The night had been long, endless, filled with the echoes of fear, anger, and helplessness. Kiara had cried herself into exhaustion, her tears leaving damp streaks on her cheeks. Slowly, her sobs faded, and she drifted into an uneasy sleep, curled beneath the blankets.
Yuvaan moved quietly beside her, his dark eyes softening as he watched her trembling form. Gently, he lifted her, careful not to wake her fully, and carried her to the bed. He placed her down with surprising tenderness, tucking the blanket around her as if she were a fragile treasure. Sighing softly, he stepped back and settled onto the couch, his eyes lingering on her until sleep claimed him as well.
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Morning arrived with a lazy indifference, sunlight filtering through the curtains and painting the room in soft gold. Kiara's eyelids fluttered open, her body still heavy from the emotional turmoil of the previous day. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes, trying to gather her scattered thoughts.
Then, the sight of him—Yuvaan—emerged from the washroom. Clad only in his underwear, the sculpted lines of his body catching the early light, he looked every bit the dark, captivating man she had fallen for. For a brief, unsteady moment, Kiara's breath caught, and her pulse raced.
She quickly tore her gaze away, the sharp sting of betrayal returning. "Do you have no shame?" she demanded, voice trembling with equal parts anger and disbelief.
Yuvaan's eyes met hers, glinting with amusement and defiance. "Shame?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "Sweetheart… decency, modesty… they don't matter. You are my wife. I could strip completely in front of you and not care in the least."
Kiara's hands tightened into fists at her sides, trembling with a mix of fury and lingering attraction. "Don't you dare!" she snapped, her voice sharp. "Get dressed immediately, or not even your black, blue, yellow, or whatever powers you have will save you from my wrath!"
A low, dark laugh escaped Yuvaan, rich with amusement. He leaned lazily against the doorframe, letting the sun trace the ridges of his muscles. "Ah… my wife has spirit," he murmured, eyes glinting. "I like that. But be careful, sweetheart… anger looks very beautiful on you."
Kiara's lips trembled, not with fear but with the storm of emotions inside her—anger, betrayal, confusion, and something else she refused to name. She averted her gaze, refusing to give him even a fraction of her vulnerability.
Yuvaan shook his head slowly, a faint smile of guilt and mischief curling his lips. "Get dressed, my wife. Today is going to be… interesting," he said softly before stepping back into the washroom, leaving her to her thoughts and the conflicted rhythm of her heartbeat.
Kiara pulled the nearest robe around her, her eyes still averted. Her mind replayed the events of last night, the forced wedding, the blackmail, and the violent emotions that had pulled her to him and yet repelled her at every turn. She whispered to herself, a tremor in her voice, "How did my life turn into this…?"
The morning light spilled gently into the room, brushing over the disheveled bed where Kiara still lay, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and lingering tears. She hadn't moved; she hadn't dressed. The events of the past night weighed on her like a storm she couldn't escape.
Yuvaan stepped into the room, his presence filling the space like a dark tide. His gaze swept over her, calm yet sharp. "Why aren't you ready yet?" he asked, his voice carrying that casual authority only he seemed to possess.
Kiara shot him a glare, half-lidded, weary. "Wear my clothes? Seriously? You forget we got married last night and I didn't even bring my luggage." Her voice trembled slightly, betraying both frustration and disbelief.
Yuvaan smirked, unfazed. "My bad," he said, as he raised a hand. The wardrobe behind him opened with a soft mechanical hum, revealing a stunning array of sarees, lehengas, and elegant outfits, all carefully arranged.
Kiara sat up slightly, blinking at the display. Her voice was a mix of exasperation and incredulity. "You… actually prepared all this? Overnight?"
"Of course," Yuvaan said smoothly, walking closer. "You're my wife. I take care of my responsibilities… and I don't do anything halfway."
Kiara let out a dry, humorless laugh, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Right now… I feel like I'm in one of those horror-fantasy serials. Married overnight, no luggage, and you just… magically have my entire wardrobe ready?"
Yuvaan's grin deepened. "Consider it my way of making this less… miserable for you," he said, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "Although misery might make you remember me better."
Kiara rolled her eyes, muttering, "Remember you? I think I'll never forget you anyway…"
Yuvaan stepped closer, reaching out to adjust a stray strand of her hair. "Good," he said softly, almost a whisper. "Because we're in this together now… whether you like it or not."
Her heart clenched, though she refused to meet his gaze. For all his arrogance, his confidence, she couldn't deny the strange comfort in his presence—the same man who had betrayed her trust, yet somehow kept her tethered with his very existence.