The hours bled into one another, the soft gray of early evening deepening into the heavy, suffocating darkness of night.

Aira had been in the library for almost two hours now. It was a massive room with floor-to-ceiling shelves made of dark mahogany, filled with the comforting scent of old paper and leather. It was the only place where the silence felt peaceful rather than oppressive.

She was curled up on the velvet couch near the window, a book resting on her lap. But she wasn't really reading. She was staring at the words until they blurred, using the story as a shield to block out the reality of her pain.

The heavy oak door groaned open, shattering her sanctuary.

Aira froze. She didn't need to look up to know who it was. The air in the room instantly shifted, becoming heavier, charged with a dark, electric tension.

Karan stepped inside.

The dim, golden glow from the reading lamp beside her didn't reach the door, leaving his figure shrouded in the thick shadows of the room, making his expression unreadable. He was dressed immaculately, as always, but there was a looseness to his posture—a predator at rest in his own territory.

Aira slowly turned, and their eyes locked. His gaze was intense, dark, and consuming. It pinned her to the spot.

He began to walk toward her, his steps slow, deliberate, and possessive. The sound of his shoes on the hardwood floor echoed in the quiet room.

Panic flared in Aira's chest. As he drew closer, reality crashed back in. She lowered her eyes, unable to hold his stare, and scrambled to stand up, clutching the hardback book to her chest like a shield. As if paper and ink could protect her from him.

Karan stopped a few feet away, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her. He stared at her for a long, silent moment.

"Show me your hand," he finally said.

It wasn't a request. It was a command.

Trembling, Aira slowly extended her injured hand. Karan reached out, taking her fingers in his. His touch was surprisingly gentle—cautious, as if he were holding a piece of fragile glass. But his skin was warm, sending a jolt of electricity racing down her spine that made her breath hitch.

He inspected the dressing with a critical, clinical eye. "Did you change the bandage?"

Aira nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Y-Yes."

He hummed in approval, his thumb brushing ghost-light over her knuckles before he released her.

"Come on," he said firmly, turning away. "Let's have dinner."

He started to walk toward the door, expecting her to follow. But Aira didn't move. She stood rooted to the spot, her grip on the book tightening until her knuckles turned white.

Karan sensed the absence of her footsteps. He stopped. Slowly, he turned back, tilting his head to the side with deceptive calm.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

"Nothing," Aira stammered, staring fixedly at the intricate patterns on the Persian rug. "I... I'm not hungry right now."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

"It wasn't a request, Aira. You're coming with me."

"But I—" Her words died in her throat as he took a step toward her, his dark aura flaring. He raised a single finger in the air—a sharp, silent warning—while his other hand remained buried deep in his pocket. It was a terrifying display of casual dominance.

"When I ask you to do something," he whispered, his voice dangerously low, "you just do it. Whether you want to or not. You don't get to choose."

He held her gaze for one terrified second longer. "Don't make me wait," he finished, turning on his heel and walking out.

Aira stood there, her face flushing hot with helpless anger. "Just one more day," she murmured to herself, a desperate mantra. "Just one more day, and I'll be free from his cage."

Swallowing her pride, she forced her legs to move, following the devil to the dining table.

The dining room was suffocatingly quiet.

The only sound was the sharp, rhythmic clink of silver cutlery hitting fine porcelain, a sound that seemed to echo too loudly in the vast, dimly lit room.

She was sitting right beside him. Not because she wanted to but because he wanted that

The faint, metallic scent of his cologne filled her senses, suffocating her. Every time he moved his arm to cut his steak, she flinched internally, hyper-aware of his heat radiating next to her.

Aira sat stiffly, her gaze fixed on her plate. She was barely eating. She merely pushed the food from one side of the plate to the other with her fork, creating patterns in the sauce. Her stomach was tied in knots. He noticed her every move, without letting her know.

Ask him, her brain urged. The questions burned on the tip of her tongue. The contract. The money. The freedom.

She risked a quick, terrified glance at him through her lashes. He was eating with terrifying calm, his movements precise and elegant.

Suddenly the clinking of his knife stopped. Aira froze.

 Without looking up, Karan spoke, his voice low and vibrating against her skin. "If that fork touches the plate one more time without food on it, Aira, I will feed you myself.  And I won't be gentle.  His eyes met hers showing nothing but the warning.

The threat hung heavy in the air. Aira knew he would do it.

Her hand trembling, she lifted a spoonful of rice to her mouth and forced herself to swallow. It tasted like ash, but she managed to get it down.

Karan watched her swallow, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Good."

Once the suffocating silence of dinner was finally over, Karan headed upstairs first. Aira lingered behind, dragging her feet, needing a few minutes to gather the scraps of her courage before following him into the lion's den.

C'mon Aira you just have to ask. What's the big deal...her brain encouraged herself and she went towards the room.

When she finally pushed open the bedroom door, the room was empty.

The only sound was the rhythmic hiss of the shower running in the bathroom. Aira let out a shaky breath. She walked toward the massive bed and sat on the edge, pulling her knees up. She closed her eyes, rehearsing the words in her mind.

"Karan, about the contract... it ends tomorrow."

No, that sounded too demanding.

"I just wanted to know the plan..."

Too weak.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She was so lost in her anxious thoughts that she didn't notice the water stop.

The bathroom door swung open, and a cloud of warm, scented steam rolled into the cool bedroom.

Aira's head snapped up.

Karan stepped out, and the air in the room seemed to vanish.

He had changed into low-slung white joggers and a black t-shirt that clung to his damp skin. His hair was wet, messy strands falling over his forehead, dripping water onto his face. He was drying the rest roughly with a white towel, the movement causing the thick veins in his forearms to bulge prominently against his skin.

Aira sat frozen, her eyes tracking his every move.

He didn't look at her—not yet. He tossed the damp towel carelessly onto a nearby chair and walked straight to the bedside drawer.

He slid the drawer open and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and placed one between his teeth.

The lighter sparked, illuminating the sharp angles of his face for a split second. He took a long, deep drag, his cheeks hollowing, before exhaling a thick plume of grey smoke into the dim room.

Then, slowly... terrifyingly slowly... he turned his head to look at her.

Aira's breath hitched.

His eyes were different tonight. They weren't just cold. They were heavy-lidded and dark, swirling with a strange, intoxicated haze. He looked at her with a 'drunk' kind of hunger—dilated, obsessive, and raw. It was the look of a man who was addicted to the fear on her face.

He took a step toward the bed. Then another.

Aira instinctively scooted back, pressing her back harder against the headboard.

Karan stopped right at the foot of the bed, towering over her through the haze of smoke. He stared down at her, stripping her defenses layer by layer with just his gaze.

"Ask," he said.

His voice was rough, darker than usual, vibrating in the quiet room.

Aira blinked, confused. "H-Huh?"

Karan took another drag of the cigarette, the embers glowing red. A small, lazy smirk played on his lips while his eyes not leaving hers.

"I know you're dying to ask something," he said casually, exhaling the smoke to the side. "I can practically hear your mind screaming from here. So go ahead. Ask."

Aira stared at him, stunned. She hadn't said a word. Yet, he had peeled back her thoughts as easily as he had peeled back the foil of his cigarette pack.

Author :- Keep supporting and don't forget to vote. 🪄.

Also tell me should I add images in between for better imagination of scenes?