"You did not," I hissed, my voice barely above a whisper, heat rushing to my cheeks as I stared at the couple's cabin in front of me. One bed... Oh Allah. My mind raced, my heart thudding louder than the quiet hum of the plane. The intimate, luxurious space seemed too surreal to be real.

I glanced at Zavian, who was watching me with that knowing, playful look in his eyes. His lips curved upward, barely containing the amusement that danced in his gaze. "Surprised?" he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing.

I didn't trust myself to respond. My mouth felt dry, my body suddenly feeling like it was on fire. All I could do was nod, feeling the awkwardness settle between us, even though the space was anything but awkward.

He chuckled, a deep, low sound that made the air between us feel heavier. "After you," he said, his voice thick with amusement.

I shot him a glance, my pulse quickening, before I hesitated for a second too long. With a deep breath, I stepped into the cabin, my heart thudding like a drum in my chest. The room was smaller than I expected, intimate in a way that felt both exhilarating and slightly overwhelming. The bed, just the right size for the two of us, dominated the space.

Zavian followed behind me, his presence filling the room instantly. I could feel the weight of his gaze on my back, his silent observation, and I couldn't bring myself to turn around just yet.

Finally, he stepped up beside me, his voice soft and filled with an almost unrecognizable warmth. "You okay?"

I nodded, trying to keep my composure. "Yeah," I replied, though my breath caught a little in my throat.

Zavian, ever the tease, smirked. "Good. I was worried you'd change your mind."

I shot him a look, still flustered but fighting back a smile. "As if," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

He grinned, leaning against the door. "Well, no turning back now, is there?"

I bit my lip, suddenly aware of how close he was. My heart fluttered again, a mixture of nerves and excitement swirling inside me.

I walked over to the bed, my steps slower than usual, as if my body was still processing the reality of the situation. With a quiet sigh, I settled down, tucking my legs beneath me, my fingers grazing over the soft sheets.

Alright. I'm here. Let it be.

The hum of the plane was a low murmur in the background, the gentle sway of the aircraft barely noticeable. But in this small, enclosed space, everything else felt amplified—the weight of Zavian's gaze, the quiet crackle of unspoken tension, the way my pulse quickened as he moved closer.

He didn't speak right away, just studied me, arms crossed, as if reading every flicker of hesitation on my face. Then, with a slow exhale, he walked forward, shrugging off his suit jacket and tossing it onto the armchair in the corner.

"Nervous?" His voice was softer now, lacking its usual teasing edge.

I met his eyes, my own steady despite the rapid beating of my heart. "Should I be?"

His lips curved into something between a smirk and a knowing smile. "No. But you are."

I huffed, looking away. "I just wasn't expecting this." I gestured toward the intimate space, my cheeks warming.

Zavian chuckled, stepping closer until he was right in front of me. "Would you rather be out there, trying to sleep sitting up?"

I pursed my lips. He had a point.

"Didn't think so," he murmured, and before I could react, he reached out.

I stiffened for a second as his fingers found the edge of my dupatta, adjusting it gently over my shoulder. The touch was light, barely there, but it sent shivers down my spine.

"Relax, Mashal-e-Mehtaab," he said, his voice dipping lower, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a secret. "You're my wife. That's not going to change when we land."

The weight of his words settled over me, and for the first time tonight, I truly let them sink in.

I was married. To him.

And whether I was ready or not, this was just the beginning.

I stifled a yawn, stretching slightly. "Well, I'm going to sleep if you—"

I didn't even get to finish my sentence before the cabin lights dimmed, and in the next second, Zavian slumped onto the bed beside me, his movements effortless, as if he belonged there. "Same," he murmured, voice low and drowsy.

I blinked, caught off guard, but before I could react, he shifted, his head finding its place against my legs. The warmth of him seeped through the fabric of my dress, the weight both unfamiliar and oddly grounding.

My breath hitched. "Zavian—"

"Hmm?" His eyes were closed now, his lashes casting soft shadows against his sharp cheekbones.

I should have moved, should have nudged him off, but I didn't. Instead, I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his breathing evened out as he settled against me—completely at ease.

"Nothing," I whispered, more to myself than him.

A soft hum rumbled in his throat, his hand lazily reaching for mine. He found it, his fingers brushing over my palm before curling around it.

"Sleep, Mashal-e-Mehtaab," he murmured, his grip tightening slightly as if to keep me close, even in sleep. "I'm right here."

And just like that, with the hum of the plane around us and his warmth anchoring me, I let my eyes close, letting exhaustion and the quiet comfort of him pull me under.

When I woke up, warmth cocooned me, heavy and unyielding. It took me a moment to register why my body felt weighted down, why my breath hitched before my eyes even fluttered open.

Zavian.

His face was pressed against my stomach, his soft breaths fanning over the fabric of my dress, the steady rise and fall of his chest against me hypnotic. And then there was his arm—strong, heavy, possessive—draped over my waist as if claiming his place even in sleep.

I swallowed, my fingers twitching against the sheets. My heart betrayed me, beating wildly against my ribs, warmth crawling up my skin at the sheer intimacy of our position. "Zavian," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't stir. Not at first.

I exhaled slowly, trying to shift, but the moment I moved an inch, his grip tightened, a low, sleepy grumble vibrating from his chest. "Stay still." His voice was thick with drowsiness, husky and deep, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Zavian, we're on a plane—"

"Exactly," he muttered, eyes still closed as he nuzzled deeper into me. "Nowhere to go, Mashal-e-Mehtaab. Just stay."

I bit my lip, torn between amusement and exasperation. "You're impossible."

A smirk ghosted over his lips, his grip around my waist loosening just enough for his fingers to brush over my hip.

I sucked in a breath, my pulse betraying me once again.

He finally cracked one eye open, dark and laced with something unreadable. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We have all the time in the world."

And the way he said it—slow, sure, like a promise—I knew.

I was already his.

I swallowed hard, my fingers twitching against the sheets as his words settled deep in my chest.

Zavian's hold on me wasn't just heavy—it was consuming. His warmth seeped through the fabric of my dress, his breath fanning against my skin like a slow-burning fire. And when his fingers, those long, calloused fingers, brushed just slightly against my waist, I forgot how to breathe.

"Go back to sleep?" I murmured, my voice softer, more breathless than I intended.

His eyes, hooded and dark, traced over my face, lingering at my parted lips. "Mmm," he hummed lazily, though there was nothing lazy about the way his hand slid up my side, just barely grazing the curve of my ribs.

My heart slammed against my ribs. "You're doing a terrible job at helping me sleep."

A deep chuckle rumbled through him, and before I could react, he shifted—his weight pressing closer, the arm around me pulling me in until I was flush against him. "Am I?"

I gasped, heat crawling up my spine. "Zavian—"

"Hmm?" His nose brushed against my jaw, his voice laced with amusement, with something deeper. "I told you to stay still, sweetheart. Now look what you've done."

I sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along my hip, igniting a firestorm beneath my skin.

"Zavian," I warned, though it came out more like a plea.

He smirked, dark and utterly knowing. "What?" His lips brushed against my temple, featherlight, yet it sent a tremor through me. "We are married, Mashal-e-Mehtaab. What's stopping me from touching my wife?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, my body betraying me as I leaned into his warmth, into his touch. "You're impossible," I whispered.

His lips were at my ear now, his breath hot as he murmured, "You don't seem to mind."

He was right. And that terrified me more than anything else.

The cabin was dark except for the soft glow of the night light, casting shadows over his sharp features. Zavian's arm remained draped around me, his fingers tracing slow, teasing circles on my waist. Each touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I had to remind myself to breathe.

"Sleep," I murmured weakly, though even I didn't sound convinced.

"I am," he muttered against my skin, his voice deep, laced with amusement.

"Zavian—" My protest turned into a gasp when he shifted again, his leg slipping between mine, his grip tightening just slightly, just enough to make me hyperaware of how close we were.

"Hmm?" He was playing with me. And worse? He was enjoying it.

"You're doing this on purpose," I accused, attempting to push at his shoulder. But he didn't budge, only smirked against my neck before placing the lightest kiss there.

"Doing what, sweetheart?" His lips lingered, his breath hot against my skin, sending another shiver through me.

I clenched my fists, trying to gather what little self-control I had left. "You're teasing me."

"Am I?" His voice was low, dangerously smooth, and the way he said it made my stomach twist in anticipation.

I was about to retort when he suddenly leaned up on one arm, his face inches from mine. His dark, unreadable gaze flickered over my lips, my slightly parted mouth, before locking onto my eyes.

"I'm just holding my wife," he murmured, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Is that a crime?"

My throat was dry, my pulse erratic. "It should be," I muttered.

He smirked, then, slow and deliberate. "Then arrest me, Mrs. Zavian."

Before I could even react, he brushed his lips over my forehead—tender, almost reverent—before pulling me closer against him, like he had no intention of letting go.

I was in trouble.

Big, big trouble.

"Well I'm going to break this romantic tension of ours... I'm hungry," I said my face still flushed

Zavian chuckled, his grip on me loosening just enough to let me sit up. "Of course, you are," he mused, watching me with a lazy smirk. "My wife and her priorities."

I shot him a glare as I reached for the cabin's service menu. "Excuse me for needing food to survive, Mr. Zavian," I muttered, flipping through the pages. "Unlike you, I can't live on brooding stares and unnecessary smirks."

He propped himself up on one elbow, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "Unnecessary?"

"Yes," I deadpanned, not looking up.

There was a beat of silence before he suddenly plucked the menu from my hands, tossing it to the side. My eyes widened. "Zavian!

"I already ordered."

I blinked. "You what?"

He smirked, leaning closer, his voice a teasing whisper. "Wife, I know you better than you think. You get grumpy when you're hungry."

I huffed, crossing my arms. "I do not."

"You do."

"I don't—" My protest was cut short when a knock sounded at the cabin door. My stomach betrayed me at the same moment, letting out a small growl.

Zavian raised a brow, smug. "That," he said, "was adorable."

I groaned, covering my face as he got up to grab the food. I was never going to live this down.

_

I twirled my fork between my fingers, eyeing his plate with a mischievous glint. "Your steak looks way more delicious, Zavian," I mused, dragging out the words just to test him.

He didn't even hesitate. A lazy grin curved his lips as he slid his plate toward me with a light push. "All yours, sweetheart," he murmured, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

I blinked, caught off guard. "Wait, really?"

"Mmhmm." He leaned back, arms crossed, watching me like he was enjoying the sight of me all flustered. "You want something, you take it. Simple."

I bit my lip to hide my smile, feeling an odd warmth spread through me. Who knew the notorious Zavian Noraiz had such a sweet side?

I speared a bite of his steak, savoring the rich flavor as I nudged my plate of pasta toward him. "Well, we can always share," I offered, my voice light, teasing.

Zavian's gaze flickered with amusement as he picked up my fork instead of his own, twirling the pasta around it with slow precision. "Sharing, huh?" he murmured, bringing the bite to his lips.

I watched, half expecting him to comment on how my choice of food wasn't manly enough for him, but instead, he smirked. "Not bad. But I think I still prefer my steak."

I scoffed, slicing off another piece from his plate. "Good thing your preferences don't matter. I'm claiming half of this."

His brow arched, that signature lazy smirk playing on his lips. "Half?" He leaned in, his voice dropping a notch. "Sweetheart, I let you have my food, but I don't share that easily."

I swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. "Too late," I shot back, popping another bite into my mouth. "Consider it mine now."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Possessive little thing, aren't you?"

I grinned. "You love it."

Zavian's gaze held mine for a long moment before he smirked. "That, I do."