Meanwhile;

Author's POV

Aishwarya stepped out of the hotel elevator, her heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor. 

She was dressed in her power suit, her eyes sharp and focused on the day's legal battle.

 As she reached the reception, she adjusted her watch and addressed the staff.

"My car, please. I have to be at the court in fifteen minutes."

The staff members exchanged a hesitant look, their mouths opening to say something, but they were cut off by a deep, velvety voice echoing from the lobby entrance.

"Ijazat ho toh... main aapko chhod doon, lawyer sahiba?"

Aishwarya froze. She knew that voice. She turned around slowly to see Amar Singh Ahuja standing there. 

He looked devastatingly handsome in a dark charcoal suit, hands casually tucked into his pockets. Behind him stood four massive bodyguards, but they felt like shadows compared to his presence.

Aishwarya folded her arms across her chest, her gaze icy. 

"Aap mera peechha kar rahe hain, Mr. Ahuja?" 

Amar chuckled, the sound low and melodic. "Nahi, lawyer sahiba... but apne guest ko khud drop karna chahta hoon." 

Aishwarya raised her brows, unimpressed. 

"Main kab aapki guest ho gayi? Yeh poora Chandigarh aapka nahi hai."

Amar looked down, a slow, knowing smile playing on his lips. When he looked back up, his eyes were locked onto hers. 

"Par yeh hotel toh mera hai."

Aishwarya blinked, momentarily stunned. She looked at the hotel staff, who gave a submissive, apologetic nod. She let her arms drop to her side, exhaling sharply.

 "Oh... mujhe pata nahi tha. Yahan ke maalik apne guests ko specially khud chhodte hain?" 

Amar didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took two steps forward, closing the distance between them until he was deep inside her personal space. 

He leaned in slightly, the movement so smooth it felt like a caress.

"Yeh service... sirf aapke liye hai, lawyer sahiba."

Aishwarya's breath hitched. She could smell his cologne—a heady mix of expensive leather, tobacco, and something uniquely masculine. 

He was close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough for his breath to fan against her cheek.

 For a split second, her professional guard wavered, and she felt a flicker.

She gulped, quickly looking away to break the spell. 

"You know what? I don't need your service."

She turned on her heel and marched toward the exit, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. 

Amar stood there for a moment, tilting his head as he watched her retreating figure, a look of pure, unadulterated fascination on his face.

As his guards began to follow, Amar raised a hand in the air, a silent command to stay back. 

He wanted this moment for himself.

He walked out after her into the bright morning sun. 

Aishwarya was standing on the curb, looking around for a cab, her frustration evident in the way she tapped her foot.

Amar stepped up beside her, leaning casually against a pillar.

"Lawyer sahiba..." he started, his voice silky and playful.

"Court ka session sirf 15 min maine start ho jayega agar aap late hona chati hai toh kariye wait cab ka"

Aishwarya looked at the black SUV, then at her watch, and finally at Amar's persistent, mocking smile. 

She knew she was running late, and in this city, Amar's word was law—a cab wouldn't dare pull up if he was standing there.

"Fine," she snapped, her voice tight. 

"Lekin yaad rakhiye, yeh sirf isliye hai kyunki mujhe court pahunchne mein deri ho rahi hai. Don't get any ideas."

Amar smirked, opening the door for her with a mock-bow. 

"Jo aap kahein... lawyer sahiba."

As she slid into the cool, leather interior, the scent of his cologne—now even more concentrated—wrapped around her like a silken trap.

Amar walked around the car and slid into the seat beside her. 

The door closed with a solid, expensive thud, sealing them in a world of air-conditioned silence.

"Court," Amar commanded the driver, his voice losing its playfulness and gaining a sharp, authoritative edge.

Aishwarya immediately pulled out her laptop, placing it firmly on her lap like a shield. 

she opened her files and began reading, her eyes moving rapidly across the screen, desperately trying to focus on the legal jargon of land acquisitions and political misconduct.

 She wanted to prove that he didn't affect her. She wanted to show him that he was just another name on a charge sheet.

But Amar he leaned back comfortably, crossing one leg over the other.

He didn't check his phone. 

He didn't look at his own paperwork. He simply turned his head and looked at her.

He watched the way her brows knitted together in concentration.

He watched a stray strand of hair that had escaped her bun, dancing near her ear. 

He watched the way her lips moved silently as she rehearsed her opening statement.

To anyone else, it would have been an awkward silence. 

But for Amar, it was a luxury. In the bustling chaos of his political life, this—sitting in a quiet car with the only woman who he loved and desired—was the most peace he had felt in years.

Aishwarya could feel his gaze.

 It was heavy, warm, and utterly unashamed. It felt like a physical weight on her skin, making it impossible to breathe normally.

 Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but she didn't type a single word.

She caught his reflection in the tinted window. 

He wasn't even pretending to look away. He was admiring her openly.

"Aise dekh kyun rahe hain?" she demanded, her voice tight. 

"Aapke paas koi aur kaam nahi hai kya?"

Amar didn't flinch. He didn't even lean back. He simply tilted his head, his dark eyes shimmering with a quiet, intense light that made Aishwarya's pulse skip.

"Kaam toh bahut hain, lawyer sahiba," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low,

"Lekin aapko itne kareeb se dekhne ka mauka bhi toh nhi milega"

Aishwarya's grip on her laptop tightened. She felt a strange flutter in her chest

"Bakwas aachi kar lete hai aap neta ji"

Amar smiled, but it wasn't his usual mocking smirk. It was something softer, something that reached his eyes. 

He leaned a fraction closer, just enough for her to feel the magnetic pull of his presence.

"Pyaar bhi aacha kar leta hoon azma kar dekh lijiye"

Aishwarya's heart skipped a beat at the sheer audacity of his words. The air in the car suddenly felt electric.

 Any other woman would have looked away or blushed, but Aishwarya wasn't 'any other woman.' She took a deep breath, gathered her composure, and closed her laptop with a sharp clack.

She turned to face him fully, her back straight and a sly, sassy smirk dancing on her lips. 

She met his intense gaze head-on, refusing to be intimidated.

"Interesting..." she purred, her voice dripping with mock fascination. 

"Neta ji ko pyaar bhi karna aata hai? Mujhe laga tha aapko sirf kanoon todna hi aata hai. Itni multitasking... impressive."

Amar's eyes sparked with genuine amusement. He hadn't expected her to bite back so quickly.

"Kanoon toh main aaj bhi tod sakta hoon, lawyer sahiba," Amar replied, his voice a low challenge as he held her gaze. 

"Lekin aapke liye... main kanoon ki thodi izzat karna seekh raha hoon."

Aishwarya didn't flinch. She leaned in just as much, her face inches from his.

 "Izzat aur aap? neta ji, ye word aap pe suit nhi karta."

She saw the corner of his lip twitch. He wasn't offended; he was captivated.

The car pulled up to the court steps with a smooth halt.

 Aishwarya didn't wait for him to open the door this time. She grabbed her bag, her movement fluid and confident.

"Chalti hoon, Neta ji...court maine milte hai"

She stepped out into the bright Chandigarh sun, her heels clicking with a rhythm that screamed power.

Inside the car, Amar watched her walk up the stairs, his eyes never leaving her figure.

"Ab toh humesha milna hoga..lawyer sahiba"

Author's POV

In Mumbai, 

inside the high-tech, soundproof sanctuary of Veer's private studio.

 The air was thick with tension and the low hum of amplifiers.

 Veer was sitting on a high stool, his acoustic guitar resting on his lap. 

He tried to strike a chord, but his fingers slipped, producing a sharp, discordant screech.

He tried again. Fumble. A third time. Discord.

"Dammit!" Veer hissed, his jaw tight. 

He couldn't find the rhythm because his mind was stuck in the silence of a girl he had left hanging for days.

He leaned back, tossing his guitar pick onto the glass table, and reached for his phone.

 He hesitated for a second before swiping the screen open. His stomach dropped.

12+ New Messages: Vani.

He scrolled through them slowly. 

"Vivaan? Are you okay?" "I'm sorry if I disturbed you yesterday." 

"Did I do something wrong?"

The guilt hit him like a physical blow. 

he was feeling like a criminal for ignoring a girl who didn't even know his real face. 

He felt like a fraud protecting himself while hurting her.

With a frustrated sigh, he tossed the phone onto the plush sofa and looked toward the corner of the room.

There sat Rudra, buried under a mountain of paperwork. He was in the role of his perfect manager

 going through Veer's upcoming tour schedules, brand endorsements, and legal contracts.

 His glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, his expression one of pure focus.

"Rudra," Veer's voice broke the silence, sounding raw and exhausted. "Coffee."

Rudra didn't even look up at first, his pen still flying across a document.

 He finally paused, pushed his glasses up, and gave Veer a dry, tired look.

"Coffee," Rudra murmured sarcastically under his breath. "Jo hukum, mere aaka."

Rudra's POV:

I decided to head to the small, trendy cafe just down the block. 

I needed the walk anyway. I walked in, the smell of freshly ground beans hitting me, and ordered two regular espressos.

I was standing by the pick-up counter, minding my own business and checking my watch, when the world suddenly collided with me.

BAM.

A girl turning around in a hurry slammed straight into my chest. 

Her lukewarm coffee didn't just spill; it drenched my hand and the sleeve of my expensive shirt.

"AAH! OUCH! DAMMIT!" I shouted, the sting of the liquid making my temper flare instantly.

I was ready to unleash a lecture  and I looked up with a scowl, 

but the words died in my throat.

I paused.

She was... tiny. Her eyes were perfectly round, like a startled fawn's, and she was staring at me with a mix of absolute horror and nervousness.

She had this messy bun that looked like it was held together by a single prayer and a pencil.

For a second, the bustling cafe went silent. 

My heart, which usually only raced for a good marketing deal, did a weird, clunky somersault.

 She was cute. No she was stunning in a chaotic, 'I-just-woke-up-like-this' kind of way.

"S-sorry... jala kya?" she asked, her voice soft and shaky.

I blinked, snapping out of my trance. My hand was still stinging, and my shirt was ruined. I let out a sarcastic, frustrated laugh.

"Nahi, nahi... bahut thanda-thanda laga. Bilkul ice-cream jaisa. Ek kaam karo, aur daalo!" 

I was being a jerk, I knew it. I expected her to apologize again or walk away.

Instead, she looked at me, her eyes narrowing as if she were taking a dare. 

To my utter disbelief, she tipped her cup and poured the remaining three drops of coffee directly onto my hand.

"AYE! PAGAL AURAT!" I yelled, jumping back as the few drops hit my skin.

"Aapne hi toh kaha aur daalo," she replied, her nervousness suddenly replaced by a feisty spark.

 She crossed her arms, looking at me with a defiant pout. 

"Sarcastically baat karke hero banne ki zaroorat nahi hai. Maine sorry bola na?"

I stared at her, my jaw practically on the floor. 

"Tum... tumne mujh par jaan-puch kar coffee girayi? Do baar?!"

"Pehli baar galti thi. Doosri baar aapki badtameezi ka inaam tha,"

 she huffed, turning her nose up.

She turned around to grab her bag, muttering something  and marched toward the door.

I stood there, my hand wet, my shirt stained, and my heart beating like a drum.

 I should have been furious. I should have called security.

 But as I watched her walk away, I realized I was grinning like an idiot.