The car pulled up in front of a mansion that looked like it had been carved from shadows and gold. Ornate gates, armed guards, and too many cameras made one thing clear — this wasn’t just any dinner. It was a performance.

Avyaan stepped out first, then turned and extended a hand toward me.
I hesitated — not because I didn’t want to take it, but because I wasn’t sure who I’d become once I did.

His eyes met mine. Steady. Silent.

I placed my hand in his.

Inside, the Rathore mansion was a palace of excess — crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and servants who moved like ghosts. At the center of it all stood Ananya Rathore — tall, graceful, dressed in blood-red silk.

Her gaze found Avyaan first — a flicker of recognition, of something unspoken.
Then she turned to me. She smiled — no, forced a smile.

“You’re Mrs. Rana, right?”

I nodded, matching her expression with a carefully practiced one of my own.

“I must say, Avyaan, I expected someone… louder,” she said, her voice dripping with fake honey.

“And I expected someone friendlier,” I replied smoothly.

She laughed, too sweet, and tossed a hand onto Avyaan’s arm like she’d done it a thousand times. Something inside me burned.
Without thinking, I slipped my arm around him.

He glanced at me — and for a heartbeat, I saw something flicker behind that cold, unreadable mask.

Ananya's eyes fell to where my hand rested possessively on Avyaan’s arm, her smile faltering just enough for me to notice.
Good.

"Well," she said, recovering quickly, "it's nice to see Avyaan finally bringing someone around. For a while, we were beginning to think he’d sworn off love altogether."

His jaw tightened, barely perceptible, but I caught it.

"And yet," I said with a cool smile, "here I am."

Avyaan didn’t say a word — he didn’t have to. The silence around him was louder than any declaration. He was a fortress of stone and shadows, but for once, I wasn’t content being shut out. Not tonight.

Dinner was held in an impossibly long dining hall, more suited to royalty than reality. Gilded candleholders, walls lined with portraits of brooding ancestors, and food that looked like it belonged in a museum instead of on a plate.

Ananya made sure to sit across from us, her eyes flitting to Avyaan every few seconds. She laughed at his rare comments, leaned forward every time he spoke, and I watched her, cataloguing every move like a threat.

But it was when dessert arrived that she crossed a line.

“I remember the time we got caught sneaking out of that party in Milan,” she said, her voice dripping nostalgia. “You always did have a thing for danger.”

Avyaan didn’t respond. His fork rested on the plate, untouched.

“I suppose you’re still the same — cold on the outside, fire underneath,” she added, tilting her head.

Something sharp twisted inside me.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, voice light but steady. “He’s not that cold once you get to know him. In fact,” I turned to him, brushing my fingers against his wrist, “he’s surprisingly warm when he lets you in.”

Avyaan's gaze snapped to mine, and for once, there was no mask. Just a flicker of something raw — surprise, maybe even… pride?

Ananya didn’t respond this time. She just sipped her wine, but I saw the tension in the way she held the glass — like she wanted to crush it.

When the dinner finally ended, and we stepped out into the night, I exhaled, realizing I’d been holding my breath for hours.

Avyaan was silent beside me, but I could feel the tension radiating off him — not anger, not annoyance… something quieter. Conflicted.

I turned to him. “Old flame?”

He met my gaze. “Old… mistake.”

I should’ve left it at that, but the jealousy still simmered. “She clearly doesn’t think it’s over.”

Avyaan stepped closer, the shadows of the mansion at his back, and for once, he looked utterly human — tired, guarded… vulnerable.

“I don’t care what she thinks,” he said, voice low. “I brought you here for a reason.”

My heart stumbled. “What reason?”

He leaned in, breath brushing my ear. “To show them you’re mine.”

And just like that, my carefully built composure cracked.

Because somewhere between the jealousy and the games, I realized I didn’t want to be his for show.
I wanted to be his — for real.

And that terrified me more than Ananya ever could.