The grand mansion stood glowing under the golden chandeliers, yet inside, silence pressed harder than the weight of the vows they had just exchanged.
Shivin Malhotra - the name that made men tremble in the underworld and women swoon in the city - loosened his tie as he entered his mansion. His eyes were cold, sharp, and unbothered, as though the wedding was nothing more than a business deal signed on paper.
Priya Mehra, the most fearless lawyer in courtrooms, stepped in right behind him. She had taken down criminals twice her size, but walking into this forced marriage felt like stepping into a cage where the lion already awaited her.
The moment the door shut behind them, the masks dropped.
Shivin's voice was calm but cruel, dripping with disdain.
"Don't expect anything from me, Priya. Or from this marriage. We are nothing but two signatures on a contract."
(Translation: just a lie,he has already started falling for her...when he saw her in the wedding dress...but his mind is not able to accept that)
TRANSLATION MEANS WHAT THE PERSON THINKS IN MIND BUT CANT SAY ALOUD
Priya raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a bitter smile.
"I am not a lovesick idiot to even think of it, Shivin. I don't even want to see you. But here I am-stuck with you."
(Translation: I hate u so much....but u make me drive crazy)
The tension sparked like fire meeting gasoline.
For a moment, his jaw clenched, as though her boldness irritated him-but maybe, deep inside, intrigued him.
"Good," he muttered. "Then stay out of my way."
"Gladly," she shot back, folding her arms.
Without another word, they walked in opposite directions-he to his wing of the mansion, she to hers. Two enemies bound in a marriage neither wanted, sleeping in different rooms, yet under the same roof.
Little did they know, this was only the beginning of a war... and wars often end with surrender.
The morning sun poured through the tall glass windows of the mansion, filling the hall with warmth that neither of its new inhabitants felt.
Shivin sat in the armchair, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor with unusual hesitation. He had faced gunfights without flinching, ordered men to their deaths without blinking-yet here he was, struggling to form words for his new wife.
Footsteps echoed down the stairs.
Priya walked into the hall in a crisp pastel kurta, her expression carved from stone. She did not spare him more than a glance before sitting on the couch opposite him. Her silence was sharper than any courtroom argument.
Shivin's eyes flickered toward her. His lips parted, then closed. He rubbed the back of his neck, annoyed at himself.
Priya narrowed her eyes. "What is it? Spit it out, Shivin."
He looked away, jaw tight. Finally, with a sigh, he muttered,
"Ugh... there's a family function today. We have to... act."
"Act?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "As in, play the happy husband and wife for your relatives?"
His gaze snapped to hers, dark and unamused. "It's for appearances. Nothing more. Don't overthink it."
Priya leaned back, crossing her arms. "Trust me, Mr. Malhotra, pretending to like you is going to be the hardest case I've ever taken. But fine. I'll play my part."
For a split second, something dangerous flickered in his eyes-not anger, but amusement. He smirked faintly, as if she had just unknowingly accepted a challenge.
"Good," he said smoothly. "Then get ready. My family expects us to look... convincing."
She shot him a glare. "Convincing? With you? Impossible."
But even as she marched back to her room, Shivin leaned against the couch, lips curling into the smallest trace of a smile.
This lawyer was different.
And in this dangerous game of power and pretense, she had no idea how much she had already gotten under his skin.
Priya stormed into her room, slamming the door behind her. She threw open her wardrobe, glaring at rows of dresses and sarees as if they were mocking her.
How do you even dress for a marriage that doesn't exist? she thought bitterly, pulling out outfit after outfit and tossing them onto the bed.
Fifteen minutes later, the room looked like a hurricane had torn through it. Finally, with a sharp breath, she pulled out a black saree-simple, elegant, and sharp enough to remind him she wasn't the kind of woman who bowed her head.
She pleated it neatly around her slender waist, letting the fabric flow like liquid ink. A hint of kohl around her eyes, a stroke of nude lipstick, and tiny silver studs in her ears-nothing more. No bride's glow, no ornaments of a happy wife. Just Priya, the lawyer who knew how to fight wars in silence.
When she stepped into the hall, Shivin was adjusting the cuffs of his crisp black suit. He turned at the sound of her footsteps-then froze.
For just a second, his eyes betrayed him. The ruthless mafia who commanded armies... forgot to breathe.
Priya caught the flicker of something in his gaze, but he blinked it away instantly, his jaw tightening as he grabbed his car keys.
"Please," he said flatly, though his voice had a rough edge he couldn't hide, "try not to embarrass me there."
Priya arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smirk.
"Don't worry, Mr. Malhotra. If anyone gets embarrassed today, it won't be me."
The air between them crackled. He clenched his fist on the car keys, forcing himself to look away before his thoughts betrayed him again.
And without another word, they walked out together-two enemies dressed like a perfect couple, heading straight into the lion's den of family politics.
Shivin and Priya slid into the car, the city lights slicing through the tinted glass, fleeting shadows crawling over their faces. The hum of the engine filled the silence, heavy, suffocating.
Priya's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, lips curving into a slow, taunting smile.
Shivin's grip on the wheel turned brutal. His eyes flicked to her, voice low, edged like a blade.
"Boyfriend?"
The question dripped with suspicion and something far darker.
Priya turned her head, smirk curling, unapologetic. She leaned toward him, close enough that her perfume slithered around him like smoke.
"None of your business," she whispered, her tone a slap disguised as silk.
Shivin's jaw flexed. He yanked the car to a halt at the next red light. His hand shot out, fingers clamping around her chin, forcing her to look at him. Their faces were inches apart, his breath warm, ragged.
"You think I won't break that smirk off your lips?" he muttered, dark hunger bleeding through every word.
Priya's eyes glittered. Instead of shrinking back, she leaned in, her lips brushing the edge of his jaw.
"Then do it," she murmured, dangerous, daring.
The green light flickered. Shivin tore his hand away, knuckles white against the wheel, his control barely intact.
In the grand hall, chandeliers shimmered, mafia eyes everywhere. Priya walked beside him, every step calculated to provoke, hips swaying, chin high.
"You always need to make a grand entrance," he muttered, leaning close enough that his breath grazed her ear, his fingers ghosting along the small of her back in public claim.
She tilted her head, voice cool. "And you always need to remind me I'm not yours to own."
Shivin's hand pressed harder at her waist, fingers digging in just enough to make her stumble closer. "Keep testing me, Priya," he warned, voice silk over steel. "See what happens when I stop caring about witnesses."
Her answering smile was wicked.
After some time ....His sister appeared, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she shoved a velvet box into Shivin's hand.
"Open it with her," she teased, her grin too knowing.
Reluctantly, he flicked it open. The contents made his breath hitch-delicate, barely-there lingerie in the faintest shade of black lace.
For a split second, silence. Then Shivin felt the tips of his ears burn crimson. His jaw clenched, but before he could speak, Priya's hand shot out. She snapped the lid shut, her smirk curving like a blade.
"What the f-" Shivin muttered under his breath, the curse dying on his tongue when his sister leaned in with a wicked grin.
"You'll need it soon enough."
Priya didn't move away. Her fingers still rested on the box-on his hand. The touch was light, accidental only in appearance, but it sent heat racing up his arm.
He tried to yank his hand back, but she pressed harder, her nails grazing his skin as if to remind him that she chose when the moment ended. Her smirk was merciless.
"Seems like your family knows you better than you know yourself," she whispered, voice low enough that only he could hear.
Shivin's pulse thundered. He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to her ear. "Careful, Priya," he growled. "If you keep pushing me, one day I won't stop."
She tilted her head, brushing deliberately against his mouth before pulling away with a smile sharp enough to wound. "That's exactly what I'm counting on."
Later, on the shadowed balcony, Shivin cornered her against the railing, his palm braced just above her head. She stayed still, taunting him with stillness, her smirk playing like firelight.
"You enjoy pushing me," he said, voice low, predatory. His other hand brushed against her wrist, not holding, not letting go. "One day, I'll stop resisting."
Priya leaned in until their lips almost touched, her voice a purr. "And one day, you'll admit you want me to...."
Shivin's restraint cracked. His hand slid to her throat, not squeezing, but enough to feel her pulse hammer beneath his palm. His thumb brushed the line of her jaw as his dark gaze devoured her.
"You don't know how dangerous it is to tempt me like this," he growled.
Priya's laugh was soft, taunting, sending a shiver down his spine. "Maybe that's the point."
In the car ride home, silence thickened until Shivin snapped. One hand on the wheel, the other shot out to grab her knee, fingers pressing hard through the slit of her dress.
Priya froze-not in fear, but in something sharper. She tilted her head, smirking. "Finally," she whispered, her voice dripping with victory.
He dragged his hand away as if burned, jaw clenched so tight it ached. His self-control was fraying-one thread away from snapping.
The mansion swallowed them whole. Priya disappeared into her room, door clicking shut.
Shivin poured drink after drink, amber liquid doing nothing to drown the memory of her pulse beneath his hand, the heat of her body when he'd pressed her close.
He hated her. He wanted her. He hated that he wanted her.
By three in the morning, the bottle was empty, but his hunger wasn't. His palm still tingled with the echo of her throat. His lips still burned with the ghost of almost tasting hers.
And deep down, he knew-next time, restraint wouldn't save either of them.
HOPE U LIKED IT, YOUR AUTHOR SIGNING OFF ❤️ ❤️