Dhruv's POV
Consciousness returned to me like a slow, heavy curtain rising on a bad play.
The first thing I felt was the pounding in my temples—a rhythmic thud, thud, thud, as if a construction crew was drilling directly into my skull. I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes to block out the intrusive sunlight streaming through the windows.
God. My head.
I tried to piece together the fragmented puzzle of the previous night. The party. Vikram. The anger. The whiskey.
The terrace.
And then... a blur.
I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. A memory flashed behind my eyelids—hazy, like an old film reel.
Rain. Heat. Soft hands cupping my face. A desperation that clawed at my chest.
I remembered whispering a name... "Tara."
I remembered lips. Soft, trembling, yielding lips.
My eyes snapped open. I stared at the high ceiling, my heart skipping a dangerous beat.
Fuck. Did I?
I touched my own lips. They felt... sensitized. Different.
Did I kiss Katha?
Panic, cold and sharp, sliced through my hangover.
No. No way. I wouldn't. She is the replacement. She is the contract. I don't touch her. Rule Number Three.
I slowly turned my head, dreading what I might find.
Katha was there.
She was sitting on her designated spot on the floor, her back pressed against the wall. She wasn't sleeping. She was hugging her knees, looking straight at me.
The moment our eyes locked, she looked away instantly. A deep, undeniable flush of pink crept up her neck and settled on her cheeks. She bit her lip, her fingers nervously picking at the hem of her salwar.
I closed my eyes again and let out a long, silent breath.
Fuck. I definitely kissed her.
But how much did she know? Did I say anything stupid? Or did I just maul her like a drunken idiot?
I needed to know. But how does a billionaire ask his contract wife if he accidentally made out with her while crying over his ex?
I cleared my throat. It sounded like a rusty engine.
"Katha..."
She flinched visibly at the sound of her name. She scrambled to stand up, smoothing her clothes with frantic movements, refusing to meet my eyes.
"Y... Yes?"
I sat up, wincing as the room spun slightly. I adjusted the duvet to cover my waist, feeling strangely exposed.
"How..." I started, my voice rough with sleep. "How did I get here? In the bed?"
Katha stared at the floor. "You were drunk, Sir. Last night. You... you fell asleep on the terrace. So I brought you here."
I frowned, looking her up and down.
Bullshit. Look at her. She's five-foot-six nothing. A stiff breeze could blow her away. And I am six-foot-two of dead weight when I'm out.
"You brought me here?" I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Alone? Are you secretly a weightlifter?"
"No!" She shook her head quickly. "I... I called some workers. The night staff. They helped me carry you."
I stared at her. It was a plausible lie. Or maybe the truth. But the way she was clutching her dupatta so tightly that her knuckles were white told me there was more.
I looked at the ceiling again, my face heating up slightly.
God, this is humiliating. The Great Dhruv Rathore, carried to bed like a toddler.
I shifted, pushing myself up against the headboard. I needed to address the elephant in the room. The kiss.
"Katha," I said, trying to regain my composure. "Did I... say anything? Last night?"
She froze.
She didn't look at me. She stared at the pattern on the rug. I watched her closely. I saw the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed. I saw the sadness in her eyes.
She knows, my stomach twisted. She knows I kissed her. And she probably thinks I'm a maniac.
Should I say sorry?
No fucking way. Why should I apologize? I was drunk. It was a mistake. If I apologize, it makes it real. It acknowledges that we crossed a line.
But the silence was suffocating.
"Katha, come here," I commanded.
She jumped. "Y... Yes, Sir."
She started walking toward the bed. Her steps were hurried, nervous. She was looking at me with wide, deer-in-headlights eyes, completely forgetting to look where she was going.
Her foot caught on the heavy wooden leg of the bed frame.
"Ah!"
She pitched forward.
Reflexes kicked in faster than thought. I lunged forward from my sitting position.
I caught her.
The impact knocked the wind out of her. She landed squarely against my chest, her hands bracing against my bare shoulders.
My hands clamped onto her to steady her. One hand wrapped firmly around her waist.
The other hand... landed lower.
My wide palm cupped the soft, full curve of her hip. My fingers dug into the plush flesh of her ass.
Time froze.
For three seconds, neither of us breathed.
My brain short-circuited.
Fuck. She is soft.
I wasn't thinking about the contract. I wasn't thinking about Tara. My hand involuntarily squeezed her. It was yielding, warm, and maddeningly soft through the thin cotton of her clothes. My thumb brushed against the curve of her waist, feeling the heat of her skin.
It was an electric jolt that went straight to my groin.
"Why are you so clumsy?" I murmured, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Can't you see where you're walking?"
I meant to sound angry, but it came out breathless.
Katha had squeezed her eyes shut, her face buried in my neck. She was trembling in my arms.
"I... I am so sorry," she squeaked.
I looked down at her. My hand was still on her ass. I knew I should move it. Logic dictated I should push her away immediately.
But my body didn't want to let go.
Just one more second, a dark voice in my head whispered. Just feel her.
Then, reality crashed back in.
What the hell are you doing, Dhruv? Get a grip.
I abruptly realized exactly where I was touching her.
Fuck!
I snatched my hands back as if she were on fire. I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to reach out again.
Katha scrambled back, her face burning a bright crimson. She stood up, adjusting her clothes frantically, looking everywhere except at me.
"I... I tripped," she whispered, mortified.
I ran a hand through my messy hair, closing my eyes. Get it together, Rathore.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"Sorry," Katha said at the exact same time.
We paused. The awkwardness in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
I cleared my throat loudly. I needed to regain control. I needed to be the boss again.
"It's okay," I said gruffly. "But about last night..."
I looked at her, my expression hardening. I couldn't leave it unsaid.
"I am sorry," I said, my voice louder, authoritative, trying to mask my embarrassment. "I don't remember correctly, but if I did anything... inappropriate... it was the alcohol."
I waited for her to scream, to cry, to accuse me of playing with her feelings.
Katha finally looked up. Her eyes were soft, but there was a deep, resigned sorrow in them.
"It's okay," she said quietly. A small, sad smile touched her lips. "You were drunk. You didn't know who I was."
I flinched internally. Ouch.
"And don't worry," she added, turning away to pick up the water jug. "I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me."
I watched her.
She wasn't angry. She wasn't demanding an explanation. She accepted that she was just a stand-in.
Why does that make me feel worse? I wondered, watching the way the morning light caught the gold necklace—that she was still wearing.
"Fine," I snapped, swinging my legs off the bed to escape the conversation. "Get ready. We have a meeting with the lawyers at noon."
I marched into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
Inside, I leaned against the sink, gripping the porcelain until my knuckles turned white. I looked at myself in the mirror.
I brought my hand up—the hand that had held her. I could still feel the phantom warmth of her curves.
"You are in trouble, Rathore," I whispered to my reflection. "Deep, deep trouble."
Katha's POV
The bathroom door clicked shut with a finality that echoed through the massive bedroom.
I stood rooted to the spot where he had caught me. The silence that followed was deafening, but the noise inside my head was louder.
My heart was beating so fast it felt like a trapped bird battering against my ribs, trying to break free. I raised a trembling hand to my waist, pressing my palm against the fabric of my kurta.
It still felt warm.
I could still feel the phantom weight of his large hand resting there. And lower... the ghost of his fingers digging into my hip.
Did he...
Heat flooded my cheeks, turning them a deep, humiliating shade of crimson. I bit my lower lip, staring at the closed bathroom door as if it could give me answers.
No. No, Katha. Stop it.
It was an accident, I scolded myself. You tripped. You are clumsy. He caught you so you wouldn't crack your head open. That's it.
But my mind betrayed me. It replayed the sensation of his hand—firm, possessive, and shockingly intimate. It replayed the way his breath had hitched, the way his dark eyes had dilated with something that looked terrifyingly like desire.
A slow, shy smile tugged at the corners of my lips. I couldn't help it.
"You are so clumsy, Katha," I whispered to the empty room, shaking my head at my own reflection in the window. "Why are you like this? Always falling..."
But he caught me, a treacherous voice in my head whispered. Just like Maa said. He caught me.
"A beautiful mistake," I breathed out.
My gaze drifted back to the bathroom door. The sound of the shower running echoed faintly.
He said sorry.
The realization hit me slowly. He apologized for last night. He admitted he might have done something inappropriate.
That means... he remembers.
My hand moved from my waist to my lips. They tingled, remembering the rough, desperate pressure of his mouth on mine.
He remembers that he kissed me.
For a heartbeat, hope flared in my chest—a foolish, naive flame. Maybe the alcohol had lowered his walls. Maybe, beneath the cruelty and the contracts, he had felt something too. Maybe, just for a second, on that dark terrace, he had seen me.
But then, memory crashed down on me like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing the flame instantly.
"Don't leave me... Tara."
The smile vanished from my lips. The warmth in my chest turned into a heavy, aching stone.
"Tara," I whispered the name into the silence. It tasted like ash on my tongue.
It wasn't for me.
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling freezing cold despite the morning sun streaming through the windows.
He was drunk, Katha. Oh God, why are you so stupid?
I walked over to the dressing mirror. The girl staring back looked conflicted—eyes bright with unshed tears, lips swollen from biting them in anxiety.
Why do you keep thinking this man—this cold, ruthless billionaire—would say those words to you?
He didn't marry you, I told my reflection harshly. He bought you. Five crores.
That was the price tag on my life. I wasn't a wife. I was a prop to show the world. I was a placeholder for the woman he actually loved.
A single tear escaped, rolling down my cheek. I watched it fall.
I am just the shadow. She is the light.
He missed the light, so he bought a shadow to fill the darkness. But you cannot love a shadow. You simply walk through it.
I sniffled, angrily wiping the tear away with the back of my hand.
"Stop crying," I scolded myself, my voice shaking. "You promised yourself you wouldn't cry anymore. He ordered you to get ready. So get ready. Be the doll he paid for."
I turned away from the mirror, forcing my heart to harden. I had to survive this. And to survive, I had to stop hoping that the monster would turn into a prince.
Because monsters don't love.
And even if they do... they don't love girls like me.