The doorbell rang. Sharp. Unexpected. Reha immediately stepped back from Ved, her breath caught in her throat, her fingers still clutching his collar. They had been so close, too close. Her lips still tingled with the kiss that almost happened.
She walked toward the door, still shaken, her heart racing.
Standing outside was an elderly woman with kind eyes and soft features. In her hand was a delicate bracelet.
"Beta," she said gently, "this bracelet… I believe it's yours. You dropped it when you were returning from the garden earlier."
Reha blinked, surprised. "Oh! Thank you so much, Aunty."
The woman didn't leave. Her eyes lingered on Reha's face with warmth and concern. Then she said, "I heard what those women were saying to you downstairs. Ignore them, child. You don't owe them anything."
Reha's breath caught. Someone had heard.
Aunty continued, "Those two, Shikha and her sister, don't listen to them. That Shikha runs after every man with half a decent face and a full bank account. And the other one? Her own home is falling apart, but she's out here preaching to others."
Reha stood silent, stunned. No one had ever stood up for her like this. Especially not someone who barely knew her.
"I saw you two," the woman said, with a smile that almost felt like family. "You both look… right together. There's something genuine there."
A strange warmth flooded Reha's chest. Her eyes burned with the kind of gratitude she couldn't explain.
"If anyone says anything to you again," the woman said firmly, "come straight to me."
Overwhelmed, Reha bent down and touched her feet out of pure respect, something she hadn't done in years, not even for the women in her own family.
The woman looked up and spotted Ved, leaning quietly against the wall inside, slightly disoriented but watching, always watching.
"That's your husband, right?" she asked softly.
Reha froze for a moment. There was a flicker of fear. What if she knew the truth about him? What if she sensed what he really was?
But she gathered herself and nodded. "Yes, Aunty."
The woman's eyes sparkled. "He came to buy you a mangalsutra, you know? I was in the jewelry shop. He kept asking the salesman, 'Will this hurt her neck? Will this leave a rash? Is this too heavy? Too tight?' He must've asked a dozen questions just to find the right one."
Reha felt a lump rise in her throat.
She remembered all too well how, in her own home, no one cared about her comfort. She was told what to wear, what to carry, and what to endure. Heavy jewelry, stiff fabric, suffocating traditions. Her pain was a price paid for appearances.
But this man, this cold, dangerous, complicated man, had cared whether a necklace would hurt her skin.
And that simple thought broke her.
The woman left.
Reha closed the door softly behind her and turned.
He was still standing there. Watching her. Quiet. As if even in his intoxicated state, he knew exactly what had just happened.
And in that silence, Reha walked over to No hesitation. No fear. She grabbed his collar, pulled him down, and kissed him.
Not out of impulse. Not out of confusion. But because somewhere between all the lies and chaos, she had felt seen.
He had chosen her. Cared for her. Protected her. And for the first time in her life, she was allowed to want him back.
Reha's kiss wasn't shy; it was fierce. It tasted like all the emotions she had buried for days, confusion, longing, silent jealousy, and the aching pull she felt toward the man who both terrified and protected her.
Ved responded with the restraint of a man who had waited too long.
His hand slid up her waist, fingers spreading over her skin like he was trying to memorize her. Reha trembled, not from fear, but from the intensity of it all. His mouth never left hers, exploring her lips like a man dying of thirst. Her hands roamed his back, pulling him closer, tugging at the shirt she wanted gone.
And he let her.
He broke the kiss only long enough to yank his t-shirt over his head, his abs rippling in the dim light. Reha's breath hitched as she ran her fingers across his chest, her own top slipping down one shoulder. He kissed her collarbone with reverence, then lower, every inch he touched, leaving trails of fire.
"I shouldn't want you like this," he whispered against her skin, voice rough, barely holding on. "But I do. God, Reha, I do."
"Then don't hold back," she breathed.
His mouth met hers again, deeper this time. Tongues tangled. Breaths quickened. He lifted her top slowly, fingers brushing over the soft skin beneath. She arched into him, gasping at the sensation, his lips now tracing a slow path from her jaw down to her chest.
There was no rush. Only hunger and reverence.
Her pajamas slid off with a gentle tug, leaving her in nothing but that thin shawl around her shoulders. It fell beside them like a secret finally exposed. His touch was everywhere now, caressing, gripping, exploring—until she was laid bare before him, eyes wide and trusting.
"You're perfect," he said, kneeling above her, admiring her like a man unworthy of the art before him.
Reha pulled him down, her legs curling around his hips, a soft moan escaping her lips as their skin finally met. Every nerve in her body was alive.
"Ved…" she whimpered, desperate, aching.
He kissed her again, this time softer, slower, as he slid into her with aching precision. She gasped, eyes fluttering shut, back arching at the overwhelming fullness. He held her tightly, gently brushing a hand through her hair.
"You okay?" he whispered, forehead resting against hers.
She nodded breathlessly. "Don't stop…"
And he didn't.
Their bodies moved together in a rhythm both primal and tender, like they had known each other in a thousand lifetimes. He kissed her every time she gasped, every time she trembled, grounding her in a moment that felt like more than just passion; it felt like trust.
Faster. Deeper. Rougher. Then slow again.
He worshipped her.
And she gave in.
When they both finally collapsed—sweaty, spent, tangled in sheets and each other, he held her like she might disappear.
And for the first time in her life, Reha didn't feel owned.
She felt wanted. Cherished. Chosen.