♡ Anvitha ♡
Two fucking weeks.
That's how long it's been since Ryan Raichand decided to press me against the wall of my office cabin and mess with my sanity like it was his birthright.
And since then?
Silence.
No dirty messages. No filthy dreams whispered into my skin. No twisted remarks about how he'll take me one day-how he owns me.
It's like he vanished from the face of the Earth.
And instead of feeling free, I feel like I've been tossed into some silent warzone with no bombs but plenty of tension.
I should be grateful. I should be relieved.
But I'm not.
The fact that he stopped chasing me-it doesn't soothe me. It needles me, scratches at the corners of my mind like a phantom itch I can't reach.
What changed?
Did he get bored?
Move on to another conquest?
Or is he just playing another twisted version of control?
And then there's Karan-my supposed lifeline in this mess. The man who dumped a trauma bomb on me and then decided to vanish.
No follow-ups.
No new files.
Nothing.
When I cornered him last week, demanding an update, he just gave me the same old rehearsed line.
"These things take time , Miss Ramaswamy."
Well guess what, Sherlock?
I don't have that luxury.
Time is a noose around my neck, and it's tightening by passing time .
Sighing, I shove back from my desk. My throat is parched, my thoughts too loud, and the four walls of my office are starting to feel like a coffin. I need caffeine before I strangle someone. Preferably Vikram. Or Ryan. Or both.
I walk out of my cabin and head to the cafeteria. I don't bother smiling at anyone. Most of them don't meet my eyes anyway. Maybe they're scared. Maybe they think I'm some spoiled mafia heiress.
They're not entirely wrong.
I get to the counter. "Black. Extra strong. Don't mess it up."
The barista flinches and nods.
My mood is little messed up today.
I turn-and walk straight into a wall of leather and Flirt.
Neil.
Because of fucking course.
"Anvitha," he drawls, flashing that grin like he's on a cologne ad campaign.
"Aiyo ," I mutter. "Do you not believe in personal space or are you just genetically wired to be annoying?"
[ Aiyo : (in southern Indian and Sri Lankan English) used to express distress, regret, or grief. ]
He steps back, holding up his hands. "Whoa. I come in peace. Mostly."
I narrow my eyes. "You nearly wore my coffee, jackass."
He smirks. "Would've been worth it."
I sigh. "Look, if this is about the last time-"
"I'm over it," he cuts in. "Kind of. But you owe me."
"Owe you?" I scoff. "For what, existing near me without a restraining order?"
He gestures toward a table. "One coffee. That's it. No murder, no drama. Just caffeine and charm. Come on, I promise not to be too unbearable."
"I highly doubt that," I mutter, but follow him anyway.
Mostly because I'm tired. Partly because I need a break. And maybe-just a little-because Neil is the only person who doesn't tiptoe around me like I'm about to detonate.
We sit.
He kicks back like he owns the place. I cross my legs and glare at him.
He leans forward. "You know, if you were mine, I'd never leave you alone for two weeks."
I snort. "If I were yours, I'd probably kick you in the balls every morning for fun."
"Kinky," he replies without missing a beat. "I like it."
"I'm serious," I warn. "One wrong move and I will plant my stiletto so far up your ass, you'll be coughing leather."
He grins like I've just flirted with him. "God, I love when you talk dirty."
"Neil," I deadpan. "Behave."
He sips his coffee and eyes me over the rim. "Just saying... I'd treat you better. You know, if you gave me a shot."
"Oh, so now you want to marry me?" I roll my eyes.
"Obviously. I'm a catch. I've got a strong jawline, a criminal record, and emotionally unavailable tendencies. You'd love me."
"That's my dream man right there," I say with a straight face. "Do you also cry at Marvel movies and refuse to do laundry?"
"Only on Tuesdays."
"You're an idiot."
"You like it."
I open my mouth to deny it-when a chill slides down my spine.
It's instinctual, primal. Like being hunted.
My head turns before I even register why.
But there's no one there. No shadow. No scent. No tall, dark, sin-dripping billionaire watching from the corners.
Still...
My body reacts like he's near.
Like he's watching.
Like he's waiting.
And maybe he is.
Because even in absence, Ryan Raichand doesn't leave.
He lingers.
In my thoughts.
In my skin.
In the ache between my thighs that I pretend I don't feel.
"Earth to Anvitha?" Raven snaps his fingers in front of my face.
I blink.
"Sorry. Zoned out."
"You okay?" he asks, tone softening just enough to make me blink again.
"Yeah. Just... tired."
He nods. "You need anything-like anything-you call me."
I smirk. "Even if I need someone to bury a body?"
He shrugs. "You dig, I'll drive."
I smile-genuine this time.
He's not him.
But he's safe.
And maybe for now, safe is enough.
Even if I know that soon, Ryan will come back.
And when he does?
He won't knock.
He'll kick the fucking door down.
"And if you marry me," Neil added with a wink, "you'll get lifetime access to me making the best filter coffee in town. Plus, I'll let you boss me around-only sometimes though."
"I already boss you around," I shot back with a smirk, sipping my drink. "Marrying you would be a demotion. And honestly? I'd rather kick you in the ass every morning than wake up next to you."
Neil laughed. "Kinky. Now you're just tempting me."
"You wish," I said with a roll of my eyes, but my lips betrayed me with the twitch of a grin.
But that grin froze on my face the second he walked in.
Ryan Raichand.
He didn't just walk-he stormed in with that predator stillness, like the air shifted itself to make space for him. His eyes zeroed in on me immediately, sharp and dangerous, and I felt every inch of my skin flare with heat-not from embarrassment, but the kind of heat that made my palms itch and my nerves sing.
He didn't glance at Neil. Didn't acknowledge the others in the cafeteria. His eyes were carved into me alone.
My spine straightened. My walls reassembled.
"Wildfire," he murmured, his voice low and slicing, as he reached our table. "I didn't know I had to book an appointment now to speak with you."
"I'm fully booked this week," I replied without missing a beat. "You should try next month. Or the next life."
Neil snorted under his breath, but one look from Ryan made his smirk die a noble death.
Ryan didn't take his eyes off me. "Funny. You weren't this mouthy the night you were begging for my fingers."
My throat dried. Neil's brows shot up.
"Leave," Ryan said to him, his tone deadly calm.
"I think I'm good here," Neil replied, matching his tone. Brave. Or stupid.
Ryan tilted his head and gave a slow smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Leave. Before I forget we're in public."
Neil stood up but looked at me. "You okay?"
"I'm good," I said, holding my chin high. "If he tries something, I'll neuter him with a pen."
Neil grinned. "That's my girl."
Ryan's jaw twitched.
As soon as Aarav walked away, Ryan leaned in, his voice brushing my skin like a dangerous promise. "You don't get to play coy with someone else while you're still soaked in the memory of me."
"I'm soaked in irritation," I snapped. "You should be familiar with that feeling by now."
"Cute," he whispered, stepping closer. "Let's see how cute you are when I drag you out of here."
"Touch me and I swear to God, Ryan-"
But I didn't get to finish.
He gripped my wrist-gently, but with the kind of strength that said resistance would be futile-and whispered, "Let's not do this in front of people. You want to scream? Save it for my penthouse."
Before I could even spit a reply, he was pulling me with him. I jerked my hand, but he only tightened his grip as we stormed through the corridor.
"You're crazy," I hissed.
"You've known that since the night I made you come undone on my hand," he murmured in my ear.
My pulse spiked. I wanted to punch him. I also wanted to kiss him. Maybe throw him into a moving car. Or maybe straddle him inside one.
This man was ruining my life-one intoxicating second at a time.
And I was letting him.
The walk to the parking lot was short, but it felt like a battle of wills. His grip didn't loosen, and I didn't stop yanking against it. My heels clicked angrily on the marble floor, echoing my resentment. People stared, but none dared intervene-not when Ryan Raichand's aura screamed don't even breathe in my direction.
As we stepped outside, I pulled harder. "Let me go, you maniac!"
He didn't. Of course he didn't.
Instead, he shoved me gently-but firmly-against the sleek black body of his car. I stumbled back, the cold metal kissing my spine, and before I could recover, he pinned me there with his body.
His palm slapped the door behind me and he leaned in, so close his breath skimmed my lips.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I gritted out, pushing against his chest.
"You're really asking me that?" he said, eyes blazing. "You want to flirt with that guy in my presence? You think I won't react?"
"He's not throwing me against cars like a caveman!" I spat.
"That's because he doesn't know what you taste like when you're moaning into someone's hand," Ryan whispered, his voice dark silk. "And I do."
I slapped him on his chest.
He didn't flinch. He smirked.
"You're deranged," I hissed.
"And you're in my car in the next five seconds," he said coldly, pressing the button that unlocked the door beside me. "Or I carry you in like I did the last time."
I didn't move.
So he opened the door himself, grabbed my waist, and quite literally tossed me into the passenger seat like I weighed nothing.
"Asshole!" I screamed, but he shut the door on my curses.
Moments later, he was in the driver's seat. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous.
"I will scream," I snapped.
"Go ahead," he said, pulling out of the parking lot. "The windows are bulletproof."
I folded my arms and glared out the window. "Where are you taking me?"
"My penthouse."
"Why?"
"To remind you who you belong to."
"I don't belong to anyone," I snapped.
He laughed darkly. "That's the problem, Wildfire. You don't belong. You burn everything before it can touch you."
"And you're so eager to be incinerated?"
"I want to own the fire," he said simply. "And if it burns me? So be it."
I should've been scared.
I should've told him to stop the car and jumped out, even if it meant rolling across the road like a lunatic.
But I didn't.
Because some part of me-some sick, twisted part-wanted to know what he'd do next.
What lines he'd cross.
And what he'd drag me into with him.
The rest of the ride was silent, except for the pulse between my legs that still remembered the last time he touched me.
And then the car stopped.
We were at his building. Glass and steel and money.
The elevator ride up was quiet, tension thick enough to slice.
He didn't touch me.
He didn't speak.
He just stared, like he was planning a hundred different ways to devour me.
When the elevator doors opened, he stepped out first. I followed, partly because I hated him-and partly because I didn't.
And as soon as we reached the private penthouse door, he turned the lock, stepped aside, and said in a low voice that sent a shiver down my spine-
"Inside. Now."
And I walked in.
Like a fool.
Like a wildfire that knew it would be trapped-but went anyway.
I stepped in.
And the door clicked shut behind me.
Silence stretched for a second-one long enough to feel like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
The penthouse was huge. All glass walls, marble floors, minimalist furniture that screamed money and power. Black, steel, and deep velvet tones. It looked cold, controlled, calculated.
Just like him.
But I didn't get more than two steps inside before I felt it-him.
His presence behind me. Like a shadow wrapping around my spine.
"Say it," Ryan said from behind.
I turned, arms crossed. "Say what?"
"That you liked it," he murmured, stepping closer. "That you still think about my fingers inside you. That you're wet right now because I dragged you out of that café like a possessive bastard."
"You are a possessive bastard," I snapped.
"And yet..." His gaze dipped, and my traitorous body heated.
I took a shaky breath. "You have no right to treat me like property, Ryan."
He didn't answer.
He just closed the distance between us in one fluid motion. I backed away instinctively, but I forgot I was wearing heels. My foot hit the edge of a step down to the sunken lounge-and I stumbled.
But he caught me. Of course he did.
His arm wrapped around my waist and yanked me against him, my hands splayed on his hard chest.
I looked up.
He looked down.
And that damn smirk curled the corner of his lips.
"Careful, Wildfire," he said huskily. "You fall for me any deeper and you might drown."
I pushed against him, but he didn't budge.
"Let. Me. Go."
"Why? So you can run to that pretty boy from the cafeteria?" he asked, voice now tinged with jealousy. "The one who looked at you like he wanted to worship you? I don't worship. I ruin."
"You're sick," I hissed.
"No, baby." His hand slid up my spine, fingers burying into the hair at the nape of my neck. "I'm starving."
And then-
He kissed me.
Hard.
Raw.
Devouring.
Like he needed to erase any trace of another man from my mouth.
And the worst part?
I kissed him back.
Because there's something about Ryan Raichand that drags the darkest part of me into the light. That pulls the rebellion out of me like a drug. That makes me want to claw and kiss and break and belong-all at once.
But I wasn't going to let him have all the control.
So I bit his lip.
Hard.
He pulled back just an inch, smirking with a thin trail of blood on his mouth. "You want to play, Wildfire? Let's fucking play."
Then he spun me around and shoved me up against the floor-to-ceiling window, the entire glittering city sprawling out beneath us.
My palms slapped against the cold glass.
His body pressed into mine from behind.
"You like showing off," he murmured against my ear. "So let the city watch you fall apart."
"Fuck you," I said breathlessly.
He chuckled darkly. "That's the plan."
His hands skimmed down my waist, his mouth tracing a path over the shell of my ear and down my neck. I shivered.
"Tell me you don't want this," he whispered, lips brushing my skin.
I wanted to.
I really, really wanted to.
But I didn't.
Because I did want it.
More than I should.
He spun me back around, and our mouths crashed again-this time like fire and gasoline. Explosive. Unforgiving. Possessive.
I hated him.
And I needed him.
And that was the most terrifying part of all.
I barely had a second to process before Ryan lifted me, carried me through the penthouse like I was his property, and not a damn soul could tell him otherwise.
The world spun until I landed on his bed.
No-not landed-he threw me. Like a man fed up with the storm inside him. Like I was the chaos he both hated and worshipped.
My heart thundered in my chest, hands gripping the bedsheets as I stared at him standing at the foot of the bed like a predator admiring the prey that finally stepped into his trap.
"You think you can drive me mad," he said, voice thick with restrained rage. "Smile for another man. Laugh with another. Touch another. In my presence."
"You don't own me, Raichand," I hissed, refusing to cower.
His eyes darkened. "That's the problem, wildfire. You still think you don't."
Before I could breathe, he was on the bed, over me-above me.
One hand pinned my wrists above my head with a grip that didn't hurt but reminded me that I was completely under his mercy. His other hand fisted the hem of my shirt, pulling it up until cool air brushed over my stomach.
"I should punish you for every smile you gave him," he murmured, eyes flicking down to my lips. "But I think you're already begging for it without saying a word."
"Go to hell," I spat.
"I'm already there, Anvitha. You dragged me in the moment you walked into my life."
The tension crackled between us like electricity soaked in gasoline. His fingers teased my waist, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing my skin with touch alone. My chest rose and fell rapidly, and he noticed-of course, he noticed.
"You're shaking," he whispered, lips hovering near my ear. "You say one thing, but your body... it responds to me like it was made for this."
"You're sick."
"And you're addicted." He bit down gently on the edge of my jaw. "To me. To this. To us."
I turned my head away. He tugged my chin back, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"Look at me when I show you who you belong to."
Then he kissed me.
Devoured me.
His mouth moved over mine with brutal precision. Not sweet. Not soft. Possessive. Consuming. Like he wanted to erase every trace of every man who'd ever looked my way. Like he wanted to rewrite my entire existence with the taste of him.
His hand trailed down my ribs, over the waistband of my skirt. He didn't even unbutton it-just yanked it down and off like it offended him.
I was stripped to my lingerie now. Exposed.
He was still fully dressed.
It wasn't fair.
But it was him-always playing the puppeteer while I danced on strings I never asked for.
He hovered over me again, eyes raking over every inch of me like I was a fucking painting he owned. And then his hand curled around my thigh, lifting and spreading it just enough for our hips to brush.
Heat.
Fire.
Madness.
"Still think I don't own you?" he growled near my lips.
I swallowed the moan rising in my throat.
....::::**•°✾°•**::::....
So the chapter is quiet long then the usual, you better vote for it .
Target - 30 votes and 20 comments
And silent reader can fuck themselves.
Bye...... love you all
Kelly
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