POV: Ashwin

I’ve been trained to stay calm under pressure. Boardrooms. Billion-dollar deals. Crisis calls at 2 a.m. Nothing rattles me.

Except her.

When Aaravi’s name flashed on my phone mid-meeting, I should’ve ignored it. But the message? Just two words: “I’m sick. Can you come to my penthouse?”

My breath caught. My fingers tightened around the phone.

I canceled the next hour of meetings without blinking.

Didn’t ask permissions to anyone.Didn’t explain.

I just got in my car and drove. Too fast. Too reckless.

---

Her apartment was dimly lit. The curtains were half drawn. She was curled on the couch like a painting, legs tucked beneath her, a blanket draped over one shoulder.

“Aaravi?” I said, already reaching for her forehead.

She didn’t respond.

I leaned in, touched her skin. No fever.

“You don’t feel warm but your message—” I reached for my phone. “Let me call the doctor.”

She grabbed it from my hand.

Then, before I could react, she threw it across the room. It landed on the rug with a soft thump.

“What the hell—”

“Sit,” she whispered. “Please, Ashwin. Just sit.”

I sat, cautiously. Her eyes locked with mine. She looked... calm. Too calm.

“Do you love me?” she asked.

I exhaled, jaw tight. “You know I don’t. We’ve talked about this.”

“Then why did you come running?”

“Because your father—”

“No,” she cut me off. “Don’t hide behind him. Why you?”

I stood. “This is ridiculous.”

she said softly. “look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t feel your heart stop when I said I was sick.”

She rose slowly, the blanket falling.

“What are you doing?” I asked, voice low.

“Showing you what you’re running from.”

Her hands moved to the hem of her satin slip. Fingers slow. Intentional.

She pulled it upward, inch by inch. Smooth thighs, bare skin, deliberate pause. Her body moved like smoke — soft but impossible to hold.

My throat dried.

“Aaravi. Don’t.”

Her eyes didn’t leave mine.

“I’m not begging anymore. I’m asking you to feel.”

She dropped the silk to the floor. All that remained was her lace bralette and tiny shorts that didn’t deserve the name.

I looked away.

“Look at me, Ashwin.”

“I said—”

She came closer, knelt between my legs, palms on my knees. Her breath grazed through the space between us.

“You say you don’t love me,” she whispered, “but your eyes betray you.”

I clenched my fists.

“You’re hurting yourself,” I said.

“No. You’re are the one who is.hurting me,” she countered.

Then she reached up, slowly, and undid the front clasp of her bralette.

I caught her wrists.

Enough.

“Stop.”

“You want to stop looking. But you won’t because simply you can't. Right ashu!.”

I pushed her back gently. She stumbled onto the couch.

My blood was boiling — not with lust, but confusion. Anger.

“What are you trying to prove?” I snapped.

“That you’re not made of stone. That I can make you feel. Even if it’s just for a second.”

My hand twitched. I stepped forward, pulled a throw from the armchair, and threw it near her.

“You’re not a game, Aaravi. Don’t make yourself one.”

She looked up, lips parted, eyes wild.

“Then stop playing.”

I slapped the edge of the sofa. Not her. Just the air between us. Loud. Harsh.

“Get dressed.”

And I turned and walked away, slamming the door so hard the floor shook.

Outside, in the cold corridor, I leaned against the wall and ran a hand through my hair.

My hea

rt? Racing.

My mind? Burning.

Her scent? Still on me.

And that terrified me more than anything else ever had.

God help me.