She barely made it back to her hostel room before her knees gave way. Aarav's words echoed like a cruel mantra: You already did.
Her chest ached. Her head throbbed.
She wasn't ready for the knock at her door. Sharp. Demanding. The kind that wouldn't be ignored.
Her heart stuttered. She knew that knock.
When she opened it, Riyan stood there—jaw tight, eyes burning, like he'd walked straight out of a storm.
"Why are you crying?" His voice was low, dangerous.
"I—"
He stepped inside before she could stop him, the door clicking shut behind his back.
He hated the sight of her tears. It twisted something feral inside him.
"I saw him," Riyan said, words clipped. "Aarav. He looked like hell. What did he say to you?"
Ananya flinched, wiping at her cheeks. "It's none of your business, Riyan."
His chest tightened at that—none of your business.
He caught her wrist before she could turn away. Not hard, but firm enough to keep her there.
"Everything about you is my business," he growled. "You don't get to cry over him while I'm standing right here."
His grip, his words, his presence—it was all too much.
"You don't own me," she whispered, though her voice shook.
Something flickered in his eyes. Dark. Hungry. But also hurt.
"Don't I?" he murmured, stepping closer. "Because every time you look at me, every time you push me away—you prove I already do."
Her breath hitched as his thumb brushed over her knuckles, softer now, the tension crackling like a live wire.
He wanted to kiss her. To brand her. To erase Aarav from her mind completely.
But instead, he leaned in close, his lips brushing her temple. "You're mine, Ananya. You just don't want to admit it yet."
She trembled, caught between pulling away and melting into him.
Her pulse raced. Aarav's heartbreak. Riyan's fire. She was trapped between the two, and her heart was breaking under the weight of it.
But in that moment, with Riyan's breath warm against her skin, she couldn't deny it anymore—He had a claim on her soul she didn't know how to fight.