Aadhya's POV :
"Running from me, huh?"
His voice slid through my veins like liquid heat. Deep. Unshaken. Laced with something dark—something unchanged.
I inhaled sharply, my fingers tightening around the glass.
"Or are you running from yourself?"
I turned my head, just enough to look at him. Bad idea.
Raivaan was devastating up close.
The golden bar lights flickered across the sharp cut of his jaw, shadows teasing the corner of his mouth, the faint smirk that wasn't just amusement—it was knowledge.
Because he knew.
Knew that my breath had hitched.
Knew that my body had gone rigid.
Knew that for one second—one dangerous second—I had forgotten how to exist.
I exhaled slowly. "You shouldn't be here."
Raivaan tilted his head slightly, tracing the rim of his whiskey glass with his thumb. "And yet, here I am."
"I don't have time for this."
"For what?" His eyes burned into mine, holding me in place. "A drink? An old friend?"
"You're not my friend."
His smirk deepened. "You're right. I'm not."
I turned back to my glass, trying to steady myself. My heart was hammering, but I wouldn't let him see it.
I couldn't let him see it.
Raivaan chuckled softly. "Tell me, Mrs. Singhania..." He leaned in, his breath grazing my skin, sending a slow shiver down my spine. "Does he know you're here?"
My stomach twisted.
I kept my voice neutral. "Who?"
His fingers tapped against the glass—slow, deliberate. "Your husband."
A sharp breath escaped before I could stop it. I hated that he had that effect on me. Hated that he still knew exactly which strings to pull.
"He's at work," I said evenly.
Raivaan hummed, like he was considering my answer. Then—
"And yet, here you are. Drinking whiskey, alone, in a place that doesn't belong to you."
I turned to him fully, pulse spiking. "What do you want, Raivaan?"
His gaze dropped to my lips for just a second before meeting my eyes again.
"Do you really want me to answer that?"
Raivaan's POV:
She was already unraveling.
She just didn't know it yet.
Aadhya Mehra Singhania. Sitting in front of me, pretending she wasn't affected. Pretending she didn't remember.
She was always good at pretending.
I watched the way her fingers curled around the glass. The way she took a slow sip—just to keep her hands busy. The way she wouldn't meet my eyes for more than a few seconds at a time—like she was afraid of what she'd see.
I let the silence stretch. Let her try to rebuild the walls I had already cracked. I wasn't in a hurry.
Because the moment she walked into this bar...
She had already lost.
Aadhya's POV:
The silence was suffocating.
Raivaan's presence was everywhere, wrapping around me like a noose. The scent of him—dark spice, musk, something expensive—was in my lungs, under my skin, seeping into places I couldn't control.
I needed to leave. Now.
I set my glass down. "This was a mistake."
Raivaan didn't stop me as I stood. Didn't move when I turned toward the exit.
But just as I took a step—
"You still run the same way, darlin`."
I froze.
His voice was soft, almost amused, but underneath... it was lethal.
I turned back, pulse roaring in my ears. "Excuse me?"
He leaned back in his seat, slow and unhurried, his fingers brushing the rim of his glass.
"The way your breath catches before you move." His eyes flicked to my chest—just for a heartbeat—before locking onto mine again. "The way your fingers tremble... just a little... when you walk away."
My spine went rigid.
"I don't—"
"You do."
I clenched my fists. "You don't know me anymore, Raivaan."
His lips curved. "Don't I?"
The air between us thickened—charged. My body felt warm. Too warm.
I needed to get out.
I turned again, pushing through the crowd, heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor. I didn't look back.
I couldn't.
But as I stepped outside, the cool night air wrapping around me, I knew one thing for sure:
I wasn't running from Raivaan.
I was running from the part of me that still wanted him. Even after everything.
———————————————
I barely made it home before the weight of it crashed into me.
Raivaan.
His voice. His presence. The way he looked at me like he was waiting for me to admit something I didn't want to feel.
I tossed my purse onto the couch, exhaled sharply, and pressed my fingers to my temples.
This isn't happening.
I won't let this happen.
It had been years.
Years of pretending he didn't exist.
Years of convincing myself he wasn't the part of me I had to kill to survive.
Then why did it feel like I was back where I started?
Why did my skin still feel warm where his breath had been?
I walked to the bedroom, stepped out of my heels, the carpet soft and cool against my feet. The penthouse was quiet, the hum of the city faint through the windows.
Advait wouldn't be home for another two hours.
Two hours to fix this.
I grabbed my laptop from the dresser and sat on the bed, opening a blank document.
Writing always helped.
I flexed my fingers.
Then... nothing.
My thoughts refused to settle. They weren't mine anymore.
They belonged to him.
To the way he looked at me in that bar.
To the words that crawled under my skin.
To the way he didn't stop me.
He didn't need to.
I slammed the laptop shut, heat burning through my chest.
I had to stop this.
I had a husband. A life. A carefully constructed illusion Raivaan Rathore had no right to touch.
Then why did it feel like he already had?
———————————————
The next morning, I told myself everything would be normal.
That I'd go about my day like nothing had changed.
Like I hadn't come undone the second he whispered my name.
I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my blouse. Fixing the diamond studs Advait had gifted me last year. The woman staring back at me looked perfect.
Then why did my skin feel too tight?
Why did it feel like I was wearing someone else's life?
A knock snapped me out of it.
"Madam, there's a courier for you," Kamla called from the door.
I frowned, walking toward the living room. The guard handed me a sleek black envelope. No sender. No address.
Just my name.
I tore it open.
Inside—a single line:
"You try so hard to forget, darlin`."
My lungs stopped working.
My grip on the paper tightened.
No name. No signature.
But I didn't need one.
I knew exactly who it was from.
Raivaan's POV:
She had read it by now.
I leaned back in my chair, fingers tapping the edge of my desk. She had read it—and she was probably still trying to convince herself it meant nothing.
That was the thing about Aadhya.
She was always convincing herself of something.
That she loved her husband.
That she'd buried the past.
That I wasn't inside her head, taking up more space than she could admit.
But she knew better.
She always had.
I took a slow sip of whiskey, my eyes drifting toward the skyline. Mumbai was beautiful at night. A maze of secrets.
Much like her.
I'd given her time.
Let her live in her illusion.
But now?
Now, I was done waiting.
Aadhya's POV:
I stared at the note for what felt like hours.
My pulse roared. My skin burned with something I didn't want to name.
Anger.
Fear.
Anticipation.
I swallowed hard.
Raivaan never did anything without a reason. If he sent this, it wasn't just to haunt me.
It was a warning.
I inhaled sharply, tearing the note in half. Then again. Until the pieces floated to the marble floor like ashes.
This means nothing.
He means nothing.
I wouldn't let him pull me back in.
But the problem wasn't him.
The problem was...
I wasn't sure I wanted to resist.