"So... do I go back to my hostel?" I asked the moment we stepped off the plane, my voice casual, but my heart anything but.

The first time I came here, he had been a stranger—a dangerously enigmatic one, standing at the arrival gate, waiting to pick me up. And now... he was my husband.

Zavian shot me a look, one brow arching as he adjusted his watch. "What do you think?"

I blinked. "I think I packed for my hostel."

"And I think," he countered smoothly, "that you won't be needing that hostel anymore."

A slow heat crept up my neck. "Zavian—"

"I have a home here, Iman," he cut me off, his voice dropping an octave. "And now, it's yours too."

My breath hitched. "I... I just thought we'd discuss this first."

He smirked. "Sure, let's discuss it. Where do you want your closet? Left or right side of mine?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Very funny."

"I wasn't joking." His fingers brushed my wrist, sending shivers up my arm. "You're coming home with me. End of discussion."

I stared at him, half in disbelief, half in something else I couldn't name. Maybe it was the way he said home—like it wasn't just a place, but something deeper. Something I was now a part of.

I exhaled slowly. "Fine. But I'm still keeping my hostel key. Just in case."

Zavian chuckled, leaning in. "Keep it all you want, sweetheart. You won't be using it."

I rolled my eyes, clutching my bag as we walked toward baggage claim. "You're very sure of yourself, Mr. Husband."

Zavian hummed, sliding a hand into his pocket, his stride effortlessly confident. "I just know you'll like waking up next to me more than waking up alone in that hostel room."

I scoffed, ignoring the way my stomach flipped. "You have a real talent for making things sound way more dramatic than they are."

He smirked. "And you have a talent for denial, Mrs. Zavian."

I shrugged and then glanced at him, "What's the key for? The one you gave me on the plane."

Zavian's smirk deepened, a glint of amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Impatient, aren't we?"

I shrugged, feigning indifference even as my fingers curled around the small, ornate key inside my pocket. "You handed it to me without a word. Obviously, I'm curious."

He stopped walking, turning to face me fully. The bustling airport faded into the background as he reached out, brushing his knuckles lightly against mine—the same hand holding the key.

"It's for something special." His voice was lower now, deliberate. "But you'll find out soon enough."

I narrowed my eyes. "So cryptic, Mr. Husband. Should I be worried?"

His lips twitched, and before I could react, he leaned in just enough that his breath ghosted against my ear. "You'll like it."

I swallowed, my heartbeat quickening despite my best efforts. "You sound very sure of yourself."

He pulled back, smirking as he grabbed my suitcase again and started walking. "I just know my wife."

I blinked, standing there for a beat before snapping out of it and rushing after him. "You've known me for, what? A few months?"

"Long enough."

I huffed, annoyed at the way his words sent a shiver down my spine.

We exited the airport, and I expected him to take me to his car, but instead, he led me towards a sleek black SUV parked a little farther than the rest. My brows furrowed. "Wait, this isn't your usual car."

Zavian opened the passenger door, waiting for me to get in. "No, it's not."

I hesitated. "Where are we going?"

His eyes met mine, dark and unreadable. "You'll see."

I sighed, but climbed in, gripping the key a little tighter.

Whatever this was, I had a feeling it was only the beginning.

The drive was quiet, save for the soft hum of the radio. Zavian's fingers tapped against the steering wheel, his profile calm yet unreadable. I stole glances at him, the key in my hand growing heavier with each passing minute.

I finally exhaled. "Okay, I give up. Where are we going?"

His lips twitched. "Patience, Mrs. Zavian."

I scoffed. "I don't have that."

He chuckled but didn't say anything else.

We drove for another twenty minutes before he finally turned into a quieter neighborhood—a secluded, upscale area lined with elegant houses, tall trees swaying under the evening sky.

My heart thumped. "Zavian..."

He parked in front of a two-story house, modern yet warm, its soft exterior lights casting a golden glow. The gate slid open smoothly as he drove in, stopping in the private driveway.

My breath hitched. "This is..."

He turned to me, his eyes searching mine. "Our home."

The words settled between us, heavy and surreal. I blinked at him, my lips parting but no sound escaping.

"Use the key," he murmured.

With slightly trembling fingers, I pulled it from my pocket and stepped out of the car. The front door loomed in front of me, polished and new, with a golden lock that matched the key in my palm.

Zavian stood behind me, close but not rushing me. I swallowed and slid the key in, turning it. The lock clicked, and I pushed the door open.

A soft gasp escaped me.

Inside, the space was breathtaking. Warm wooden floors, cozy lighting, and elegant furniture. The faint scent of fresh roses lingered in the air, and I realized there were flower arrangements placed carefully around the living area.

My chest tightened. "You—"

"I wanted our own place," he said, stepping inside with me. "Something that's just ours."

I turned to him, my eyes stinging slightly. "Zavian... when did you—?"

"I started planning after the wedding was finalized." His gaze softened. "I didn't want you to go back to the hostel."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, running my fingers over the smooth marble counter in the open kitchen, then trailing them along the soft velvet of the sofa. It didn't feel real.

He suddenly reached for my hand, pulling me gently until I faced him. "Say something, Iman."

I exhaled shakily, staring at him—the man who had gone from my annoying acquaintance to my unexpected husband, to someone who had just given me something more than a home.

He had given me belonging.

I squeezed his hand. "I love it."

His lips curved, but before he could say anything, I went on my toes, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. His fingers tightened over mine, his breath hitching slightly.

"Thank you, Zavian."

He held me there, his grip warm, firm. "Always."

_

I crossed my arms, leaning against the kitchen counter as I watched him with barely concealed amusement. Zavian, the man who could do almost everything flawlessly, was currently frowning at a simple cup of tea like it was a battlefield strategy gone wrong.

"Zavian, tea is literally the simplest thing to make," I said, my tone somewhere between exasperation and laughter.

He shot me a dry look, fumbling with the sugar. "Mashal-e-Mehtaab, I can cook a five-course meal if needed. But tea? Tea was never meant for my making."

I bit back a grin. "So you're telling me the great Zavian, who can handle cooking and God knows what else, is defeated by a humble cup of chai?"

His jaw tightened as he dumped the sugar in with a little too much force. "I don't lose."

A snort escaped me. "Oh really? Because right now, the milk is curdling and the tea leaves are floating like a crime scene."

He cursed under his breath, stirring aggressively. I sighed, stepping forward and prying the spoon from his grip. "Move aside, commander. Let me show you how it's done."

He didn't budge. Instead, he leaned down, his voice dropping. "You think you're so clever, huh?"

I tilted my chin up smugly. "No, I know I am."

His gaze flickered to my lips for a brief moment before he stepped back, smirking. "Fine, impress me, Mrs. Zavian."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop my heart from skipping at the way he said that. Turning my focus to the disaster he'd created, I sighed and grabbed a fresh pot. "Watch and learn."

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with an intensity that made my cheeks warm.

"Oh, I'm watching," he murmured, his voice like a quiet promise.

_

"Wake up, jaaneman."

A deep, velvety voice broke through my dreams, followed by the warmth of a hand resting on my waist. I shifted slightly, burying my face deeper into the pillow, my eyelids too heavy to lift.

"No," I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep. "Go away."

A low chuckle rumbled behind me, sending shivers down my spine. Then, before I could protest further, soft lips brushed against the curve of my neck—warm, lingering, utterly distracting.

"Wake up, princess," he murmured against my skin, his voice coaxing, teasing.

I stirred, my breath hitching as another slow, deliberate kiss followed, right where my pulse beat. My fingers curled into the sheets, my drowsiness fading under the intoxicating awareness of him.

My eyes snapped open, immediately locking onto Zavian's smug expression. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he leaned back, clearly enjoying my reaction.

I groggily turned my head toward the clock, my drowsy mind struggling to process the glowing numbers. 3:00 a.m.

My eyes widened in disbelief. "It's literally three in the morning, Zavian!" I hissed, my voice thick with sleep.

He only chuckled, entirely unfazed, and reached for my hand, effortlessly pulling me up into a sitting position. His grip was warm, firm—impossible to resist.

"Surprise, surprise," he murmured, a mischievous glint in his gaze. "We're going somewhere."

"Mmhmm," I hummed sleepily, my head falling against his chest as my eyes fluttered shut. His warmth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it was too easy to sink back into drowsiness.

Zavian laughed, low and amused. "Do you want me to get you out of your dress? I wouldn't mind."

My eyes snapped open instantly. Sleep? Gone. Completely gone. I jerked upright, staring at him in utter disbelief.

"Why do I have to change?" I demanded, my voice laced with suspicion.

His smirk deepened, that signature devilish glint flashing in his gaze. "Because you wouldn't want to ride on Reaper while wearing a gown, sweetheart."

My stomach dropped. "Reaper?" I repeated, horrified. My eyes widened as realization struck. "Hell no. Not your heavy bike, Zavian!"

He only chuckled at my groan, standing up and reaching for my hand. "Oh, but you are, janaan. Now, be a good girl and get changed."

I grabbed a pair of his trousers and a shirt—because there was no way I was wearing anything remotely uncomfortable for this—and changed in the bathroom, still grumbling under my breath. Even after slipping into the soft fabric, I wasn't any happier about the situation.

As I stepped out, arms crossed, Zavian leaned lazily against the wall, already dressed in his leather jacket, looking every bit the dangerous man he was. His eyes flicked over me, and something in them darkened.

"Cute," he murmured, his smirk widening.

I rolled my eyes. "I hate this."

"You'll love it." He reached for my wrist, pulling me toward the door.

"I won't."

"You will."

We stepped outside, and there it was—Reaper. His sleek black beast of a bike, shining under the dim glow of the streetlights. My stomach churned.

"Zavian—"

"Hop on." He handed me a helmet, completely ignoring the absolute refusal on my face.

"I swear to God—"

"Jaan," he said smoothly, tilting his head, "if you don't get on yourself, I'll put you on it."

I gaped at him, heat rushing up my neck. "You wouldn't."

His smirk was pure sin. "Try me."

I narrowed my eyes at him, gripping the helmet in my hands. The chilly night air wrapped around us, but the real storm was brewing between me and this infuriating man.

"You're impossible," I muttered, shoving the helmet onto my head.

Zavian only chuckled, swinging a leg over Reaper with ease. He revved the engine once, the deep, throaty growl of the machine sending a shiver down my spine. He patted the seat behind him. "Come on, sweetheart. I don't have all night."

With a glare sharp enough to cut steel, I climbed on, hesitantly wrapping my arms around his waist. My fingers barely touched when—

"Tighter."

I froze. "Excuse me?"

"Unless you want to fly off the back, I suggest you hold on properly."

I huffed but obeyed, sliding my arms fully around him. The warmth of his body seeped through his jacket, and I swallowed hard, my heart doing an embarrassing little flip.

Zavian clicked his tongue. "See? Not so bad, hmm?"

"I still hate you."

His deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Sure, jaan."

Before I could retort, he twisted the throttle, and the bike lurched forward, sending us speeding into the quiet, moonlit streets. My breath hitched as the wind whipped against us, my grip tightening instinctively.

Zavian leaned closer, his voice a teasing murmur over the rush of the wind. "Told you you'd love it."