The next morning, Meher found herself in the garden, laughing—genuinely—for the first time in weeks.
The reason? A young associate of Kabir’s, Amaan, had tripped over a sprinkler while trying to impress her with his “dangerous charm.”
It was innocent.
But not to Kabir.
From his office window, he watched the scene unfold—her laughter, the way Amaan looked at her, too long, too soft.
By the time Meher returned inside, the storm was already waiting.
Kabir cornered her in the corridor. His eyes burned.
“What was that?”
She blinked. “What?”
“That smile. That softness. For him.”
Her lips curled. “You mean the smile I used to give you? Before you killed it?”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t push me.”
She stepped closer. “Or what? You’ll lock me up again? Hurt me like you did the first week?”
He grabbed her wrist—his favorite spot—and slammed her back against the wall.
Not to break her.
To remind her.
“I don’t share what’s mine,” he growled.
She looked up at him, unafraid. “Then don’t treat me like a thing to be passed around.”
For a moment, fire clashed with fire. Rage with hunger. Control with defiance.
Then—he released her. Stepped back.
“You want to be treated like more?” he said darkly. “Then stop acting like you belong to someone else.”
And with that, he walked away—leaving Meher breathless, furious…
And dangerously aware that he meant every word.
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