wouldn't let go.

Even as they stepped onto the pavement, his hand remained clasped around hers. He wasn't just holding her hand-he was anchoring her, keeping her steady amidst the storm of emotions she was battling.

Naina's relatives, alerted by the sound of the cars pulling up and the sight of the convoy, had already gathered outside their house. The sight of Naina stepping out of the car, hand-in-hand with Ishaan, left them stunned. Whispers filled the air, their eyes filled with shock and curiosity. They hadn't expected to see her like this, especially after everything that had happened.

Naina could feel the weight of their stares, the unspoken questions in their eyes. She swallowed hard and slowly turned to Ishaan, her gaze silently pleading for him to let go of her hand. Ishaan, understanding her hesitation, loosened his grip. His eyes met hers briefly as he gently released her hand, his expression unreadable but calm.

Taking a deep breath, Naina stepped forward, her legs feeling like they were weighed down with bricks. As soon as she reached her relatives, she froze, and the flood of emotions overwhelmed her. Without thinking, she collapsed into their arms, her tears streaming freely down her face.

Her relatives, equally emotional, embraced her tightly, their own eyes glistening with tears. They had been waiting for this moment, to see her again, to hold her, and to let her know they were still here for her. The weight of their shared grief hung heavy in the air, but their embrace provided a moment of solace.

Naina wept uncontrollably in their arms, unable to hold back all the pain she had suppressed for so long. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable in front of them. She clung to them as if trying to piece together the fragments of her broken world.

As she cried, something unexpected happened. The people she had once thought of as distant or unkind-those she believed didn't care about her-suddenly seemed different. Their faces, their gestures, even the way they spoke to her now carried a warmth she hadn't noticed before. Perhaps it was her own pain that had softened her perspective, or maybe they truly had changed, understanding the depths of her loss and sorrow.

Standing a few steps behind, Ishaan watched the scene silently. His hands rested in his pockets, his sharp gaze taking in every detail. He didn't interrupt, didn't step forward-he gave her the space she needed to reconnect. For now, it was her moment, her family, her world.

One of Naina's relatives, still trying to process everything, looked toward Ishaan and asked curiously, "Who is he?"

Naina turned toward Ishaan, her face paling as she opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She was frozen, unsure of what to say.

Ishaan, however, had already heard the question. Without missing a beat, he stepped forward confidently, his tall frame commanding attention. His voice was calm yet firm as he said,

"I'm her soon-to-be husband."

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.

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