She stormed down the marble corridor, saree rustling around her legs like a warning siren. Her heels clicked in rage, not rhythm, echoing her fury with each step.

He watched her from the shadows, leaning casually against the wooden paneling—power, arrogance, and wicked patience oozing from his stillness. His tie was loosened. Shirt folded at the sleeves. Hair slightly undone.

And that look in his eye

Dangerously calm.

Unapologetically focused.

“Running away again, Miss Rao?” His deep voice sliced through the silence like silk over a blade.

She didn’t stop. “Don’t you have some poor soul to manipulate tonight, CM ji?” she spat, dripping venom, not even sparing him a glance.

That smirk—slow, infuriating—spread across his face. He pushed off the wall and followed, hands in his pockets, like a predator indulging a wild prey.

"You call me that like it’s an insult," he murmured behind her. "But your tone tells me it’s something much dirtier."

She spun around. “Don’t flatter yourself, Devraj Rathore. You’re still the same entitled puppet in a designer suit, ruling over a state like it’s your goddamn fiefdom.”

He stepped closer. One step. Then another. The air thickened.

"And yet…" he whispered, now inches away, “you’re still here, breathing in my space, wearing red like a challenge.”

Her chest rose in fury. "You disgust me."

He leaned in, close enough for her to feel his breath against her cheek.

"Is that why your voice trembles every time you say CM ji? Hate tastes sweet when it comes off your lips, Saanvi."

She tried to step back, but his hand found her wrist, pulling her to him—not with force, but authority. Her back hit the cold wall behind. He didn’t touch her anywhere else. Just caged her in with his body and that look in his eyes that made her skin burn.

“Let go,” she hissed.

He leaned even closer. Their lips an inch apart now.

"Or what?” he murmured. “You’ll call me names again? Ruthless… corrupt… monster… Oh, I love it when you get creative, sweetheart. That mouth of yours was made to sin."

"You're insane," she breathed, heartbeat pounding in her ears.

He tilted his head slightly, brushing his lips near her temple but never kissing.

"No, darling. I’m just obsessed. With your hate. Your fire. Your refusal to kneel."

"And I never will," she whispered.

He chuckled darkly. “You already do, Saanvi. Every time you walk into a room I’m in. Your eyes kneel. Your breath betrays you.”

She slapped her hand against his chest, pushing him. “Stay. Away.”

His grin grew darker. He caught her hand before it fell, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed her knuckles—slow, deliberate.

“Never,” he said. “You’re mine in ways you haven’t even accepted yet.”

And with that, he turned and walked away—leaving her there against the wall, heart racing, lips part

ed, hatred tangled with a heat she refused to name.