Author's POV:

While those two were lost in their own separate worlds in Mumbai, a completely different story was unfolding in Chandigarh.

Aishwarya was alone in her hotel room, files spread across the table, blazer discarded on the chair.

The silence after a long day felt heavier than the noise of courtrooms.

Her phone rang.

She straightened instantly.

"Ji, Mr. Maan."

There was hesitation on the other side.

"Ma'am... I trust you. But- is it really possible to defeat the Ahujas? Amar Singh Ahuja is not just any man..."

Aishwarya leaned back slightly, her voice calm, controlled.

"Mr. Maan," she said firmly,

"woh politician zaroor hai, lekin law unki politics ke neeche kaam nahi karti. Aap tension mat lijiye. Yeh case hum jeetenge."

A long pause.

Then a relieved hum.

"Thank you, ma'am."

The call ended.

Aishwarya closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

"It's so hectic," she muttered.

She leaned back on the sofa, exhaustion finally overpowering her thoughts.

And without realizing when-

She drifted into sleep.

Darkness surrounded her.

Then slowly-

A room emerged.

Dim. Quiet. Heavy.

She couldn't see the man clearly.

Only his eyes.

Dark. Intense. Watching her like she belonged there.

She felt him before she saw him-his presence closing in, filling the space around her.

His fingers brushed her wrist.

Slow. Deliberate.

Her breath caught.

He leaned closer, lips near her ear, voice low and commanding.

"I will make you mine."

The words weren't loud.

But they settled deep.

His forehead rested against hers. His breath was warm, familiar... dangerous.

Her heartbeat thundered.

Aishwarya jolted awake.

Her heart raced violently.

Her chest rose and fell unevenly.

"What the hell..." she whispered.

She stood up abruptly and walked toward the minibar, pouring herself a glass of water. Her

hands trembled as she drank it.

She stared at herself in the mirror.

Her eyes were wide.

Her lips parted.

That dream.

That voice.

Her jaw tightened as memory flooded her mind.

Flashback - Delhi | That Night

The club was loud. Blinding. Alive.

Aishwarya sat at the bar, alone, glass after glass disappearing without thought.

She wasn't sad.

She wasn't celebrating.

She just wanted to feel nothing.

"One more," she said, sliding the glass forward.

Before the bottle touched-

A hand stopped it.

Firm.

She looked up, squinting.

"Oh wow~~~" she laughed softly.

"Hi~~handsome~~~"

The man chuckled.

"Bahut pi li hai aapne. Bas kijiye."

She pouted.

"Awiww nahi... abhi toh peena shuru kiya hai."

"You're already drunk."

She laughed.

"Hhehe... main na chaar bottle pi sakti hoon. Yeh toh kuch bhi nahi."

He shook his head slightly.

"Theek hai. Pi lena. Par abhi nahi."

She frowned, trying to focus on his face.

"Huppp... main tumhari baat kyun maanu~~~"

He leaned in just enough and murmured,

"Kyuki tum good girl ho."

She gasped dramatically.

"Good girl... yesu~"

He turned to bartender and said "I will pay for her "

as he paid and turned to see her..

But she was gone.

He searched the crowd.

And then he saw her.

Dancing.

Lost.

Another man stepped too close, his hand reaching for her waist-

The next moment-

She was pulled back forcefully.

Strong arms wrapped around her.

Possessive.

Protective.

The other man backed away instantly.

Aishwarya rested her head against his chest, smiling faintly.

He brushed her hair away from her face, his expression unreadable.

"That's enough," he murmured.

He took her to a private room, laid her gently on the bed.

He turned to leave.

Her hand caught his collar.

Pulled him back.

"Kiss me na... handsome," she whispered.

He froze.

"I can't sweetheart," he said quietly.

Her eyes filled instantly.

"Kyu... main sundar nahi hoon?"

Something shifted in him.

He cupped her face gently.

"No sweetheart. You're the most beautiful woman I ever saw."

She sobbed softly.

"Then... kiss me."

The man caressed her hair, his jaw tightening as he murmured,

"You're making me lose control, sweetheart."

She pulled him closer, their lips barely inches apart, her breath shaky as she whispered,

"Please."

That was all it took.

His restraint shattered.

He crashed his lips against hers, the kiss deep and overwhelming, as if he had been holding

himself back for far too long. His hands slid down to her waist, gripping her firmly, possessively.

A soft moan escaped her lips beneath his touch.

He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he kissed along her jaw, his voice low and dangerous as he whispered,

"I will make you mine."

Present

Aishwarya stepped back from the mirror, breathing hard.

Her reflection stared back at her-composed, sharp, untouchable. The kind of woman the world feared in courtrooms and respected in headlines.

She splashed cold water on her face, steadying herself.

Just a dream, she told herself.

A foolish one.

She straightened her blazer, adjusted the files in her hand, and walked out of the washroom with

her spine rigid and expression unreadable. Whatever that dream was... it belonged to a past she

had buried. A nameless man. A nameless night. Nothing more.

She didn't know.

That the man from that night had never forgotten her.

Elsewhere - Chandigarh;

A man sat alone in his office, the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him.

Power clung to him effortlessly.

Amar Singh Ahuja leaned back in his chair, fingers curled around an old photograph. The edges

were worn, handled far too many times to be accidental.

Aishwarya Ashwin Oberoi.

Younger. Softer. Laughing.

His lips curved slowly, dangerously.

"Aap se haarne ka maza hi kuch aur aayega, lawyer sahiba," he murmured to the empty room.

The man from that night... was Amar Singh Ahuja.

Amar's POV:

It didn't start in court.

It didn't start with files, politics, or power.

It started in a club.

Delhi.

Low lights.

Loud music.

Cheap laughter.

And her.

I noticed her the moment I walked in.

Not because she was loud.

Because she wasn't.

She sat alone at the bar, spine straight, eyes sharp even while drinking like she was trying to

drown something inside her. A woman pretending she was celebrating, when in truth-she was

escaping.

I don't believe in coincidences.

I believe in instinct.

And that night, my instinct screamed her name before I even knew it.

When she smiled at me-careless, drunk, fearless-I knew she didn't belong in places like that.

That night happened fast.

Too fast.

Not because of desire.

Because of connection.

Something raw.

Unfiltered.

Unplanned.

She held me like she trusted me.

And that was my mistake.

Because the moment she slept in my arms-

I stopped being a man who lets go.

She woke up with guilt.

I woke up with obsession.

People often confuse obsession with cruelty.

They think obsession means control without feeling.

They're wrong.

My obsession was born the night I realized I could lose her.

And love?

Love is the fear of loss that never leaves.

I didn't wait all these years because I wanted to own her.

I waited because I respected her too much to cage her.

That night in the club-

She wasn't weak.

She was tired.

Tired of being strong every single day.

When she slept beside me, breath even, face unguarded-

I didn't see a woman I conquered.

I saw a woman I wanted to protect.

And that scared me more than anything.

Because men like me don't love halfway.

We either stay away...

Or we burn.

She left the next morning without looking back.

And I let her.

Because love isn't holding someone back.

Love is letting them walk away-

While you stay exactly where they left you.

I followed her life not like a stalker-

But like a man standing at the edge of a battlefield,

Waiting for the moment she would need him.

Every achievement of hers made me proud.

Every victory made me admire her more.

Every scar she earned-

Made me want to stand beside her, not in front of her.

Then I understood something cruel and beautiful:

She would never come to me for comfort.

She would only come for a fight.

So I gave her one.

Not to break her.

But to meet her on equal ground.

In court, when she argues-

I don't silence her.

I listen.

When she challenges me-

I don't get angry.

I smile.

Because the woman standing in front of me is exactly who I fell in love with.

Sharp.

Fearless.

Unyielding.

Yes, I am obsessed.

But not with her body.

Not with possession.

I am obsessed with:

The way she never bows

The way she walks into danger willingly

The way she refuses to be saved

And yes-

I planned this.

I orchestrated every step.

Because loving her meant ensuring one thing:

That when she finally remembers me-

She won't see a stranger.

She'll see the man who waited.

The man who never forgot.

The man who loved her loudly in silence.

She may call me her enemy today.

But one day-

When she looks back at every path that led her here-

She'll realize something terrifying.

I wasn't chasing her.

I was walking alongside her destiny.

And destiny?

Never lets go.