A B H I M A N Y U ' S P O V
The dining table was set with precision—crystal glasses glimmering under the chandelier, silver cutlery aligned like soldiers on a battlefield. Yet the silence was deafening. The only sound that dared disturb the air was the faint clinking of Samayra's fork against her plate.
Her father had booked an entire private dining room for this—our first meal together after the marriage.
I sat beside Samayra, while across from us her father's presence loomed—immaculate in his tailored suit, every bit the man who measured respect in silence and power in control.
Samayra didn't raise her gaze once. Her eyes remained fixed on the plate, as though the porcelain china held the answers she was too afraid to seek in his face. Her silence wasn't just obedience—it was rebellion wrapped in restraint.
I, too, didn't find much to discuss with him. Words seemed useless here. The cold distance between father and daughter, and the unspoken challenge of my place in her life filled the air thicker than any conversation could.
Suddenly, after a bite, Mr. Kapoor put down his fork. His eyes fixed on Samayra with unusual seriousness.
"Samayra… when are you planning to join our company? I want you to take it over before I…" his voice caught for a moment, "…before I die."
Samayra sighed softly, resting her hands on the table.
"Dad, Come on..you are too healthy... death isn't anywhere close, so don't talk like that. And about me…" she paused, choosing her words carefully, "…I need time for myself. I'm only twenty-two. Sometimes, I feel torn between your name and the new name I've been given after marriage. I can't figure out where I stand yet. So please, just give me time."
Her lips curved into a faint smile as she added, "And yesterday, I did an ad shoot."
Mr. Kapoor frowned, clearly taken aback.
"I never knew you had camera skills. But, my child, working behind the camera doesn't suit the heir of a billion-dollar empire."
Samayra chuckled, shaking her head.
"That's exactly why I chose to be in front of the camera. I'm shooting an ad for Mr. Ranawat's company."
His fork clattered against the plate as his voice hardened.
"Is this some kind of prank on me? Because I will never allow you to do such a thing."
"Dad…" she reached for my hand and smiled gently, "…your permission isn't needed. My husband is supporting me in this."
I returned her smile and gave a small nod before meeting Mr. Kapoor's gaze. His eyes were sharp, unreadable, but heavy with questions.
Samayra stood and excused herself, leaving the two of us alone at the table. The silence stretched until he finally spoke.
"What exactly are you planning, Mister Abhimanyu Ranawat?" His tone dripped with accusation. "Just because I agreed to this marriage doesn't mean you own my daughter's life."
I inhaled sharply, forcing my voice to remain calm but firm.
"And the same applies to you, Mister Kapoor. Just because you fathered her, raised her, and paid for her studies doesn't mean you control her life forever. She is grown, mature, and capable of making her own choices. Neither of us—her husband or her father—have the right to dictate her every decision."
"She is her own person. I hope you understand that… father-in-law."
I spoke my last words to Mister Kapoor and left the room. In the corridor, I asked about Samayra and waited near the women's washroom, standing a little aside so as not to make others uncomfortable, yet still clearly visible to her.
After a few moments, she emerged. Our eyes met, and I simply said,
"Shall we go?"
She nodded, her small smile barely noticeable, and we walked down to the parking area together.
The drive began in silence. Samayra leaned against the window, lost in thought, and I focused on the road, hands steady on the wheel.
Minutes passed. And then, finally, she broke the silence. Boldly.
"Do you drink?"
I blinked, startled. "Sorry?"
"You must… we should go drink somewhere. And yeah—I do. Three percent alcohol. Not on the name of feminism or anything… just because it feels good sometimes."
I kept my eyes on the road, voice calm. "Well… I didn't ask for an explanation."
Her eyes sharp saying it. "Yeah… I gave it anyway because I don't want to be judged."
I kept my focus on road.
"Judgment isn't my style, Samayra. But honesty… now that I appreciate."
For a moment, the air between us shifted, light but charged, as if the silence before had been holding back all the small confessions and tiny rebellions she'd been saving for herself.
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The car pulled up to a quiet, upscale lounge. Dim lights, soft music, and a few scattered tables gave the place a calm intimacy, perfect for unwinding. I led Samayra inside, letting her settle into a plush armchair while I took the seat opposite her.
The waiter approached, and I gave a precise instruction.
"Serve her wine. Make sure it's only three percent alcohol..."
Samayra's eyebrows shot up, she held onto Waiter.
"Actually three for my husband..I need ten percent today.. Please.."
The waiter nodded leaving the place.
After him,only we two remained there. All alone. Under the blue dim flickering light.
Soon the waiter came and poured the deep red liquid into her glass first, then mine.
Samayra smirked and clinked her glass against my untouched one. Without a word she gulped down the entire glass in one sip.
My eyes widened. Is she frustrated over something or forgot it's wine not medicine.
She placed her glass on the table, shot a glance at the waiter.
The waiter poured it in her glass, once again she repeated the same.
This time before she could say a word, I asked the waiter to leave.
After thar peg, she inhaled sharply, tilting her head back as if to steady herself. I watched her, debating whether it was too much—but didn't dare ask.
Then, suddenly, she slammed her hand onto the table.
"I'm so done with that man! What does he think of me? Am I something he can control? Fuck… I don't want to be!"
Her glass rattled from the impact.
"Another shot," she barked before I could respond. Without hesitation she poured it for herself, and gulped it down in one go.
Wiping off her lips she spoke.
"Why does my dad feel more like a businessman than my dad?" Her voice dropped, almost a whisper now, laced with hurt.
"Samayra…" I tried to intervene, my voice soft, cautious—but she was lost in herself. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"Everyone thinks I'm his only child, so he must adore me the most… No. He used to love me the most. But not after knowing my passion for modelling.. not after knowing about Aashu…
I tried my best to be his most loved daughter again. I forgot my dream of modelling. Even I went through break up...But Dad..he doesn't see me as his little princess anymore. Did I… turn into a villain in his eyes?"
Her gaze met mine, vulnerable and raw. I had no words.
"I shot an ad for you… and now he hates me, as if I'm his only enemy alive. Why are parents like that? Is adulting… supposed to feel this bad?"
Her head was spinning faster than I anticipated. She'd mentioned she drank, but not like this. Not so fast.
Before she could stumble, I reached out and steadied her, holding her close.
"Let's go back home, Samayra…" I murmured, my arms around her small frame.
"Home? Which home? Yours… or my dad's? There's no home for me…"
"My house… it's yours too. Always," I said firmly.
"No!" She pushed lightly against me, though her strength was waning. Her finger trembled as she jabbed it toward me. "You! Didn't you say I'm just a business deal to you? But wait..." her voice dropped. Her eyes softened, "Didn't you say you'd be proud if I did well in the ad? Tell me… are you proud of me, Mister Husband?"
"Husband…" The word made me flush, though I tried to hide it. She rarely used it. I swallowed hard. "I… I am proud of you, Samayra. You are… perfect."
"Am I?" Her voice faltered, suddenly dull.
I nodded.
"No… I'm not, Abhimanyu," she whispered. "I think I'm the worst here… You treat me like a business deal, so does my dad… everything I do feels like it's just to strengthen some partnership. I'm not perfect. I'm not needed. I'm just… a choice."
Her words hit harder than any blow. I pulled her closer, my hands firm against her shoulders, forcing her to meet my gaze.
"Samayra… listen to me. You are not a choice. You are my wife. You are not a business deal. Not to me. Not to anyone who truly matters. You're everything… everything I want to see, everything I care about. You're not just needed—you're irreplaceable."
Her eyes, glossy with intoxication and hurt, searched mine. For the first time in the evening, she didn't speak. She just let herself be held. And I… I wasn't letting go.
"Am I?" she asked doubtfully, searching my eyes.
I simply nodded.
Her gaze locked onto mine, unwavering this time. Then, with a firmness that made my chest tighten, she whispered,
"Then… kiss me."
Her lips pouted slightly, her eyes closing as if surrendering completely to the moment.
My eyes widened. Kiss… I had never… I froze, unsure, overwhelmed. My heart pounded, every instinct screaming yet every thought failing me.
Her words hung in the air. "Then kiss me…"
For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe. A Kiss? My lips parted, but no words came out. My eyes widened as if she had just shattered the walls I'd built around myself.
She peeked open one eye, impatience glimmering there. "Kiss…" she whispered again, softer this time, her voice threading straight into me.
"Samayra, we should— we should go home," I stammered, clutching her wrist gently, searching for escape before my chest burst open. But she didn't let me. With surprising force for her small frame, she pushed me back against the counter.
My body went rigid. She was so close, her warmth sinking into me, her gaze fierce, untamed. "Samayra…" I breathed, almost pleading.
And then it happened.
Her lips brushed mine—hesitant, feather–light at first, then firmer, demanding.
My heart stopped, then pounded so hard it rattled my ribs. I stood frozen, fists clenching at my sides, knuckles white, terrified to even move.
But her arms slipped around my neck, pulling me in, coaxing me to surrender. Her kiss deepened, not asking but claiming. And for the first time in my life, I didn't want to resist.
A tremor ran through me as my restraint snapped. My hands finally rose, cupping her waist, pulling her closer, desperate to hold onto this moment, this feeling. The kiss turned into something I could no longer fight—something too intoxicating, too real.
My first kiss.
With my wife...
The kiss… her intoxicating warmth took over me. I was just about to pin her against the bar when suddenly, her body went slack. Her eyes fluttered shut, and before I could react, she fainted right into my arms.
"Samayra…" I whispered, shaken, holding her fragile frame against me.
With a heavy sigh, I lifted her bridal style and carried her out of the café. The world around blurred; all I could think of was her—so delicate, so broken, yet clinging to me as though I was her last anchor. Placing her carefully in the car, I drove back to my villa, glancing at her pale face every now and then.
As soon as I reached, I gathered her in my arms once more and walked straight to her room. Gently laying her down on the bed, I turned to leave, but her fingers clutched tightly at my coat, refusing to let me go.
For a moment, I simply stood there, watching her unconscious form—how even in her faintest state, she sought me. My chest tightened.
Sighing, I slowly freed her hand, tucking the blanket around her petite frame. Then I sat beside her, unable to move away. My hand instinctively rose, brushing through her soft hair.
"I understand you, Samayra…" I murmured under my breath, my voice softer than ever. "Even after being a single child, you never got the love, the attention you longed for. And when you finally searched for it… what you received was betrayal. Too heavy… far too heavy for a soft soul like you."
I took her hand in mine, caressing the back of her delicate palm with my thumb. Her skin felt so soft, yet there was a quiet tremor—like her soul had been holding too much for too long. I leaned closer, my voice low but steady, almost a vow etched in silence.
"Then I promise…" I paused, letting my gaze rest on her serene face, her lashes still damp from the night's overwhelm.
"I'll never break your trust, Samayra. I'll give my life to give you the support and care you've always craved… and the love you truly deserve. You are not alone anymore. Your husband now stands behind you, unshakable."
Her hand tightened faintly around mine, even in her sleep, as if her heart had heard me before her ears could. For the first time, I felt something stirring inside me—an unfamiliar warmth, possessive yet protective.
Bending down, I pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead, whispering softly, "Rest now, my wife. Tomorrow… begins the life you should have always had..."
With that, I dimmed the lights, but I didn't leave. I couldn't. I sat there beside her bed, my hand still wrapped in hers, as if silently promising the broken girl in my arms that she would never have to fight her battles alone again.
Maybe because, she is the first person who fluttered my heart...
Or just made me realise..
I too have a heart..
And now..it only wants to beat for you.
Mrs. Samayra Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat..
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Samayra's POV
My eyes opened all of a sudden as I dreamed of falling from a huge mountain. My chest rose and fell in a rush as I looked around, breathing heavily. Thank God, I'm in my room…
But wait—this isn't where I was last night. My head feels heavy, my temples pounding. Slowly, the blur of memories flashes back—dinner with Dad… Abhimanyu sitting there, calm as always… and then—
Oh God.
I asked him for a drink!
My heart nearly jumps out of my chest. Why did I do that? I know how quickly it intoxicates me, how weak I get… I should've stopped. I should've controlled myself.
Did I faint right there? Or—worse—did I say something? What if I said too much? What if I poured out everything in front of him? No… no, no, no…
Now what does Abhimanyu think of me? He must think I'm weak… irresponsible… maybe even desperate.
But the bigger question is—what all did I say?
I press my hands against my face, heat rushing up my cheeks. Oh God, it's a mess. A complete mess.
After a quick shower, I walked downstairs for breakfast, but for my surprise—
The Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat was standing in the kitchen, of all places, wearing an apron and arranging food on the table as if he had just cooked it himself.
My steps slowed, my eyes refusing to blink. Was I dreaming? The Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat, who ruled boardrooms and crushed men with his cold glare, was here, casually draping an apron across his broad frame like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Before I could utter a single word, he looked up. His sharp features softened, his lips curved, and for the first time, his smile reached his eyes.
"Good morning…" he greeted, his voice unusually warm.
God help me!
How good he looked when he smiled like that. It wasn't the intimidating CEO, not the man with that infamous Ranawat pride—just a man, who for this very moment, felt… breathtakingly human. And this much cuteness? Too hard for my poor heart to handle.
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat, managing a small smile. "Good morning…" I murmured back and walked over to sit at the dining table.
Without a word, he came to serve me, his movements effortless yet strangely deliberate. My gaze betrayed me, catching the way his veiny forearm flexed when he set the food on my plate. Just the simple act of putting bread down had me distracted.
Goddd…
Why does something so ordinary feel like the most dangerously intimate thing right now?
Goddd…
His hand, when he just simply put food on my plate, his veiny arm just displayed to me. I can't… my heart literally skipped two beats. Why does he have to look this good even while just… serving parathas?
I quickly lowered my eyes, pretending to adjust the napkin, but my cheeks were already warm.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked casually, like he didn't just barge into my morning with this husband-version of MasterChef.
I nodded, trying to sound normal, "Uh… yeah… I guess."
"Good." His lips curved into the faintest smirk, like he knew something I didn't. "You fainted pretty quick last night… two shots in and out."
I choked on air. So I really fainted?
Covering my face with my hand, I groaned, "Don't remind me, please…"
But instead of teasing further, he placed a glass of juice near me. His fingers brushed mine—just for a second—but it was enough to send sparks crawling up my arm.
"Drink. It'll help with the hangover," he said, his tone softer than usual.
I blinked at him. Since when did Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat know how to… care? Since when did he make breakfast, serve food, smile with his eyes, and—God forbid—touch me so gently?
I sipped the juice quietly, stealing glances at him as he took off the apron and sat opposite me.
And I swear… my poor heart whispered, Samayra, you're in trouble.
I chewed the bread from the center, trying not to look too directly at him, and asked slowly,
"Did I… say something… drunken last night?"
He lifted his eyes from his plate, gaze locking onto mine for a beat too long, as if searching my face for some trace of guilt or memory. Then his lips curved.
"I don't remember so…" he said casually, but there was a teasing undertone that made my heart skip.
I tried to focus on my plate, pretending I didn't feel his eyes still on me.
He leaned back slightly, sipping his coffee, and then added with a straight calmness,
"By the way, Samayra... Would you like to join me for a party..?"
But this time, instead of just nodding shyly, I raised my gaze to meet his eyes. My lips quivered before I whispered,
"As… the new model of your company… or as your wife?"
The corner of his lips lifted into that rare smile that always melted me. His reply was steady, unhesitant—
"Obviously… as my wife."
I swear my heart stopped for a moment. Did he really say wife? Since then, I haven't been able to stop blushing.
Oh my God… I feel like the luckiest woman alive.
I want to look my best tonight—not as some model flaunted to the world, but as the woman he chose, his wife. I want him to see what a masterpiece destiny placed beside him.
After his words, every ounce of sorrow I carried from the other day seemed to vanish like smoke. My only thought now was him. Dressing up, choosing every detail carefully, doing my makeup—it wasn't for the world. It was for me, but mostly… it was for him.
I picked a golden saree, the shade of passion itself, to light up this evening. I matched it with delicate jhumkas, the soft clink of bangles, the mangalsutra that rested against my chest like a promise, and the sindoor parting my hair—silent symbols of who I truly was now. His.
When I finally stood in front of the mirror, my lips curled into a smile.
OMG, Samayra… you are looking fire, I whispered to myself, cheeks heating at my own reflection. Just then, a knock on my door pulled me out of my dreamy world.
It was him. I knew it even before opening.
"I'm done…" I called softly, grabbing my clutch and walking quickly to the door. My heart was drumming so wildly I thought he might hear it the moment it opened.
And there he was—leaning casually, yet carrying that magnetic presence, his eyes instantly finding mine. The pleasant smile on his face made the butterflies in my stomach go wild.
I smiled back, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My voice dropped, almost like a confession,
"How am I looking?" I asked, lowering my gaze, scared yet secretly yearning for his approval.
He stepped closer, his hand brushing against mine, and with a softness I never expected from him, he murmured—
"Heavenly beautiful."
The words hit me like a storm, so pure, so heart-warming that my knees almost gave away. I had no option but to blush—so hard that even I could feel the heat rushing to my cheeks. And from the way his lips curved into a knowing smile, I realized he could read every unspoken feeling on my face.
He simply held my hand, firm and warm, and in that moment, I didn't need the world's approval. His words, his smile, his hand in mine—were enough.
But Wait… did he just hold my hand?
My breath hitched. It was the first time—and it's been a whole week since our marriage. After seven long days of silence, of unspoken distance, he was finally holding my hand.
His touch… oh God, his touch was so warm, yet so careful, like I was the most fragile thing he ever touched. The way his fingers curled around mine wasn't possessive—it was delicate, protective. He wasn't just holding my hand; he was holding a piece of me.
He caressed the back of my hand gently with his thumb, and then his voice—deep yet softer than usual—broke my daze.
"Can I take two minutes of yours, Samayra..?"
Two minutes? My lips almost curved into a smile.
I'm ready to give you my whole life, and you're asking for mere two minutes?
Take my time, take my soul, take everything… I wanted to say that, but instead, I only nodded, shy as hell, hiding all the chaos burning inside me.
He didn't let go. Still holding my hand, he guided me towards the room, his grip steady, almost like how parents hold a child while crossing a street—secure, assuring. My heart was drumming louder with each step.
When he made me sit on the bed, right in the center, I could feel it—the weight of his gaze on me. Hot, piercing, and intense. My cheeks flamed under the heat of those eyes. I couldn't look up for long.
What's his next plan? My pulse quickened. Is it… is it going to be our first night? Now..when we are supposed to go for a party..
Gosh! He is gonna ruin my lipstick!
The thought rushed through me, making me grab the bedsheet in my fists, trying to contain the arousal, the excitement, the wild storm inside me. My body was trembling, not with fear, but with anticipation. I waited… breathless… for him to begin.
But then—he knelt down.
I blinked at him in surprise. This wasn't what I expected. My heart skipped a beat as he gently lifted my foot and placed it on his knee. My brows furrowed in confusion, but before I could ask, he started tying something around my ankle.
I looked at his face, bewildered, until his eyes lifted and met mine. Instinctively, I lowered my gaze to my feet.
An anklet.
A delicate silver anklet now shone against my skin, tied by his own hands. And before I could even breathe a word, he leaned down and pressed his cold lips against my foot.
For a moment, the world stopped spinning.
A thousand butterflies exploded in my stomach, my breath caught in my throat, and my heart—my heart almost stumbled out of my chest. It wasn't lust, it wasn't hunger… it was something far deeper. Something I had been yearning for without knowing it.
It was love. Pure, unfiltered love.
And trust me, this feeling—this overwhelming flood of emotion—was more intoxicating than those wild, lustful thoughts. More beautiful than any physical intimacy I had ever dreamt of.
I couldn't hold it anymore. The fist that had been clutching the bedsheet loosened and moved on its own—straight into his hair. My fingers threaded through his soft strands, caressing, trembling, scratching lightly, desperate to release the air trapped in my lungs.
My eyes burned, tears brimming without permission. I didn't even know why I was crying. Maybe because this… this was the kind of love I had been craving. This was the gentleness I had dreamed of. The respect, the tenderness, the warmth.
This man—the man in front of me—was the one I had been waiting for.
And in that moment, I knew. I would live for him. I would die for him. Because finally, my heart had found its home.
I couldn't help but just uttered when my breaths are betraying me.
"A-Abhi..Abhimanyu... What are you doing to me..To My Heart??"