Shashi’s POV –

Today, I woke up very early. It was freezing in Delhi—I swear, I could’ve turned into an icicle in my shorts and oversized tee. I quickly slipped into my sweatpants and grabbed the warmest hoodie I could find.

Just as I started to feel human again, I remembered—shit, I have an event today. My stupid brain forgot! I took My phone—my brand new phone—as I left the other one in rajput Mansion. Great. I had to use Abhi’s phone, which I broke too, Yeah,

I dialed Saksham’s number. The idiot didn’t pick up. Must be sleeping like a log. I kept calling until finally, the half-dead creature answered in his classic sleepy voice:

“Bol chudail…”

“Abe ae Kumbhakaran! Madar Nandan! Kitna soyega? Uth! Jaldi uth!” I yelled, already on edge.

“Chill kar yaar…” he murmured.

“Chill ? teri girlfriend ka birthday hai? Jaldi uth!” I snapped again.

“Haan haan, uth raha hoon.” He finally gave in.

“Ghar aa jaldi. Main aloo ke parathe bana rahi hoon.” I added.

“Ab to aadhe raste pe hoon. Accha, ate hue kuch laau?”

“Nahi, maine dahi aur butter already order kar diya hai. Baaki sab ghar pe hai. Bas tu nahake aa jaldi se.”

We cut the call, and I got to work in the kitchen. I rinsed the potatoes, boiled them, mashed them, added finely chopped onions, spices, and a lot of love. Then I kneaded the dough and got rolling. Quite literally.

I prepared the pan, shaped the parathas perfectly, and slathered them with butter—because let’s be honest, butter is life. Just as the aroma filled the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

Saksham.

“Subah jaldi uthakar torture karne wali,” I glared at him.

“Pehle parathe de,” he smirked.

“Rakh do do minute. Butter khatam ho gaya, ek baar order aa jaaye, fir saath mein breakfast karte hain.”

“Theek hai. Chal kitchen mein main chatni bana deta hoon.”

We worked together like pros—me rolling parathas, him mixing chutney. Then, of course, came the gossip.

“Bhai, tu mall gayi thi na saree lene ? Naya haircut kab karwaya? ” he asked.

Then I added, “Ek baat batani thi…”

“Kaunsi?”

“Mall mein ek baklol takra gaya. FabIndia ke bahar. Chutiya naam ka chodu. Keh raha tha ‘Nice tits, sweetheart.’”

“Toh tune usse zinda chhoda?”

“Nahi. Maine bola, ‘Your dick also seems little.’ Aur usse pehle woh kuch aur bol pata, Abhishek aagya .......Abhi idk woh kahaan punishment bhugat raha hoga.”

“Well done, soldier.” Saksham chuckled.

Just then, the doorbell rang again—it was the delivery guy with butter and curd. Perfect timing.

We had breakfast while watching our favorite stand-up special on TV, laughing our guts out.

♡

It was already afternoon, and that’s when it hit me—I have to get ready! Just a few hours left for the event!

“Saksham, main jaa rahi hoon ready hone,” I said.

“Bro, tujhe 10 minute lagenge. Relax. Event mein time hai,” he replied.

“Abe mujhe saree pehnni hai. Mujhe waqt lagega!” I barked and stormed to my room.

I took out my laptop and watched ten thousand saree-draping tutorials. After what felt like infinite attempts, I finally managed to drape it decently.

I looked in the mirror. Not bad. I actually looked… nice. The pallu sat right. The pleats behaved. I moved to makeup.

Concealed the little scars here and there with minimum product, keeping it fresh. Then came the eyeliner—winged, bold, and after wiping it off literally a hundred times, I got it right.

Nude lipstick. A tiny bindi. Filled my brows a little. Wore the smallest silver balis. Combed my hair and left it open. Straightened the bangs. Wore a sleek watch on my wrist. Heels—not too high, just perfect for strutting, not suffering.

I cleaned the vanity and tidied the room before stepping out.

I walked into the living room where Saksham was still glued to the TV.

“Chal bhai. Already late ho gaye,” I said.

He looked at me, eyes wide, “Tujhe dekh ke lag raha hai pehli baar ladki lag rahi hai.”

“Sale, tareef karni hai toh ache se kar!” I laughed.

“Chal ab,” I said, and we walked out together and sat in the car.

♡

The crowd was larger than I’d imagined. Lights. Cameras. Eyes. Everywhere.

Saksham gave me a nod before he walked off to take his seat. My heels clicked against the marble as I walked down the aisle to the front row—reserved. My name written in black print on a placard, felt heavier than any degree I’d earned.

I took my seat, adjusting the soft pallu of my saree, my palms clammy despite the freezing air-conditioning. My heart was beating abnormally fast. It wasn’t stage fright. It was something else… an invisible current tightening in the room.

Then it happened.

The host’s voice echoed across the hall, “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise to welcome our esteemed chief guest, Mr. Vrishank Das, CEO of DAS.Inc and our syndicate partner.”

Everyone stood up.

I did too—out of habit, respect… but also confusion. Vrishank Das?

As the sound of polished leather shoes neared, my breath hitched. I turned.

And there he was.

The man who had walked up to me during Laksha’s banquet night, uninvited, mysterious, intense.

Now… the same man… was sitting beside me.

His tanned skin gleamed under the golden chandeliers. One arm—full of intricate tattoos, black and bold against his copper tone. Several rings adorned his fingers, all sharp-edged and masculine. His perfume was a mix of cedarwood and something dangerously addictive.

Why the hell is he here?

I sat back down, forcing myself to breathe normally. I didn’t look at him directly, but I could feel his presence like fire at the edge of my skin.

Then the host called out—

“And now, for the award of the Youngest Medico Achiever of the Year, please welcome Dr. Shashi Oberoi!”

Applause.

My name bounced around the auditorium. My knees wobbled, but I stood tall.

I walked up the stage.

They handed me the award. The spotlight made my face warm. But nothing burned more than what I was about to say.

The host leaned in, “Dr. Shashi, whom would you like to dedicate this award to?”

I took the mic.

“No one,” I said, clearly. The crowd stilled. “I don’t want to dedicate this award to anyone. Especially not to those who only called me a loser whenever I failed.”

I paused. Swallowed the ache.

“If there’s one person who’s stood by me... it’s me. Only me. No one else deserves this.”

And with that, I walked off the stage.

I didn’t wait for validation. Didn’t look back. I just wanted to find Saksham, and go home.

But just before I reached him, a shadow loomed beside me.

“Didn’t expect someone like you here,” a voice said, calm and cutting. “A mafia family’s little sister, being awarded in white light.”

I turned. It was him—Vrishank. Again. That smug edge in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” I said, chin raised, voice sharp, “But I have my own identity. I’m not just the sister of a mafia queen.”

He blinked. A little stunned. Then… smirked.

“You’ve got guts,” he said, eyes glinting. “I like that.”

“Noted,” I replied, a slight smile breaking on my lips—for the first time that day.

He extended his hand, slow and formal. “Vrishank Das. CEO of DAS.Inc. Also… Laksha’s business partner.”

I shook it. So this was the infamous Das.

“Shashi,” I replied softly.

And for a moment, in that storm of cameras and crowd, we stood still—two stories meeting at a corner

♡

Saksham dropped me home.

“I’m going to my cousin’s place tonight,” he said, tapping on the wheel.

I nodded, exhausted but floating in strange emotions.

As I walked up the stairs to my apartment, something… felt off.

The door was open.

My stomach dropped.

I immediately dialed Saksham’s number. It rang once—twice—

But before I could speak, a hand—possessive, scorching—wrapped around my waist from behind and pulled me inside.

I gasped.

But my gasp was swallowed.

By his lips.

Hungry. Demanding. Raw.

Aakash.

He kissed me like he’d been starving for centuries.

My back hit the wall next to the door, and he hoisted me up—his body pressing mine into the surface. My saree shifted as his hand slipped under the pallu, caressing the curve of my waist, tracing the warmth of my skin.

I couldn’t breathe.

And for the first time—I didn’t want to.

He made me sit on the entry table, never breaking the kiss, his mouth claiming every inch of my soul.

And then—

“Shashi? What happened?”

It was Saksham.

He had returned—maybe worried. But he stood frozen.

His eyes widened as he saw us.

Aakash looked over his shoulder, calm and smug.

“Leave,” he said, voice ice cold.

Saksham looked at me—my lips bruised, my hair wild, my saree slipping—and I didn’t say a word. I wasn’t ashamed.

Because I was calm.

Alive.

Then Aakash turned to me, his voice husky and low, “You like those dark romance novels, right, Rosebud?”

He smirked.

“Congratulations. Your husband is officially kidnapping you

⁠♡

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💕Author ~

Hey pretty readers

Hope you liked the chapter

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And i hope i didn't disappoint anyone here