I was in detention because of Advik.

It happened because he saw me with Sahil. And Advik — being the overprotective maniac he is — decided Sahil only wanted one thing. He never lets any boy get near me. Never. He pushes my patience to its absolute limit every single day.

Have you ever looked at someone and felt the urge to strangle them?

That's Advik for you.

Ridiculously handsome. Stupidly charming. And utterly devoid of manners. The classic bad boy every girl buzzes around while he stands there flexing like he owns the world.

I glared at him with pure rage burning in my eyes. Of course he was here too. In detention. With me.

He caught my gaze and smirked — that infuriating, arrogant smirk that made my blood boil. He had been testing my patience since we were kids, but the real tragedy? He was my father's best friend's son.

My father had practically handed me over to him when I moved to London for college. Look after her, he said. Now we shared a flat, and I was trapped under the same roof as this insufferable control freak.

I was still plotting my escape when something hard struck my shoulder.

A paper roll. I whipped around, grabbed it, and hurled it back with everything I had. My eyes burned with a silent warning.

He never listened. He never did.

Then his hand closed around my wrist.

"Stand up. We're leaving."

I stared at him. "Are you insane? The teacher is right there. What the hell are you doing?"

He didn't even look at me. "Sir, we're going."

Just like that. No explanation. No permission. And somehow — somehow — the teacher simply nodded.

It made no sense. Advik barely submitted his assignments, skipped half his classes, and yet teachers bent over backwards for him. The Advik effect.

"Let go." I jerked my arm, but his fingers only tightened. "You can't just drag me out of here."

He released my wrist. But his hand didn't leave me. It slid down, slow and deliberate, until his palm wrapped around mine. His grip was firm. Strange. And — I hated this part — unexpectedly gentle.

I should have pulled away. I knew I should have.

But his touch was warm. And for a moment, just a moment, my resistance wavered.

"Listen to me." His voice dropped, low enough that only I could hear it. "Don't let that bastard get close to you again."

"Why?" I tilted my chin up. "Do you have a thing for him? Is that it? You want me gone so you can propose?"

"Don't be ridiculous." His thumb brushed the inside of my palm. Once. "You're my responsibility. And he just wants to get in your pants."

"I'm not a child anymore. I'm mature now — I can take care of myself. You should worry about yourself."

He looked at me for a long second. Something flickered in his eyes — something I couldn't name. Then it was gone.

"Fine." He let go. "Do whatever you want. But if something happens, don't come crying to me."

Then he left.

No backward glance. No hesitation. His footsteps echoed down the empty hallway until there was nothing.

Sahil found me ten minutes later.

His face was swollen from Advik's hit, a bruise blooming dark along his jawline. We went to the hospital to get him treated. As we sat in the waiting area, he touched my shoulder — light, casual, the kind of gesture that shouldn't have meant anything.

It didn't make me feel safe.

Not the way Advik's rough grip had.

I stared at the linoleum floor and tried to understand why my skin was still warm where he'd held my hand. He was the one who caused all this. He was the one who hit Sahil, who dragged me out of class, who treated me like property.

So why — why — did his violence feel like the only honest thing in the room?

By the time we finished, night had fallen hard over London. We grabbed dinner at a small diner nearby — the kind with cracked vinyl booths and neon buzzing in the window. Sahil made me laugh. A lot. His jokes were effortless, warm, the kind that didn't need an edge to land. For a while, I almost forgot about the detention. The fight. The way Advik's hand had felt wrapped around mine.

Then I saw him.

Advik. Across the room. In a corner booth I hadn't bothered to check.