Kabir didn’t stop at the bedroom door. Ignoring her frantic protests and the harmless drumming of her fists against his back, he marched straight into the adjoining bathroom, his heavy combat boots echoing sharply against the pristine white marble.

With a single, smooth motion, he slid her down the length of his body, setting her feet firmly onto the cool floor. But before Trisha could even draw a breath to scold him, Kabir caught her by the waist and gently but unyieldingly pressed her back against the tiled wall. The glazed ceramic felt shockingly cold through the thin fabric of her kurti, making her gasp.

He didn't give her space to recover. Stepping flush into her personal space, his towering frame completely boxed her in. His hands slid from her waist up to brace flat against the wall on either side of her head, locking her in place just like he had trapped her on the sofa minutes ago—only now, the air between them was thick with a heavy, dangerous heat.

"Kabir, what—"

Without breaking eye contact, Kabir reached out with one hand and sharply turned the handle of the overhead shower.

A sudden, heavy torrent of water cascaded down on them. The initial spray hit Trisha squarely, making her gasp sharply as the cool water drenched her hair and soaked through her clothes within seconds, sealing the fabric to her skin like a second layer. She instinctively closed her eyes, her eyelashes clumping together as water droplets ran down her face, tracing the sharp line of her jaw.

But the water wasn't freezing for long; the heater kicked in, and the spray quickly turned into a warm, steaming mist that filled the glass enclosure.

Trisha blinked her eyes open, wiping the water from her brow, only to find Kabir standing right under the deluge with her. His dark shirt was completely ruined, clinging ruthlessly to the dense, sculpted contours of his chest and shoulders.

His dark hair was plastered against his forehead, and water was streaming down his rugged face, pooling in the stubble along his jawline. Yet, his piercing blue eyes were wide open, burning through the mist with an unblinking, hyper-focused intensity that made her throat instantly go dry.

"Are you out of your mind?" Trisha breathed, her voice shaking slightly as she wiped a stray stream of water from her lip.

She tried to push against his chest, but it was like trying to move a stone monument. "Look at us! We’re completely soaked. Your boots, your clothes—"

"I told you," Kabir interrupted, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that cut right through the steady hum of the rushing water. He didn't look angry; he looked entirely possessed by her.

He leaned down slightly, bringing his face so close that she could feel the hot breath escaping his lips. "No one kisses you like that. Not even the hound."

Trisha let out a breathy, disbelief-filled laugh, her hands still resting against his soaked shirt. The sheer absurdity of the situation finally broke through her annoyance. "You are utterly ridiculous, Major. You threw me in the shower because of a dog?"

"I threw us in the shower because you needed to wash that fluff-ball's germs off your face," Kabir countered smoothly, a faint, dangerous tilt touching the corner of his wet lips.

"And because you were ignoring me. I don't like being ignored, Trisha. Especially not in my own house."

Slowly, deliberately, he brought his hand up, his wet fingers gently cupping the side of her face. His thumb swept across her cheekbone, wiping away a stream of water, before settling right beside her mouth—lingering on the small, sensitive spot near her lips.

The contrast between the cool tile against her back and the burning, electric heat of his palm against her skin was dizzying.

Trisha’s heart hammered violently against her ribs, the sound lost beneath the roar of the shower. She looked up at him, her dark eyes reflecting the absolute surrender she was trying so hard to fight. The water kept falling, creating a private, translucent wall between them and the rest of the world. In this small, steamed-up space, there were no missions, no Rathores, no fractured family legacies—just the heavy, rhythmic sound of their breathing and the undeniable grip he had over her entire existence.

"You're stubborn," she whispered, her fingers unconsciously tightening, bunching the wet fabric of his shirt into her fists.

"I'm thorough," Kabir corrected softly, his gaze dropping to her parted lips, darkened and slick from the water. He leaned in the final inch, his chest crushing against hers as he took her mouth under the warm, falling rain.

The warm rain of the shower continued to fall in a heavy, rhythmic deluge, sealing the rest of the world outside the steam-fogged glass.

Kabir’s mouth claimed hers with a fierce, starved intensity that shattered whatever remained of Trisha's breath.

It wasn't the gentle kiss of a husband seeking comfort; it was the raw, demanding possession of a man who had watched her belong to the dark for too long and was now reclaiming every single inch of her.

Trisha let out a soft, muffled whimper against his lips, her hands tearing away from his chest to bury themselves deep into his thick, soaked hair. She pulled him closer, arching her body off the cold tile until she was completely flushed against the hard, unyielding line of his torso.

The wet fabric of her kurti offered no protection against the searing heat radiating from his skin.

Kabir groaned deep in his throat, the sound a low, predatory vibration that rippled straight through her. His hands, large and slick with water, slid down her sides, his thumbs tracing the curve of her ribs before anchoring heavily on her hips.

With an effortless flex of his arms, he lifted her slightly, pressing her higher against the wall so he could angle his mouth deeper, devouring her sweetness until her head spun.

The water streamed down their faces, mingling with the heat of their breath. Kabir broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, only to bury his face in the crook of her neck.

His stubble grazed the sensitive skin of her throat, making her shiver violently as his teeth lightly grazed the column of her neck, leaving burning, invisible marks beneath the falling rain.

"Kabir..." she breathed his name, a desperate, breathless plea that only seemed to drive him further over the edge.

His hands grew bolder, sliding under the hem of her soaked tunic, his calloused palms making direct contact with the smooth, burning skin of her waist.

The sensation of his rough hands against her bare skin sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to her core. He mapped the contours of her body with a devastating thoroughness, his fingers digging into her hips, anchoring her to him as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded in the middle of a storm.

Slowly, deliberately, Kabir shifted his weight, his thigh parting her legs and crowding himself into the space between them. The friction of his hard, heavy frame pressing against the center of her desire made Trisha's eyelids flutter shut, her fingers gripping his shoulders so tightly her knuckles turned white.

He leaned all his weight into her, trapping her between his iron strength and the solid wall. His mouth traveled back up to her jaw, his lips tracing a path of fire down to her collarbone while his hands worked the wet fabric higher, exposing the soft skin of her thighs to the warm spray of the water. Every touch was heavy, deliberate, and laced with a quiet, lethal intensity that demanded her absolute surrender.

"Look at me," Kabir rasped against her skin, his voice rough and laced with an undeniable command.

Trisha forced her heavy eyelids open, her dark eyes glittering with a mixture of vulnerability and burning desire through the mist. Kabir was looking down at her, his blue eyes dark, blown out, and completely consumed by her. In that unblinking gaze, there was no Major, no war, no shadows—only a man completely undone by the woman in his arms, waiting to lose himself entirely inside her.

The warm, heavy torrent of the shower continued to beat down on them, but the rhythm of the room slowed to a torturous, agonizing crawl.

Kabir’s large, calloused hands moved to the hem of her soaked kurti. His movements weren't hurried or frantic; they were maddeningly deliberate. His thumbs hooked into the wet, clinging fabric, slowly sliding it upward, tracing the bare skin of her ribs, her waist, and up over her head until the garment dropped heavily onto the flooded marble floor.

Trisha’s breath caught in her throat. Shame and a wave of pure, intense vulnerability washed over her as she instinctively tried to squeeze her eyes shut, to shield herself from the sheer weight of his gaze.

"No," Kabir rasped, his voice a low, commanding vibration that brooked absolute zero disobedience.

His wet thumb caught her chin, his grip firm but unhurtful, forcing her face up. He braced his other hand flat against the slick tile beside her ear, his massive chest crowding her, keeping her anchored. "Look at me, Trisha. Don't close your eyes."

She forced her eyelids open, her dark eyes wide, glittering, and completely overwhelmed.

The contrast was devastating, leaving her entirely breathless—Kabir stood before her completely clothed, his dark shirt plastered to his heavy muscles, his combat boots soaked on the floor, radiating absolute, dangerous control, while she stood entirely stripped, completely naked and exposed under the bright bathroom lights and the falling rain.

The raw power dynamic in the small space made her heart hammer violently against her ribs.

She felt utterly consumed, stripped of every single defense she possessed.

Kabir’s blue eyes darkened, blown out with a fierce, heavy hunger as he tracked the water droplets trailing down her collarbone, over the curve of her breasts, and down the smooth expanse of her stomach.

He didn't touch her immediately; he simply looked at her, letting her feel the full, unyielding gravity of his possession.

"You are beautiful," he murmured, his thumb slowly sliding down her jawline, trailing a path of fire over her trembling lower lip. "Every single inch of you belongs to me. Remember that."

Trisha gulped down hard, her hands trembling as they rested uselessly against his wet, clothed shoulders.

The sheer intensity of being completely bare before a man so heavily wrapped in his own strength and dominance sent a violent shiver straight down her spine, leaving her entirely at the mercy of whatever the his commanded next." Open your legs for me little bird!" He speak up.

Trisha’s throat went completely dry. She gripped the wet fabric of his shirt at his shoulders, her fingers bunching the dark material into tight knots just to keep herself upright.

For a second, her mind scrambled for a defense, a reason to pull back from the overwhelming intensity of being so entirely exposed while he remained fully dressed, wrapped in the protective armor of his clothes.

But under the burning weight of his gaze, every shield she possessed crumbled into ash.

Slowly, deliberately, she complied. She parted her thighs, sliding her feet slightly outward on the slick marble, opening herself up to him completely under the falling rain.

A slow, dark smirk cut across his rugged face as he looked up at her, his eyes flaring with a dangerous, satisfied warmth.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise heavy and intimate, sending a violent shiver straight down her spine.

He closed the remaining distance, his large hands sliding up the inside of her thighs.

His calloused palms were rough against her smooth, sensitized skin, the contrast so sharp it made her gasp out loud.

He didn't rush. He used his thumbs to trace the long, pale lines of her legs, his touch firm enough to bruise but gentle enough to make her ache, anchoring her against the wall so she had nowhere to run.

Then, his mouth moved to her core.

The first brush of his lips against her damp, aching skin was a soft, agonizing torment.

Trisha’s eyes flew wide, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as her hips instinctively jerked forward.

Her hands flew from his chest to lock onto his shoulders, her nails digging through the wet fabric into the dense muscle beneath as she tried to handle the sudden, overwhelming rush of sensation.

He didn't give her time to adjust. His tongue poked against her center, a sharp, precise flick that hit the exact focal point of her pleasure.

"Ah!" Trisha whimpered, her head snapping back against the tiled wall. Her eyes fluttered shut, her vision spinning into darkness as a wave of pure, unadulterated electricity crashed through her lower stomach.

Her knees buckled slightly, but his grip on her thighs tightened, holding her up, keeping her perfectly positioned for his undoing. "Kabir... please!"

He paused, lifting his head just enough to look up at her through the veil of falling water.

His lips were wet, his dark hair plastered against his forehead, and his expression was entirely ruthless—the face of a hunter who knew exactly how much agony his prey could endure before breaking.

"Please what, little bird?" he asked against her skin, his voice dropping into a teasing, maddening murmur. His breath was hot against her inner thigh, a stark contrast to the water dripping down her legs.

"Don't... don't do this," she lied, her voice cracking, a breathless sob of frustration escaping her lips as her fingers tangled into his wet hair, alternately trying to pull him closer and push him away.

"Don't do what?" he whispered, his tongue tracing a slow, agonizing circle just millimeters away from where she needed it most. He was teasing her mercilessly, deliberately withholding the release she was silently begging for. He grazed the sensitive skin with his stubble, the rough friction causing her to writhe against the wall. "Tell me exactly what you want, Trisha."

"You... I want you," she moaned, her hips tilting unthinkingly, searching for the pressure of his mouth. "Aghh!"

The moan broke from her chest as he suddenly buried his face against her, his tongue sweeping over her in a long, deep stroke that made her entire body go completely rigid.

The sheer, overwhelming reality of the sensation—the warmth of his mouth, the roughness of his hands anchoring her hips, the heavy sound of the shower masking her cries—was too much.

She was completely at his mercy, a tiny bird caught in the powerful, obsessive grip of a man who wouldn't let her go until he had taken everything she had left to give.

The heat inside the glass enclosure had become an absolute, living entity, thick with a heavy mist that trapped every shattered breath and desperate whimper echoing off the walls.

Trisha’s fingers were white, her nails digging ruthlessly through the drenched fabric of his shirt, embedding into the dense muscle of his shoulders as she fought to keep her balance.

The world had narrowed entirely to the slick marble beneath her feet, the cold tile against her spine, and the terrifying, obsessive focus of the man on his knees before her.

He was torturing her. There was no iron, no blade, no physical pain—just an unbearable, suffocating overflow of pure pleasure that felt entirely too heavy for her body to contain.

His large hands were unyielding anchors on her hips, his fingers bruising the soft skin of her thighs to hold her completely open, completely exposed to his whims.

Kabir didn’t offer her a quick release.

He didn't give her the mercy of a steady, rhythmic pace. Instead, he chose a slow, agonizingly precise torment.

His tongue swept over her core, damp and incredibly hot, before his lips closed gently over the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves at her center.

Trisha’s hips instantly buckled, a sharp, ragged cry tearing from her throat as she tried to lift herself away from the contact, but his grip only tightened, pinning her flat against the wall.

"Kabir—ah!"

He didn't suckle or press deep. He merely flicked the very tip of his tongue against her clit, a sharp, feather-light stroke that sent a violent jolt of electricity straight to her core, before pulling back entirely.

He let his hot, ragged breath brush against her damp skin, letting the cool water from the shower wash over her swelling center, deliberately chilling the fire he had just ignited.

"Look at me," his rough voice rumbled from below, the sound vibrating against the inside of her thighs.

Trisha forced her heavy eyelids open, her vision blurred with tears of sheer frustration.

He was looking up through the falling rain, his blue eyes dark, blown out, and entirely devoid of mercy. He saw the way her body was trembling, the way her chest was heaving, and it only fueled the dark, possessive smirk cutting across his face.

"You're already close, aren't you, little bird?" he murmured against her skin, his thumb sliding up to trace the crease of her hip, applying just enough pressure to make her writhe. "Too easy. We're not doing this fast."

He leaned back in, and the true torment began. He used the flat of his tongue to stroke around her center, everywhere but where she desperately needed it.

He painted slow, agonizing circles on her inner thighs, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin until she was whimpering, her head thrashing against the wet ceramic tiles.

Every time her hips rolled forward, silently begging for the friction, he would deliberately withdraw, leaving her hovering on the very edge of a precipice.

"Please," she sobbed out, her voice breaking, completely stripped of pride. Her fingers tangled into his thick, wet hair, trying to force his mouth back down, trying to find the leverage to make him stop the game. "Kabir, please... I can't... I’m going to—"

"Going to what?" he teased mercilessly, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against her bare flesh.

He suddenly pressed the tip of his thumb directly over her clit, holding it there, trapping the mounting pressure without letting it break.

The sudden, intense friction made her scream, a loud, echoing moan that was swallowed by the roar of the shower.

Her body went entirely rigid, the muscles in her stomach rippling as the crest of the wave hit her, threatening to pull her under. She thought she was finally going to come, her eyes rolling back as her breath hitched in her throat.

But he didn't let her.

Just as the peak arrived, Kabir abruptly pulled his thumb away, his mouth leaving her skin entirely. The sudden, agonizing emptiness left her suspended in mid-air, her body shivering violently as the release evaporated, leaving her heavy, aching, and completely unfulfilled.

"Kabir!" she cried out, a breathless, devastated sound of pure betrayal. She looked down at him, her dark eyes wide with an overwhelming mixture of need and fury.

Kabir merely rested his jaw against her inner thigh, looking up at her with a calm, predatory satisfaction, his chest rising and falling heavily against her legs. "Not yet, ," he rasped, his fingers tightening on her hips, re-adjusting her stance. "I told you. You belong to me. Every single moan, every single breath. You don't get to leave this edge until I say so."

Slowly, deliberately, he rose from his knees. The transition from the floor to his full, towering height felt like a dark cloud blotting out the light.

He stood directly over her, his massive chest heaving against the falling water, his dark clothes dripping, looking down at her completely unraveled state with an unblinking, possessive hunger.

Before she could even draw enough oxygen to speak, his large hands gripped her waist. With an effortless, rough twist, he spun her around, forcing her front flat against the slick, wet tiles of the wall.

Trisha gasped, her palms slapping against the cold ceramic to steady herself as the sudden change in position made her head spin. She felt his solid, clothed torso immediately press flush against her bare back, his body heat completely enveloping her from behind, trapping her between his unyielding weight and the solid wall.

He leaned down, his wet jaw brushing against her cheek as his lips found the shell of her ear.

"You think you’ve seen the edge, little bird?" Kabir murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent a dark chill of anticipation straight down her spine. "I told you... I own every single part of you."

Before her overwhelmed mind could even begin to process the weight of his words, her thoughts were violently shattered.

"Aghhh!"

A loud, piercing moan tore from the very depth of her throat, her head snapping back against his shoulder as her fingers clawed frantically at the smooth grout between the tiles.

Her knees buckled completely, her lower body trembling in absolute shock because Kabir had suddenly, unhesitatingly slid his finger straight inside her tight, sensitive rear.

The intrusion was sudden, thick, and devastatingly deep. The raw, taboo sensation of it hit her like a physical shockwave, sending a violent ripple through her core that made her internal muscles instantly clench around him in a desperate, tight panic.

"Kabir—!" she choked out, her breath completely failing her as a terrifyingly intense mixture of shame, shock, and a brand-new, scorching heat flooded her lower stomach.

"Hush," he rasped darkly against her ear, his hand firmly anchoring her hip to keep her from moving away from the touch. He didn't withdraw.

Instead, his finger remained deeply embedded, slowly stretching her, curl-adjusting inside her most private depth while his other hand slid around to the front, his thumb finding her hyper-sensitive clit once again.

He began to work both sides at once, completely obliterating whatever sanity she had left.

The rhythm of the shower became a distant, muffled hum against the overwhelming symphony of their breath and the slick friction of skin against skin. Trisha’s forehead rested against the wet, cold tile of the bathroom wall, her vision entirely blurred by the thick steam and the tears of sensory overload clinging to her lashes.

Her fingers were spread wide, her palms slipping against the glazed ceramic as she tried to find any semblance of leverage to bear the sudden, shattering fullness expanding inside her.

Kabir didn’t give her time to think.

His weight was a crushing, comforting heat against her bare back. Even through his soaked, dark shirt, the dense armor of his chest and the hard line of his thighs pinned her ruthlessly to the wall, leaving her completely immobilized, completely at the mercy of his hands.

And both of his hands were working with a terrifying, calculated precision.

Behind her, his right hand remained firmly anchored, his thick finger buried deep within her tight, forbidden depth.

He kept it there, steady and unyielding, letting her internal muscles stretch and adapt to the thick intrusion.

Slowly, with a agonizingly deliberate rhythm, he began to move it—a slow, shallow pull, followed by a deep, possessive push that stretched her sensitive tissue and sent a deep, echoing ache straight to the pit of her stomach.

The sensation was raw, wicked, and entirely too intense, making her hips violently twitch against his groin.

At the same time, his left hand had slid around her waist to the front. His large, calloused palm cupped the soft mound of her stomach before his fingers drifted lower, sliding through the warm water streaming down her torso until his thumb found her slick, hyper-sensitive center.

He caught her clit between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it with just enough pressure to make her scream.

"Ah! Agh... Kabir!"

The sound tore from her throat, a ragged, breathless wail that echoed sharply off the marble walls before being swallowed by the roar of the water.

Her back arched sharply, her spine curving as she tried to pull away from the double assault, but his grip on her hip was an iron vice.

He held her exactly where he wanted her, his thumb rubbing mercilessly over her swollen nub in perfect, agonizing counter-rhythm to the slow, deep penetration from behind.

Every time his finger pushed deep into her rear, his thumb would apply a heavy, grinding pressure to her front, completely short-circuiting her nervous system. It was an absolute, overwhelming sensory overload.

She was being stretched, burned, and shattered all at once, the sheer pleasure of it turning into a beautiful, suffocating form of torture.

While his hands completely unraveled her lower body, Kabir lowered his head, his mouth trailing a path of pure fire across her exposed shoulder blade. He moved up the elegant slope of her neck, his lips hot and wet against her damp skin.

He didn't just kiss her; he bit. His teeth lightly grazed the sensitive column of her throat from behind, nipping at the tight muscle, marking her skin beneath the falling rain.

"You're so tight for me, little bird," Kabir growled against her ear, his breath a scorching contrast to the water dripping down her cheek. His voice was a low, gravelly vibration that resonated right through her bones. "Look how your body clips around my hand. You were made for this. You were made to break just like this for me."

"Please... ... I can't," she whimpered, her voice cracking as a sudden, violent wave of heat gathered deep in her lower abdomen.

The double friction was pulling her toward a cliff that felt entirely different from anything she had ever experienced. The pressure was building too fast, turning her bones to liquid and making her chest heave in desperate, shallow gasps.

She felt her internal muscles beginning to clench rhythmically around his finger, a silent, involuntary betrayal that signaled how dangerously close she was to the edge.

"You can," Kabir corrected ruthlessly, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just beneath her ear, making her shiver violently.

He increased the speed of his thumb, his movements becoming rougher, more demanding, while his finger drove deeper inside her, hitting a spot that made her vision go entirely black for a fraction of a second. "Hold it. Don't you dare come yet, Trisha. Look at what I'm doing to you."

"I am... I'm going to—"

"Not yet," he commanded, his voice dropping into that quiet, lethal tone that brooked absolute zero disobedience.

With a sudden, maddening cruelty, he abruptly stopped the movement of his thumb, holding it perfectly still against her throbbing clit, while keeping his finger buried deep inside her rear, trapping the mounting orgasm right at the peak.

Trisha let out a broken, frustrated sob, her head dropping against the wall as she writhed against him, her hips unthinkingly rolling against his hand, begging for the movement to start again, begging for the release that he was holding just out of her reach. She was completely undone, stripped of all pride, entirely trapped in the exquisite, tormenting paradise of his possession.

The agonizing pause lasted only a heartbeat, but it felt like an eternity under the suffocating weight of the steam. Trisha’s breath hitched, her body trembling on the knife-edge of a peak he wouldn't let her cross. She was entirely at his mercy, her skin flushed, water streaming down her back, gluing her to his solid frame.

"Kabir... ," she choked out, her voice breaking into a ragged whisper. "

"Look at yourself," he commanded against her ear, his voice deeper now, rough with a mounting, unyielding hunger that matched her own. "See how much you want it. See what you do to me."

He didn’t give her time to think. In one smooth, powerful motion, Kabir withdrew his finger from her rear and shifted his grip to her waist. He spun her back around to face him, her back hitting the wet tile wall once more.

Trisha gasped, her eyes flying open, heavy and glazed with pure, unadulterated pleasure.

He was still fully dressed, his dark shirt completely soaked and molded to his dense, sculpted muscles, his pants dripping water onto the marble floor. The contrast was devastating—she was completely naked, exposed, and trembling under his gaze, while he stood before her like a dark, unyielding force of nature.

Kabir reached down, his hands hooking under her thighs, and with an effortless lift of his powerful arms, he hoisted her up. Trisha instinctively wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, her arms locking around his thick neck, her fingers burying into his wet hair as she clung to him for survival.

He didn't wait. He guided himself to her wet, swollen center and drove deep inside her in one single, unyielding thrust.

"Aghhh!"

Trisha’s head snapped back, a loud, piercing cry tearing from her throat as she absorbed the massive fullness of him. The sensation was overwhelming, an explosive rush of heat that shattered whatever sanity she had left. He was thick, hard, and entirely filling her, stretching her to her absolute limits.

Kabir groaned, a low, primal sound that vibrated directly against her chest. He braced his hands flat against the wall on either side of her head, locking her in place, and began to move.

His pace was relentless, his hips driving into her with a fierce, possessive rhythm that shook her to the core. Every thrust was deep and heavy, slamming her back against the tiled wall, the wet friction of their bodies making a sharp, intoxicating sound beneath the steady roar of the shower.

"You are mine, Trisha," Kabir rasped, his blue eyes blown out, completely dark with an obsessive intensity as he stared down into her eyes, refusing to let her look away. "Every single piece of you."

"Kabir... oh god, Kabir!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the marble walls. She couldn't handle it. The friction of his hard frame against her hyper-sensitive clit, combined with the deep, punishing depth of his thrusts, was pushing her over the edge.

Her internal muscles clenched around him in a desperate, tight grip, pulling him even deeper into her.

He increased the speed, his movements becoming rougher, harder, matching the chaotic rhythm of her ragged breaths. He devoured her mouth in a fierce, starved kiss, swallowing her moans as he drove them both toward the precipice.

Trisha’s vision began to blur, a brilliant, blinding heat gathering in her lower abdomen, tighter and tighter until she couldn't breathe.

"Now, little bird," he muttered against her lips, his thrusts reaching a frantic, overpowering speed. "Come for me."

With a final, devastating plunge, Trisha broke. A loud, fractured cry escaped her as her body went completely rigid, her internal walls contracting violently around him in wave after wave of intense, shattering release. The pleasure crashed through her like a tidal wave, blinding her, sending her spinning into absolute darkness.

Hearing her cry, Kabir let out a low growl, his grip tightening on her waist as he gave two more deep, heavy thrusts, completely burying himself inside her before he followed her over the edge. He poured his heat deep into her core, his chest heaving violently against hers as the tension finally snapped, leaving them both completely breathless, soaked, and utterly consumed by each other under the falling rain.

The warm water continued to stream down, but the storm had finally passed, leaving the bathroom quiet save for the steady hum of the shower and Trisha’s ragged, uneven breathing.

Trisha was still clinging to Kabir like a koala, her forehead resting heavily against his soaked shoulder. Her eyes were glazed over, staring blankly at the wet marble tiles. Her mind was completely blank, floating somewhere in a distant, blissful galaxy where gravity didn't exist and her legs weren't shaking like jelly. She was in a total, unadulterated trance.

Kabir, however, was already recovering. His chest was still heaving slightly, but the smug, insufferable smirk was back on his face. He looked down at his wife, watching her limp, dazed state with immense satisfaction.

"Earth to Trisha," Kabir murmured, his voice still a bit gravelly but laced with a teasing lightness.

Trisha didn't move. She didn't even blink. A tiny, faint sigh escaped her lips, her body completely relaxed against his iron frame.

"Hey. Little bird," he tried again, nudging her cheek with his wet jaw. "

Silence. Trisha was effectively deaf to the world.

Amused by her complete lack of responsiveness, Kabir reached down. His hand settled on the soft curve of her waist, and with a swift, playful motion, he gave her skin a sharp, deliberate pinch.

"Ow!"

The sudden sting snapped the cosmic wire, dragging Trisha violently back to reality. Her eyes flew wide open, the glaze instantly shattering as she gasped, her head snapping up.

"What is wrong with you?!" she scolded, her voice cracking as she brought her hand down in a sharp smack against his chest. "Why would you pinch me?!"

Kabir didn't even flinch. Instead, a low, rumbling chuckle vibrated right through his chest, his shoulders shaking as he looked at her flushed, indignant face. He was thoroughly enjoying her state.

"Welcome back," Kabir teased, his blue eyes dancing with uncharacteristic mischief. "I was starting to think your soul had permanently exited your body. I had to check if you were still alive."

"I was relaxing, you giant brute!" Trisha fired back, her face turning an even brighter shade of crimson from a mix of lingering afterglow and pure embarrassment.

She tried to detach her legs from his waist to stand up, but her muscles immediately betrayed her, giving a violent tremble.

Kabir caught her before she could slide, his grip tightening around her hips as he leaned back against the wall, effortlessly keeping her hoisted. "Who raised you to be so violent, hmm? Smacking a man who just gave you his all under the shower? That's bad manners, Trisha."

"You are insufferable," she muttered, hiding her burning face back in the crook of his neck because she couldn't bear the sheer level of smug triumph radiating from him. "Turn off the water. I'm freezing now."

"As the lady commands," Kabir chuckled again, finally reaching past her to shut off the handle, the sudden silence in the bathroom making his low, satisfied laughter sound incredibly loud.

The sudden silence in the bathroom was heavy, broken only by the lazy, rhythmic drip-drop of the showerhead onto the wet marble floor. The steam began to thin out, swirling in sluggish patterns around them as the cool air from the bedroom slowly crept in.

Trisha shivered, the damp chill instantly prickling her bare skin now that the hot deluge had stopped.

Kabir noticed immediately. The teasing, smug expression vanished from his face, replaced by a quiet, focused attentiveness. Without a word, he shifted her weight, sliding her gently down his body until her feet touched the floor. Her knees immediately buckled, her muscles still entirely spent, but Kabir’s arm was already wrapped firmly around her waist, catching her before she could stumble.

"I've got you," he murmured, his voice low and steady.

Supporting her entirely against his side, he reached over the glass enclosure and grabbed a massive, plush white bath towel from the heated rack.

He didn't just hand it to her. Instead, he wrapped it carefully around her shoulders, bundling her up like a fragile package, shielding her nakedness from the draft.

He guided her out of the damp bathroom and into the bedroom. The contrast was sharp; the room was cool, the sheets crisp, and the dim lamplight cast soft, long shadows across the floor. Kabir led her straight to the bed, pulling back the heavy duvet with one hand while holding her secure with the other.

"Sit," he instructed softly.

Trisha sank into the mattress, letting out a long, shaky breath. She watched him through heavy, exhausted eyelids. Kabir stood at the edge of the bed, a chaotic mess of wet fabric and raw authority.

His dark shirt was completely ruined, clinging to his chest, and his heavy trousers were drenched, pooling water near his boots. Yet, he didn't seem to care about his own discomfort at all.

He unlaced his combat boots, kicking them aside, and quickly stripped off his soaked shirt, tossing it toward the bathroom hallway. His bare chest was still glistening with water droplets, his muscles tight. He grabbed a fresh, dry towel from the closet, walked back over to her, and sat on the edge of the mattress.

"Come here," he said quietly, pulling her closer by the waist.

Trisha didn't resist. She slid forward, her head naturally resting against his bare chest as Kabir lifted the towel and began to gently dry her hair. His movements were incredibly tender, a striking contrast to the merciless, dominant force he had been just minutes ago inside the shower. He used slow, rhythmic strokes, blotting the excess moisture from her dark strands, ensuring he didn't pull or hurt her.

The room was completely quiet, save for the soft friction of the towel and the steady, grounding thud of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

Once her hair was damp-dry, Kabir tossed the towel aside. He reached down, taking her small, cold hands into his large, warm palms. He rubbed them gently, friction creating a soothing heat that slowly brought the color back to her knuckles.

"Still cold?" he asked, his blue eyes searching her face, completely devoid of the earlier hunger, now filled with a deep, protective warmth.

Trisha shook her head slightly, her throat tight with a sudden surge of emotion. It always amazed her how a man so ruthless, so hardened by the world, could handle her with such devastating gentleness. "No. I'm okay."

"Good." Kabir leaned in, planting a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead, his lips warm against her skin. He reached over her, pulling the heavy duvet up to her chin, tucking her in securely until she was completely encased in warmth. "Stay here. I'll get changed and bring you some water."

As he stood up to change into dry clothes, Trisha snuggled deeper into the pillows, her body feeling completely safe, cared for, and utterly treasured.

True to his word, Kabir returned a few minutes later, completely changed into a pair of dry, dark grey sweatpants and a soft cotton t-shirt that smelled faintly of cedar and clean laundry. He carried a tall glass of water, placing it carefully on the nightstand before sliding under the heavy duvet beside her.

The moment his large, warm frame settled into the mattress, the bed dipped, and Trisha automatically rolled closer to him, seeking his heat.

Kabir propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her. The harsh, dominant edge from the bathroom was entirely gone, replaced by a soft, relaxed warmth that made his blue eyes look incredibly bright in the dim lamplight. He reached out, his long fingers gently tucking a stray, damp curl behind her ear.

"Your face is still pink," he noted, a lazy, teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Are you still thinking about what happened in there, little bird?"

At the mention of the shower, a fresh, fiery wave of shyness hit Trisha. The vivid memory of standing completely bare before him while he was fully clothed—and the wicked, taboo things he had done with his hands—flashed brightly in her mind.

"Shut up," she mumbled, instantly pulling the duvet up over her nose to hide her burning face, her eyes darting away from his piercing gaze.

Kabir let out a low, delighted chuckle. "Oh, come on. Don't hide now. You weren't this shy ten minutes ago when you were screaming my name."

"Kabir!" Trisha gasped, her eyes widening as she lowered the blanket just enough to glare at him, though the effect was entirely ruined by the furious blush coating her cheeks. "Stop saying things like that!"

"Like what? The truth?" Kabir’s smile widened into something thoroughly mischievous.

Before she could protest, he moved. In one swift, playful motion, he threw his arm over her waist and dragged her flush against his chest, trapping her beneath his weight.

Trisha let out a squeak of surprise, her hands coming up to push against his shoulders.

"Kabir, let go! I'm tired," she lied, trying to wiggle out of his hold, but she was completely trapped in his iron embrace.

"No chance," Kabir murmured, burying his face straight into the side of her neck. His stubble tickled the hyper-sensitive skin right below her ear, and he began to playfully nuzzle her, blowing a soft breath against her skin.

"Ah! Stop, it tickles!" Trisha erupted into a fit of giggles, her entire body squirming as she tried to arch away from his face. She pushed at his chest, her small hands doing nothing to budge him. "Kabir, seriously, stop it! Let me go!"

"Never," he growled playfully against her skin, his hands moving to her ribs, his fingers lightly digging into the soft flesh there.

Trisha shrieked with laughter, her legs flailing under the covers as she tried to twist away from his tickling fingers.

She was squirming frantically, moving across the mattress to escape him, but every time she managed to slide a few inches away, he would casually reach out, hook his large hand around her ankle, and drag her right back into his chest like a helpless captive.

"You are a menace!" she gasped out between bursts of breathless laughter, her hair fanning out wildly across the pillows.

Her face was completely radiant, her dark eyes sparkling with pure happiness as she looked up at him.

"I'm just making up for lost time," Kabir murmured, finally stopping the torment. He settled his heavy frame over her, pinning her safely to the mattress, his hands resting on either side of her head. He looked down at her, his expression softening beautifully as he watched her chest heave from the laughter.

Trisha’s giggles slowly subsided into a soft, contented sigh. She looked up into his eyes, her shyness still lingering but completely overshadowed by the deep, profound affection swimming in her chest.

She lifted her hand, her fingers gently tracing the hard line of his jawline, feeling the rough stubble beneath her palm.

"You're very clingy tonight, Major," she whispered softly, a playful tilt to her lips.

"I told you," Kabir said, leaning down to plant a soft, sweet, lingering kiss right on her nose. "I don't like being outranked by a dog. I have to make sure you remember who holds the highest position in this house."

Trisha laughed softly, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a deep, gentle, and utterly romantic kiss, the playful chaos of the evening finally settling into a warm, peaceful quiet.

With a sudden, effortless shift of his weight, Kabir hauled her upright, making her stagger slightly before settling her squarely across his lap.

Trisha gasped, clutching at the edges of the plush white towel wrapped around her body, her bare skin tingling against the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

She shifted, trying to find her balance on his muscular thighs, her face flushed with a mixture of residual heat and sudden determination.

"You will talk to Vandana Massi tomorrow," she said, her voice carrying a quiet but firm weight.

Kabir hummed softly in response. His gaze drifted somewhere just above her head, deliberately avoiding her eyes, as if looking away could shield him from the vulnerability of the conversation.

Yet, his large hand moved with a comforting, protective slowness, his long fingers gently caressing her damp hair, smoothing the wild strands away from her face.

"I feel it," Trisha continued, leaning in slightly, her tone softening with genuine empathy. "I mean... just think about how much she has suffered. For you, for Ayaan, and for Siddharth. Can't you just talk to her, Kabir? Put your ego away for once and just talk to her."

Kabir let out a long, heavy sigh. The muscles in his chest expanded against her, a silent testament to the internal wall he kept built around the fractured remnants of his family.

"And tomorrow," Trisha added, pressing on before he could retreat into his usual cold silence, "Ayaan will come up with Aaradhana to meet Siddharth. You will apologize to him."

The gentle caress in her hair instantly stopped. Kabir’s eyes snapped down, locking onto hers with a sudden, sharp intensity. He glared at her, his jaw tightening until a small muscle ticked under his stubble. "Don't you think you are being a bit too much?"

Trisha didn't back down. She held his fierce gaze, a small, stubborn tilt touching her lips as she lightly shook her head. "Na... nako, tsk. Aapne chote se pati ko samjhaane mein kya ja raha hai?" (What's the harm in making my little husband understand?)

Kabir’s eyebrows shot up dangerously high, his blue eyes flashing with a wicked, lethal amusement. "Chota?"

Trisha gave a small, defiant nod, completely misjudging the sudden, dark shift in his posture.

Kabir didn't argue with words. He didn't issue a warning. Instead, his large hands clamped onto her hips with a sudden, iron grip. With one terrifyingly powerful, upward surge of his lower body, he drove himself upward. He hadn't even taken off his sweatpants entirely—just cleared enough space to claim her.

"Aghhh!"

A loud, fracturing moan tore from Trisha’s throat, her head snapping back as her fingers clawed frantically into his shoulders. The sudden, unyielding friction shattered her breath because Kabir’s thick, rigid shaft had driven straight into her tight, sensitive core in one single, punishing stroke. The towel loosened around her shoulders, dropping to her waist as she absorbed the massive, sudden fullness of him.

"Still think I'm small, little bird?" Kabir rasped darkly against her lips, his hips tilting upward to lock her completely against him, his eyes burning with absolute triumph as her internal walls clamped helplessly around him.

Trisha let out a broken, breathless whimper, her fingers digging frantically into the fabric of his t-shirt as her entire body trembled from the sheer shock of the intrusion. He was too thick, too deep, completely stretching her to her absolute limit without a single second of warning. The sudden, overwhelming fullness made her head spin, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs as she felt every rigid inch of him filling her core.

"Kabir... ah!" she cried out, her voice cracking as her hips instinctively tried to lift, trying to ease the intense, burning pressure of his sudden depth.

But Kabir’s iron hands were unyielding vices clamped onto her waist. He held her pinned flat against his lap, his hips tilted upward at a brutal, merciless angle that kept him buried deeply inside her. Every time she tried to shift away, his fingers dug firmer into her soft skin, anchoring her completely.

"Please... Kabir, stop," she begged, her voice shrinking into a desperate, ragged whisper as tears of pure sensory overload gathered at the corners of her eyes. "It’s too much... you’re too much..."

"Am I?" Kabir rasped darkly, his voice a low, predatory growl that vibrated directly against her chest. He didn't move yet, deliberately staying perfectly still inside her tight, pulsing walls, letting her feel the massive, unyielding reality of his size. He leaned in close, his hot breath brushing against her flushed cheek as his eyes burned down into hers with a fierce, possessive triumph. "Tell me again who is chota, Trisha. Say it."

"No... no one," she whimpered, her head thrashing against his shoulder as her internal muscles clenched helplessly around him in tight, frantic waves of submission. "You're not... please, just move..."

"You don't get to order me around in bed, little bird," he murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of her jawline before his hips gave a slow, heavy, devastating upward roll that made her scream out loud, her grip tightening on him as she completely surrendered to his absolute command.

Recognizing the trembling exhaustion racking her small frame, Kabir didn't push her any further. He knew exactly how much her body had endured tonight. With a low, tight groan, he slowly and carefully withdrew his length from her core, the sudden emptiness making Trisha let out a soft, shaky sigh of relief.

Without a word, he lifted her off his lap and laid her down gently against the plush, cool pillows. He pulled the heavy, warm duvet all the way up to her chin, tucking her in securely as if she were a fragile treasure.

As Kabir slid down onto the mattress beside her, propping himself up, he expected her to turn away and drift off to sleep. But the moment his body heat settled into the bed, Trisha instinctively shifted. Seeking his warmth, she rolled over immediately, crossing the small distance between them, and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.

Kabir froze. For a split second, the hardened soldier was completely stunned, his muscles going entirely rigid. He wasn't used to this kind of unprompted, soft vulnerability—especially not right after he had been so dominant.

But the stunned silence lasted only a moment. A profound softness washed over his rugged features. He pulled her flush against his side, his large arm wrapping securely around her back. Then, in a rare, completely unguarded move, Kabir shifted downward and rested his heavy head directly on her chest.

Trisha gasped softly, the air catching in her throat at the sudden, overwhelming sweetness of the gesture. This towering, lethal man was completely yielding his weight to her, listening to the frantic, steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Kabir snuggled closer into her warmth, his stubble grazing the soft skin above the duvet, before he tilted his head up just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to the center of her chest, right over her heart.

"Sleep, little bird," he ordered softly, his voice a low, gravelly rumble against her skin. "We have a long day tomorrow."

Trisha smiled into the dark, her fingers gently tangling into his damp hair as she closed her eyes, finally falling into a deep, peaceful slumber wrapped in his arms.

SOMEWHERE| NIGHT | TIHAR JAIL
The Central Special Detention Facility at Tihar’s high-risk subterranean wing didn’t merely house criminals; it digested them. Situated deep beneath layers of reinforced concrete and granite bedrock, tucked into a heavily guarded sector of the National Capital Region, the facility was a black site operated under direct federal jurisdiction. Sunlight was a foreign concept here, replaced entirely by the low, humming drone of industrial ventilation systems and the harsh, clinical glare of fluorescent tubes that flickered with a persistent, maddening frequency. The air tasted of stale iron, bleach, and the collective despair of men who had long been erased from public ledgers.

Through this heavy, suffocating silence walked Akshit Dixit.

He did not march, nor did he rush. His stride carried the quiet, devastating authority of a man who owned the ground beneath his boots. Clad in a tailored, charcoal-grey three-piece suit that seemed entirely immune to the grime of the subterranean bunker, Akshit moved with a lethal, unbothered grace. A gold-plated Cartier watch caught the sterile white light with every measured swing of his arm.

As he crossed the threshold of the primary security checkpoint, the senior duty warden—a seasoned, grizzled veteran with decades of service under his belt—instantly snapped to attention, offering a deep, deferential bow.

Akshit didn't break his stride. A subtle, fractional nod of his chin was all the acknowledgment the warden received.

"Update," Akshit commanded, his voice smooth, low, and laced with an icy precision that cut through the background hum of the facility.

"Sir," the warden panted slightly, hurrying to keep pace as they descended deeper into the subterranean bowels of the complex. "We've kept him isolated in Block C, solitary confinement tier four. Total sensory deprivation protocols in place. No visitors, no phone calls, strictly per federal orders."

"And his behavior?" Akshit asked, his hands sliding smoothly into the pockets of his trousers.

"Unstable, sir," the warden replied, wiping a bead of nervous sweat from his brow. "Rishabh Chauhan isn't handling the transition well. The man is accustomed to luxury; being locked in a twelve-by-twelve steel box without a lawyer present for forty-eight hours has broken his composure. He spends most of his time screaming, demanding an audience with the Director, threatening judges, and invoking his family's name. But the impending court hearing has him terrified. He knows the evidence stacked against him for the abduction, the financial embezzlement, and the systematic torture of the Chauhan estate's junior members is airtight. There’s no escaping this verdict."

Akshit remained silent, his sharp eyes scanning the heavy iron-barred cells they passed.

Inside those cells, hardened criminals—syndicate hitmen, cartel traffickers, and rogue state actors—shrank back against the damp concrete walls as Akshit walked by. Some recognized him from the dark corridors of power where the Chauhan empire operated; others simply felt the suffocating weight of the aura he projected. Their eyes widened in a mix of awe and primal terror as they watched the man who spoke for the real lords of the underworld casually stroll through a maximum-security federal black site as if it were a corporate boardroom.

Akshit didn't spare them a single glance. His focus was singular, anchored entirely on the destination ahead.

They turned a final corner, the concrete walls giving way to reinforced ballistic steel. The ambient temperature dropped noticeably, the air growing biting and sharp. Ahead of them stood Cell 409—a heavy, soundproofed isolation unit fitted with a thick sliding viewport of reinforced glass and a pneumatic locking mechanism.

Inside that cage sat Rishabh Chauhan.

From the outside looking in, the once-untouchable scion of the Chauhan family was a shadow of his former self. His expensive designer clothes had been stripped away, replaced by a coarse, faded orange jumpsuit that hung loosely over his trembling frame. His hair, usually meticulously styled, was matted with sweat and dirt. His face was pale, sunken, and etched with the frantic, manic lines of a man whose mind was rapidly unravelling under the sheer weight of his impending doom. He was pacing the cramped floor like a caged animal, his fingers clawing nervously at his own forearms, muttering furious, incoherent curses to the empty walls.

Akshit stopped directly in front of the reinforced door. The calm, composed aura he had carried since entering the facility suddenly bled out, shifting into something infinitely darker, heavier, and profoundly sinister.

He turned his head slightly toward the two armed correctional officers standing at attention beside the console.

"Aap baahar hi rahiye," Akshit said calmly, his eyes never leaving the glass viewport as he addressed the officers in Hindi. "Mujhe zara is namakharam se kuch baat karni hai." (Stay outside. I need to have a brief word with this ungrateful traitor.)

The senior officer didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. "Ji, sir," he murmured, pulling a heavy electronic keycard from his belt and swiping it against the master terminal.

The heavy pneumatic lock hissed open with a sharp, pneumatic pop.

Akshit stepped forward, pushing the heavy steel door open. The moment he crossed the threshold, the warden and the guards backed away instantly, pulling the massive door shut behind him.

Click.

The sound of the heavy bolt sliding home echoed like a gunshot in the confined space.

Inside the cell, the sudden noise made Rishabh jerk his head around. His wild, bloodshot eyes locked onto the figure standing in the doorway. For a second, confusion flickered across his pale features, replaced instantly by a surge of desperate, pathetic hope as he recognized the bespoke suit.

"Akshit!" Rishabh gasped, his voice cracking, ragged from hours of hysterical screaming. He lunged forward, slamming his palms against the steel mesh of the inner partition. "Thank God! You—you finally came. ... where are the lawyers? Why hasn't anyone pulled me out of this hellhole yet? You know who I am! You work for my family! Get me out of here! The judge's hearing is tomorrow morning, and if we don't buy off the prosecutor, I'm going to spend the rest of my life rotting in a federal penitentiary!"

Akshit didn't flinch. He didn't rush forward, nor did he raise his voice.

Slowly, deliberately, Akshit unbuttoned the top button of his waistcoat. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a slim, silver-trimmed leather cigar case, flicked it open, and slid a thick, dark Maduro cigar between his lips. With a quiet flick of a heavy brass lighter, he ignited the tip, drawing in a slow, deep breath of smoke before exhaling a thick grey cloud that hung heavily in the sterile air between them.

Rishabh watched him, his chest heaving with frantic, shallow breaths, his eyes wide with a growing, sickening dread.

"Akshit... what are you doing?" Rishabh stammered, his voice dropping an octave as the chilling silence of the room began to suffocate him. "Why are you just standing there? Say something! Tell me the board is moving! Tell me we have  a plan!"

Akshit took another unhurried drag of his cigar, his dark, calculating eyes narrowing as he finally looked straight at the man trembling before him. The air in the cell grew thick, heavy with an almost palpable violence.

"Our's plan?" Akshit repeated, his voice smooth, dripping with a quiet, devastating sarcasm. He let out a low, humorless chuckle that sounded like stones grinding together. "Rishabh... you truly are a special kind of stupid, aren't you?"

Rishabh flinched as if he had been slapped. "What... what do you mean? I am a Chauhan! I built this empire alongside—"

"You built nothing," Akshit cut him off, his tone instantly hardening into cold, unyielding steel. He took a step closer, towering over the shaking man with an absolute, crushing authority. "You inherited a legacy you were too weak to hold, and you spent your entire life playing the tyrant in a kingdom that never truly belonged to you. You tortured an innocent girl, you locked your own blood in darkness, and you thought you could play God with lives that were infinitely more valuable than yours."

Rishabh’s face twisted in sudden, defensive rage, the last shreds of his fragile ego flaring up. "How dare you speak to me like that?! I am your superior! When I get out of here—when this court hearing clears my name—I will personally strip you of every title, every asset, and throw you into a hole deeper than this one! You are a servant, Dixit! Act like one!"

Akshit didn't blink. He didn't even raise his voice. He simply smiled—a cold, terrifyingly empty smirk that reached nowhere near his eyes.

"Court hearing?" Akshit murmured, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping into a low, conversational whisper that made the hairs on the back of Rishabh's neck stand up. "Rishabh... let me enlighten you about tomorrow morning's court hearing. There won't be a trial. There won't be a bail plea. And there certainly won't be an acquittal."

Rishabh’s breath hitched. His jaw slackened. "W-What are you talking about? The federal judge—"

"The federal judge answers to the real masters of this country," Akshit interrupted smoothly, taking another calm puff of his cigar. "And the real masters of the Chauhan empire finished reviewing your ledger about twenty minutes ago."

Rishabh stumbled backward, his knees buckling slightly as he hit the damp concrete wall behind him. "No... no, that's impossible."

"Aviraaj is old news, Rishabh," Akshit whispered, his eyes flashing with a dark, merciless fire. "The true head of the table has returned. The real Siddharth Chauhan is back. And he remembers every single second of the fifteen years you and your father stole from him."

The color drained entirely from Rishabh’s face. The name hit him like a physical blow, stripping away every drop of oxygen from his lungs. "S-Siddharth...? But... but he was locked away... he was ..."

"He was playing a game, Rishabh. A very long, very patient game," Akshit said, stepping right up to the partition, the smoke from his cigar drifting across Rishabh’s terrified face. "And you? You played right into his hands. Every illegal shipment you oversaw, every penny you embezzled, every file you forged—we have all of it. The federal prosecutors didn't build this case against you; we built it for them. We handed them the gun, and tomorrow morning, they are going to pull the trigger."

Rishabh began to shake uncontrollably, a pathetic, high-pitched whimper escaping his throat. "No... no, please... Akshit, listen to me! I'm family! You can't let him do this to me! They'll kill me in here! If I go to the general population, or if the court hands down a maximum-security sentence, I'm a dead man! Please! Talk to Siddharth! Tell him I'll give up everything—all my shares, all my properties, I'll sign it all over to him today! Just get me out of here!"

He reached through the mesh, his trembling, bloodied fingers desperately trying to grab the lapel of Akshit’s immaculate suit.

Akshit didn't pull away. He simply looked down at Rishabh’s hands with an expression of profound, utter disgust, as if he were looking at a cockroach crawling across his shoe.

Slowly, deliberately, Akshit raised his right hand. With a sudden, lightning-fast motion, he grabbed Rishabh’s fingers, crushing them against the steel mesh with a heavy, unyielding pressure that made a sharp crunch echo in the cell.

Rishabh shrieked in agony, pulling his mangled hand back against his chest, tears streaming down his distorted face.

"Sign your shares over?" Akshit asked, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. "Rishabh, you don't own anything anymore. Your assets were frozen by the federal treasury at midnight. Your bank accounts in Zurich? Empty. Your safehouses in Dubai? Raided and burned to the ground by morning. You are a ghost, standing on the edge of a grave we dug for you ourselves."

Rishabh hissed through gritted teeth, his chest heaving as the sharp, metallic tang of his own terror filled his mouth. He lunged forward against the steel mesh, his eyes bulging with a mixture of agony and incandescent fury.

"You... you... motherfucking traitor!" Rishabh spat, spittle flying from his lips as his knuckles scraped white against the iron bars. "You... who the hell are you?!"

Akshit’s grin widened, slow and utterly devoid of warmth. He tilted his head, the overhead fluorescent light catching the sharp, merciless angles of his jawline.

"I am everything you're too afraid to even imagine in your darkest nightmares," Akshit replied smoothly, his voice dropping into a register that sent a shiver straight down Rishabh's spine.

Rishabh’s eyes narrowed into bloodshot slits, his brain struggling to assemble the shattered pieces of his crumbling world. "You... you're with that... that Siddharth, right?"

Akshit offered a lazy, mocking shrug, exhaling a thin stream of gray smoke toward the ceiling. "You could say that. Well, technically speaking... I am his chief secretary and executioner."

Rishabh let out a hysterical, manic laugh that quickly dissolved into a ragged gasp. "What the fucking shit are you saying?!" he growled, shaking the cell partition with a burst of frantic strength. "You're my man! You worked under my direct orders for years!"

Akshit let out a short, dry chuckle, his eyes gleaming with bored amusement. "Are you profoundly deaf, Rishabh, or have the concrete walls of this cage finally scrambled what little pathetic intellect you had left?"

Rishabh’s face flushed a deep, mottled crimson, the veins in his neck bulging like thick ropes.

"Well, as entertaining as this trip down memory lane is..." Akshit murmured, his tone shifting from casual banter to chilling business, "...this isn't actually why I came down here."

With unhurried precision, Akshit reached into the tailored interior pocket of his charcoal-grey suit jacket. Rishabh, distracted by his own spiraling panic, barely registered the movement until a cold, metallic glint caught the harsh light of the cell.

It was a custom medical-grade syringe, pre-loaded with a thick, iridescent amber fluid that seemed to swallow the light around it.

Rishabh’s eyes darted toward the instrument, a sudden, primal wave of survival instinct washing over him. He scrambled backward, his boots sliding against the damp concrete floor, his back hitting the rear wall of the cell with a hollow thud. "What... what is that? What are you holding?!"

Akshit didn't answer immediately. He carefully flicked the glass barrel with his thumb, sending a tiny air bubble floating gracefully to the top, before depressing the plunger just enough to let a minuscule bead of liquid form at the tip of the needle.

"Who... who the fuck are you, Akshit?" Rishabh stammered, his voice cracking into a desperate, pleading squeak as he watched the needle move closer. "Who is Siddharth really? I knew... I knew something was fishy! All these years, the sudden mental breakdowns, the asylum, the staged retreats—it was all a damn lie, wasn't it?! Who the hell are you people... and... and Chirag? Is Chirag in on this too?!"

Akshit paused, his thumb steadying the needle. He looked up, a dark, dangerous gleam flashing in his eyes.

"Good guess, bastard," Akshit nodded, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face. "You actually managed to rub your remaining brain cells together before dying. Interesting."

Rishabh’s eyes widened to absolute circles. "What...?"

"And since you're so good at guessing," Akshit whispered, taking a slow, deliberate step toward the inner partition, "why don't we go ahead and snatch those remaining senses right out of your head? Hmm?"

Before Rishabh could scream, before he could lurch sideways or throw his hands up in defense, Akshit moved with terrifying, blinding speed. The heavy steel door's sliding hatch flew open, and Akshit’s arm shot through the opening.

Clutch.

His thick fingers locked painfully into the collar of Rishabh's orange jumpsuit, yanking the prisoner forward until his throat slammed hard against the metal mesh.

Rishabh didn't even have time to gasp. Akshit’s jaw clenched with absolute finality, and with a ruthless, downward thrust, he drove the needle straight into the vulnerable flesh of Rishabh’s neck.

Aghhh!

A strangled, agonizing shriek tore from Rishabh’s throat as the cold burn of the chemical flooded directly into his bloodstream, racing like liquid fire through his carotid artery. He dropped his hands, clawing frantically at his own neck where the puncture wound leaked a single bead of bright red blood.

"Shh... shh... shh," Akshit soothed, his voice dripping with a terrifying, psychopathic gentleness as he slowly withdrew the empty syringe. "Don't worry... you're not going to die this soon, my dear boss."

Rishabh dropped to his knees, his breathing turning into shallow, ragged gasps as his vision began to blur at the edges.

"There are so many lives that were systematically ruined because of you," Akshit continued calmly, sliding the empty syringe back into his pocket and smoothing down his jacket lapel. "The courts are slow, and the law has too many loopholes. Some heavy-duty labor has to be handled by us personally."

Rishabh stared up at him through a haze of rising panic, his hands trembling violently as a strange, creeping numbness began to paralyze the muscles in his right shoulder and jaw.

"I'll even tell you what I just gave you," Akshit offered, his tone conversational, almost polite. "It's a bespoke synthetic compound—a slow-acting neurotoxin. It won't kill you. Death is far too easy for a coward like you. Instead, it will slowly eat away at your nervous system from the inside out, paralyzing you piece by piece. Of course, we kept the dosage low enough so that you can still stumble into the courtroom tomorrow and hear your own death sentence. Efficiency, you see."

Rishabh could barely feel his tongue. Saliva spilled over his lower lip as he tried to speak, his chest heaving with agonizing effort.

"Now..." Akshit murmured, pulling a sleek, high-end smartphone from his pocket with a bright, predatory smile. "Do you want to meet someone special?"

Rishabh’s eyes rolled upward, bloodshot and bulging, panic clawing at his throat.

Akshit tapped the screen twice and held the glowing display directly against the steel mesh, framing it right in Rishabh’s failing line of sight.

On the screen, illuminated by the harsh blue light of a luxury bedroom, sat Siddharth Chauhan.

He was lounging casually on the edge of an unmade bed, half-naked, his massive, scarred frame glistening with sweat. He wasn't screaming or raging; instead, he was watching the live feed of Rishabh’s absolute degradation with an expression of pure, unadulterated enjoyment and deep, satisfying closure.

"Hi, Rishabh!" Siddharth mocked, his voice carrying clearly through the phone's high-fidelity speakers, smooth and dripping with casual venom. "Remember me? Oh... no, wait. Happy birthday!"

Rishabh’s eyes snapped wide, a fresh wave of horror washing over him.

Akshit stood off to the side, rolling his eyes with the profound exhaustion of a man who had been babysitting a lunatic for a decade.

"Remember?" Siddharth continued, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet, hypnotic cadence. "That... birthday party! The one you threw fifteen years ago—the one that never quite got to finish? So... I thought I'd drop by and complete it today. After a mere fifteen years of waiting. I hope you're enjoying my gift... hmm?"

Rishabh’s face turned a violent, dark purple, his chest heaving as the neurotoxin locked his vocal cords into a tight, painful spasm.

"Well," Siddharth tilted his head, his striking blue eyes gleaming with icy mockery through the screen. "How are your knees and palms holding up? Naina and Amrita must have left quite a few lovely souvenirs when they beat the absolute hell out of you, right?"

Rishabh’s eyes popped open in sheer disbelief. How... how did he know about that?

Siddharth chuckled softly, a dark, resonant sound that echoed in the concrete cell. "Fucking idiot... Did you really think everything happening around you, around me, and across our entire empire was an accident? Every single move, every downfall, every penny lost—it was all written, choreographed, and executed by us. The Chauhan brothers."

Rishabh let out a low, pathetic growl from deep within his throat, drool dripping down his chin.

"Tch, tch, tch," Siddharth clicked his tongue, his face suddenly hardening into a mask of pure, murderous wrath as he leaned closer to the camera lens. "What did you think, you miserable piece of garbage? That every woman in our lives was just an object for you to use, abuse, and discard? You disrespected... my Goddess... my sister... my best friend. You played with the sanity, the grace, the respect, and the fundamental human decency of the most precious women in my life!"

On the other side of the screen, Siddharth’s grip on his own phone tightened so hard the plastic casing began to crack under the pressure of his calloused fingers.

Hearing the absolute hatred in Siddharth’s voice, something inside Rishabh snapped. Even through the agonizing pain of the poison burning through his veins, a sick, distorted sense of bravado bubbled up from his corrupted soul.

A wet, jagged chuckle escaped Rishabh’s lips. He forced his paralyzed head upward, staring directly into the camera lens where Siddharth was watching.

"Kuch... kuch nahi kar paya tu, Siddharth..." Rishabh slurred, his voice thick, broken, but dripping with malicious venom. "Kuch nahi... Teri behen... har raat mere saamne khud ko bechti rahi... gidgidati rahi..." He smiled a twisted, sickening smile. "Bulati... rahi apne bhaiyon ko... tch, tch, tch... magar unko to hosh hi nahi tha, hai na?"

A low, animalistic growl ripped from Siddharth’s throat on the other end of the line—a sound so terrifying that even Akshit instinctively stepped back a half-pace.

"Teri bhi behen thi wo, madarchod!" Siddharth roared, his voice shaking the very walls of his bedroom.

Rishabh laughed hysterically, his eyes bulging as the pain in his neck flared into white-hot agony. "Nahi thi! Main nahi manta! Wo bas... ek... ek galti thi meri maa ki! Nahi thi wo kuch bhi... Usko dekh kar mujhe meri maa ke gande karnaame yaad aate the... Papa sahi karte the uske saath! Roz teen-chaar kode padte the usko... tabhi apni aukaat mein rehti thi! Ghar se bhaag gayi thi, to zyaada par nikal aaye the... Aaj kaat diye main uske saare par! Mere baap ki maut ki wajah hai wo kuttiya!"

Siddharth’s eyes turned pitch black, the blue completely swallowed by an ocean of pure, unadulterated homicide. "Ek... ek tameez mein! Behen hai wo meri... Verna ye jo do-teen din ki saansein tu le raha hai na, wo bhi cheen loonga tujhse, haramzaade!"

Rishabh didn't care anymore; the poison was frying his brain, stripping away his filter, leaving only the rotten, venomous core of his existence. He smiled wider, blood trickling from under his fingernails where he was digging them into his own palms.

"Zyaada din jee nahi payegi teri behen..." Rishabh wheezed, his voice bubbling with bloody saliva. "Dekhna... kaise... ghut-ghut kar maregi...!"

His glazed, bloodshot eyes drifted upward toward the ceiling of the cell, a sickening look of lust breaking through his mask of pain.

"Teri dost... wo Naina... usko... kabhi chu to nahi paya... par... dekh to paya... Aur meri khoti kismat... itni sundar bhabhi..." Rishabh muttered, his mind wandering deliriously to Trisha. "Itne paas... phir bhi ek baar bhi unhe... chune ka sukh nahi mila... Ssss... Kya maal hai sach mein, waakai mein... Tere bhai ne kahan se chun ke laayi... Par... meri kismat... Kabir ne ghar hi badal liya... Mujhe kabhi paas bhi nahi aane diya uske...!"

Siddharth sat completely still on his bed. The silence that followed was heavier than a falling mountain.

"Aaj... aaj main idhar sirf us Valekar ki wajah se hoon... Par... sach mein... saale, kya... maal hai... That bloody bitch!" Rishabh spat out the final, unforgivable insult.

Snap.

The line went dead. Siddharth hadn't hung up; his massive hand had literally crushed the smartphone into a heap of shattered glass and circuit boards.

In the subterranean cell, Akshit’s expression instantly turned from bored annoyance to absolute, ice-cold dread. He knew that look. He knew what happened when the beast broke every single chain.

"Akshit," Siddharth’s voice echoed through the high-security communication speaker mounted in the corner of the cell, dropping into a whisper that sounded like a funeral bell.

. He reached down with an iron grip, and buried his fingers deep into Rishabh’s matted hair. With a vicious, unyielding jerk, he yanked Rishabh’s head backward, exposing his throat to the cold air.

Rishabh let out a blood-curdling shriek of pure agony as his neck strained to the breaking point.

Through the small intercom speaker, the sound of heavy, measured breathing filled the room. Siddharth wasn't yelling anymore. He was calm. Terrifyingly, impossibly calm.

"Rishabh," Siddharth whispered through the wire.

Rishabh couldn't answer, choking on his own blood and tears as Akshit held him suspended in a vice grip.

"You wanted to see how a Chauhan cleans house?" Siddharth’s voice echoed softly in the damp, freezing air of the cell. "Consider this your front-row seat."

-

The grandfather clock downstairs chimed twelve deep, resonant times, wrapping the massive Chauhan estate in a heavy, suffocating shroud of midnight silence.

Siddharth stepped slowly out of his bedroom, the shattered remnants of his phone still lying forgotten on the mattress behind him. His jaw was locked tight, his chest still heaving with the residual heat of a rage that refused to cool. The corridors were dark, illuminated only by the pale moonlight cutting through the tall arched windows.

As he walked silently down the wing, his steps paused.

He found himself standing directly in front of Roop’s bedroom door.

The wood felt heavy beneath his gaze. For a long, agonizing moment, Siddharth simply stood there in the shadows, his broad shoulders rising and falling with slow, heavy breaths. He hadn't known her. In the fractured timeline of his life—split between locked asylum walls, shadowed conspiracies, and calculated madness—he had never truly met his own sister. Yet, standing here now, the invisible thread of blood and shared trauma pulled at his chest with a sharp, agonizing ache.

Slowly, his calloused hand reached out and pushed the door open. It creaked softly on its hinges.

The room was dim, lit only by the pale blue glow of a bedside monitor. There she lay, frail and broken against the stark white pillows. Her pale face was marred with fading bruises, white bandages wrapped securely around her wrists where the IV lines fed medicine directly into her veins. Even in sleep, her body twitched with phantom pain, a silent testament to the horrors she had endured while locked away in the dark.

Siddharth stepped inside, his boots making no sound against the plush carpet.

He walked slowly, the weight of a profound guilt pressing him down until he felt like he was walking underwater. He stopped at the foot of her bed, his striking blue eyes tracing the painful outline of her injuries. The anger that had burned like wildfire in his veins moments ago shifted into something deeper, darker, and infinitely more agonizing—a silent vow written in blood.

Without a word, Siddharth sank slowly to his knees on the cold floorboards.

His large, scarred hands hovered for a fraction of a second over the edge of the mattress before they gently, almost reverently, reached out. He caught her bare feet in his palms, feeling the unnatural chill lingering against his skin.

With infinite care—the kind of touch a broken predator reserved only for the most fragile thing in his world—Siddharth began to massage her cold feet gently, working the tight muscles with slow, rhythmic motions, as if trying to warm her from the inside out and wash away the cold memory of her nightmare.

"Neend nahi aa rahi?"

The quiet, weary voice broke the heavy silence from behind him.

Siddharth slowly turned his head, his striking blue eyes locking onto the doorway. Kabir stood there in the dim light—tall, handsome, dressed casually in dark lounge pants and a simple white t-shirt, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets.

Siddharth looked back down at Roop’s pale, bruised feet, his jaw tightening. "I was... just—"

"Shh," Kabir interrupted softly.

He walked past him with measured, silent steps until he reached the side of the bed. Bending down, Kabir gently adjusted the thick wool blanket over Roop’s shoulders, making sure she was properly tucked in against the cold, chemically induced sleep she drifted in.

"You don't have to give an excuse to me, hmm?" Kabir murmured, his tone stripped of its usual sharp edge, replaced by a quiet, shared exhaustion.

Siddharth let out a slow, heavy sigh and gave a curt nod, his hands still resting lightly near Roop’s ankles before he finally pulled them back and stood up.

For a long minute, absolute silence swallowed the room. The two brothers stood side by side in the dim light, two pillars of a fractured empire standing guard over its most fragile casualty.

"You knew about Rishabh..." Siddharth stated softly, his gaze fixed on the sterile white folds of the bedsheet.

Kabir raised his head, staring blankly ahead.

"We did everything to get all the pieces in place..." Siddharth continued, his voice dropping into a low, tormented rumble. "Is this... is this even real? Are we actually doing this?"

Kabir didn't answer immediately, his eyes lingering on Roop’s still, bandaged wrists.

"Does she..." Siddharth paused, the words catching painfully in his throat as he looked down at his sister. "...Does she even come out from a trauma like this?"

Kabir fell completely silent. The harsh truth hung heavy between them, because deep down, neither of them knew the answer. The shadows of what Roop had endured were too deep, too dark to guarantee a safe return to the light.

Kabir finally turned his head, looking straight into Siddharth's fractured blue eyes.

"The only thing..." Kabir said quietly, his voice laced with a grim, unyielding resolve, "...we can do... is try."

-

Next Morning | Chauhan Villa

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the quiet bedroom. Trisha woke to the dull, pleasant ache in her muscles, a vivid reminder of the absolute storm that had consumed them the night before.

She shifted under the heavy duvet, her hand automatically reaching out to the other side of the mattress. It was empty, the sheets cool to the touch.

"Looking for someone?"

Trisha’s heavy eyelids fluttered open, blinking away the remnants of sleep. Kabir was standing by the tall mahogany dresser, already fully dressed in a crisp black shirt and dark trousers. His hair was slightly damp from a fresh shower, and he was casually adjusting the silver watch on his thick wrist. He looked imposing, entirely restored to his cold, untouchable demeanor, save for the dangerous, satisfied warmth in his blue eyes as he looked at her tangled in the bedsheets.

She pulled the duvet up to her chin, her face instantly heating up. "What time is it?"

"Past nine," Kabir replied, his heavy boots making no sound on the rug as he crossed the room. He stopped at the edge of the bed, leaning down to brace his large hands on either side of her waist. He leaned in, pressing a soft, morning-rough kiss to her forehead. "You needed the sleep."

Trisha let out a soft breath, leaning into his touch before reality came crashing back down on her. Today was the day. Ayaan, Aaradhana, Siddharth, and Vandana Massi. The chaotic, fractured puzzle pieces of his family.

She sat up slightly, ignoring the way the duvet slipped down to reveal her bare shoulders. She looked up at him, her dark eyes clear and determined. "Kabir... you haven't forgotten, have you?"

Kabir’s jaw instantly tightened. The soft warmth in his eyes completely vanished, replaced by that familiar, unyielding wall of stubborn pride. He straightened up, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looked toward the bedroom door. "I remember."

"You promised," Trisha pushed gently, refusing to let him build his defenses back up. She reached out, her small fingers wrapping around his solid forearm. "Ayaan and Aaradhana will be here soon. And Massi is probably already downstairs. No ego today. Just... be the man I know you are."

Kabir looked down at her hand on his arm, a heavy silence stretching between them. For a man who controlled every room he walked into, the prospect of facing the emotional wreckage of his family was the one battle he constantly avoided. But under Trisha’s steady, unblinking gaze, the fight drained out of him.

He let out a low, rough exhale. "Get dressed, little bird. I'll wait for you downstairs."

Thirty minutes later, Trisha walked down the grand staircase, dressed in a simple, elegant cotton suit. She spotted Kabir standing rigidly at the entrance of the main living room. The atmosphere in the house was incredibly thick, crackling with an unspoken, suffocating tension.

The low, commanding drone of Kabir’s voice carried through the spacious hallway as he spoke into his phone, his tone clipped and entirely professional. He held a steaming ceramic mug in his other hand, taking a slow, casual sip of his black coffee, seemingly unaffected by the heavy, suffocating silence of the house around him.

​Trisha stood a few feet away, her arms folded tightly across her chest, watching him intently. Her weight shifted from one foot to the other as she waited for him to end the conversation. Her patience was wearing thin by the second, and her foot began to thump against the polished marble floor in a rhythmic, agitated pattern. With every sharp movement, the silver anklets wrapped around her skin jingled softly, the delicate sound cutting through the quiet room like an absolute deadline.

​Knowing exactly how much power she held over his attention, Kabir’s eyes drifted toward her over the rim of his mug. He didn't interrupt the person on the other end of the line, but a dark, thoroughly amused glint entered his blue eyes as he took another slow sip.

​He watched her restless posture, tracking the way her small foot beat a frantic tattoo against the floor, her anklets chiming with her obvious impatience. A low, quiet chuckle vibrated through his chest

. He shook his head slightly, a small, knowing smirk cutting across his rugged face as he marveled at how a woman so small could look so fiercely demanding in a simple cotton suit.

​Recognizing that his little bird was entirely at her limit, Kabir finally interrupted the speaker on the line. "Wrap it up and send the report."

​Without waiting for a reply, he cut the call, sliding the phone into his trouser pocket. He lowered his coffee mug, his full, unblinking attention settling entirely on her.

​"You're making a lot of noise for someone who wanted a quiet morning, ," he teased, his voice dropping into that familiar, gravelly register as he stepped closer to her, deliberately testing her boundaries.

"I was waiting... so you wrap up your conversation," Trisha said, lifting her chin to maintain a shred of authority, though the warmth in his gaze was already making her pulse quicken.

Kabir just hummed, taking one slow, deliberate step toward her. He looked down at her with that unyielding, predatory calm that always made her feel completely surrounded.

"What?" she asked, her voice faltering slightly as his heavy shadow fell over her.

"Kiss," Kabir stated plainly. His voice was a low, gravelly vibration, completely devoid of negotiation.

Trisha’s cheeks immediately flared with a bright, stubborn pink. She glanced nervously toward the hallway, knowing his family could walk through the front doors at any given second. "No...!"

"I didn't ask for permission," he rasped.

Seeing the dark flare of intent in his blue eyes, Trisha instinctively took a hasty step back, her ankles jingling sharply against the quiet marble. But she was entirely too slow for a man like him.

Before she could even turn, Kabir dropped his coffee mug onto the side table. His large, heavy hand shot forward, wrapping around her waist with an iron grip that brooked zero resistance. With one smooth, effortless pull, he hauled her flush against his dense chest, erasing every millimeter of space between them.

Trisha gasped, her hands flying up to his shoulders for balance, but the sound was instantly cut off. Kabir tilted her chin up with his thumb and slammed his mouth down onto hers.

It wasn't a gentle morning brush; it was a hungry, demanding claim. He devoured her lips, his tongue forcing its way deep into her mouth to taste the sweet warmth of her. He kissed her with a sudden, suffocating intensity that made her knees instantly buckle beneath her cotton suit.

His broad chest pinned her body completely, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist to hold her up as he ruthlessly took what he wanted, leaving her completely breathless and clinging to him for survival in the middle of the grand living room.

The heavy, suffocating heat of the kiss completely consumed the foyer. Kabir’s large hand was buried deep in the fabric of her cotton suit at her waist, pulling her so hard against his chest that Trisha could barely draw breath. Her fingers were knotted into the front of his black shirt, her mind spinning into a helpless, dizzying haze under the sheer, ruthless demand of his mouth.

He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, just enough to catch a ragged breath against her lips, his jaw tight, his voice dropping into a rough, low growl that vibrated straight through her skin.

"You think you can just stand there thumping your foot at me, little bird? Next time you try to order me around, I'll—"

"—lock you in the bunker and make you recite the army manual backward until you learn some goddamn discipline?," a loud, drawling voice smoothly finished the sentence from the open doorway.

The effect was instantaneous.

Trisha violently froze, her eyes flying wide open in absolute, mortified horror. The blood completely drained from her face, leaving her entirely pale as she snapped out of the haze. She instantly shoved hard against Kabir’s massive chest, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Kabir didn't move away easily. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle violently ticked beneath his stubble, and his blue eyes darkened to a terrifying, lethal shade of ice.

He slowly, deliberately let his hands slide off Trisha’s waist, straightening his broad shoulders to his full, imposing height as he turned his head toward the entrance.

Standing right inside the threshold, leaning casually against the heavy mahogany doorframe with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, was Captain Ayaan Mallik.

Even dressed in a sharp, casual jacket, there was a restless, twitching intensity in his posture that screamed danger.

But right now, the air between the two brothers was thick enough to choke on. They had been giving each other the silent treatment for days, a cold war of stubborn military pride that had turned the entire estate into a minefield.

Yet, Ayaan being Ayaan, he couldn't resist a moment of pure, unadulterated psychological torment.

A slow, deeply unsettling smirk spread across his rugged face as his sharp eyes bounced between Kabir’s dark scowl and Trisha’s burning, crimson face.

"Am I interrupting the tactical briefing, Major?" Ayaan asked, his voice dripping with a mocking, hyper-active cheerfulness that didn't reach his cold eyes. He took a slow step forward, his boots clicking sharply on the marble. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like the commanding officer was completely losing control of the perimeter."

Trisha felt like the ground beneath her should split open and swallow her whole. She couldn't even look at Ayaan. Her face was so hot she was certain it was glowing, her hands frantically smoothing down her cotton suit in a desperate, useless attempt to look dignified. She stepped slightly behind Kabir’s massive frame, using his broad shoulders as a human shield to hide her immense embarrassment.

Kabir stood like an absolute statue, his face an unreadable, terrifying mask of pure fury. The silence that stretched between the two brothers was deafening, crackling with years of shared trauma, unyielding egos, and a bizarre, unspoken loyalty that ran deeper than blood.

"Get out," Kabir rasped, his voice dropping into a quiet, lethal register that would have made a platoon of soldiers drop to their knees in terror.

Ayaan didn't even blink. He merely chuckled—a dry, slightly manic sound that echoed off the grand staircase—and tilted his head, his eyes flashing with that erratic, psycho edge that made him entirely unpredictable.

"Can't do that, ," Ayaan murmured, his tone suddenly dropping into a flat, dangerous calm that was even more unsettling than his laughter. "We have a family meeting, remember? Though if you're going to be occupied with... personnel management... I can go wait in the study and raid your expensive scotch."

Kabir stood like an absolute statue, his face an unreadable, terrifying mask of pure fury. The silence that stretched between the two brothers was deafening, crackling with years of shared trauma, unyielding egos, and a bizarre, unspoken loyalty that ran deeper than blood.

"I don't mind," Ayaan remarked, a sharp, unhinged grin slicing across his face as he pushed himself off the doorframe. "You both can continue your sucking session... and also convert it into a fucking session. I will meet Siddharth in the meanwhile."

Trisha's brain completely short-circuited. The sheer, unadulterated filters-free audacity of the man left her gasping for air. Her face burned with a heat so intense she felt like she was physically catching fire.

Strung entirely out on mortification, her hand shot out to the nearest sofa, grabbing a heavy, plush throw cushion. With a furious, red-faced yell, she hurled it straight at his head.

It was the second time. The second damn time this chaotic lunatic had walked in on them in a compromising position within a single month.

Ayaan didn't even flinch. With the hyper-active, razor-sharp reflexes of a black-ops operative who spent his life dodging actual artillery, he brought his left hand up and caught the cushion effortlessly out of mid-air. He didn't drop his smirk for a second.

Tuck-holding it under his arm like a football, he gave her a patronizing, pitying look.

"It is not worth it, sweetheart," Ayaan said, his voice dripping with that infuriating, hyper-casual tone.

"Itna kamate ho, thodi hesitation khareed lete!" Trisha fired back, her voice cracking with pure indignation as she pointed an accusing finger at him. (You earn so much, you could have bought a little hesitation!)

"It is more expensive than what I earn in a year," Ayaan countered immediately, his eyes flashing with that erratic, psycho-maniac gleam as he tapped his temple. "You had some? Because I certainly can't see any from the thing I just saw."

Trisha felt a vein throb in her forehead. The level of shamelessness in this family was a biological hazard. Whipping around, she directed the full, blazing force of her fury at Kabir, who was still standing there like an impenetrable brick wall, though his jaw was clamped so tight it looked like marble.

"Sab apne jaisi bana rakhe hain... Besharam!" she snapped, glaring at her husband as if the captain's lack of a filter was entirely his fault.

With that, she turned on her heel, her cotton suit swishing angrily and her silver anklets jingling in a furious, rapid tempo as she stormed off toward Roop's room, needing to wash the sheer embarrassment out of her system.

Kabir stood frozen for a beat, his eyebrows furrowing in genuine, baffled confusion. He looked at the empty hallway where his wife had just vanished, then threw his hands out slightly, his expression practically screaming: What the hell did I do? She was the one thumping her foot!

He slowly turned his head back around to look at Ayaan.

To Be Continued....