"Aren't you going to feed me?"

I turned my head, my lips inches from his ear. "Have you gone mad, Advik? Why are you doing this? Just stay away from me like you always did."

"Then don't move out." His voice was soft. Intimate. Only for me. "And I will leave you alone."

"Can't I be a little free? Can't I do whatever I want?"

"You are doing it, kitten." His arm tightened around my shoulders, his fingers brushing the bare skin at my collarbone. "That is exactly why I'm telling you like this. Or else I would have made sure you won't get a single apartment in this city. Not one. Not until you come back crawling."

His voice was calm. Measured. Conversational, like he was discussing the weather.

But I knew his threat was real. I had seen him operate before — his connections, his influence, the way doors opened for him and slammed shut for anyone who crossed him. He wasn't just talking. He was promising.

I had no option but to stay at his place.

But if he wanted me to stay? Fine. I would make it a real hell for him. He would regret forcing me to remain under his roof.

I grabbed my spoon, scooped up plain rice, and shoved it toward his mouth.

He ate it quietly. No fuss. No complaints. Just opened his mouth again for another bite, his eyes locked on mine, dark and unreadable, his tongue brushing the metal as I pulled the spoon away. The gesture was obscene in its intimacy — feeding him in front of everyone, his friends, his enemies, Sahil — and he knew it. He knew exactly what it looked like.

As I fed him, I felt Sahil's gaze burning into me. I turned slightly and saw it — the hurt in his eyes, raw and unmistakable. The guilt swarmed into me, thick and suffocating. I didn't even know what he was feeling — betrayal? Confusion? The slow realization that he had never been a contender?

And then I saw it.

A slow, victorious grin spreading across Advik's face.

He wasn't just winning.

He was enjoying every second of my misery. Every bite I fed him, every second Sahil sat there watching, every girl in the cafeteria who would whisper about this later — he was drinking it in like wine.

He didn't want Sahil jealous.

He wanted Sahil to know he had already lost.

And the worst part — the part that made my stomach twist with something darker than guilt — was that I was letting him.

Thank god my next class wasn't with either of them.

I couldn't handle another hour of Advik's possessive touches mapping my hip like territory, or Sahil's wounded eyes following me across the room like I was a ghost he couldn't exorcise. My skin felt too tight, my nerves frayed to raw threads. I needed space. Distance. Air that hadn't been breathed by either of them.

When college ended, I headed straight for the bus stop.

I could have called a car — my father made sure I always had access to one, black and sleek and waiting in a garage somewhere — but that meant seeing Advik again. It meant being trapped in another suffocating ride with his scent and his silence and his hands that never quite left me alone, even when they weren't touching me. The bus was better. Safer. At least I could breathe without tasting him.

But God wasn't on my side today.

Advik's car — matte black, predatory, illegally loud — screeched to a halt right in front of me, blocking my path to the curb. The engine growled. He stepped out, long strides eating up the distance between us, his coat flaring behind him like wings.

Before I could protest, before I could even step back, he bent down and picked me up.

Just like that.

One arm behind my knees, the other around my back, and my feet left the ground. My bag slipped from my shoulder, thudding against his shin, and then he was lowering me onto the passenger seat like I weighed nothing. Like I was a package he was entitled to deliver.

"You should have said something!" I scrambled for the seatbelt, my face burning, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Not just picked me up like that!"

He slid into the driver's seat, his door slamming shut with a sound that felt like a verdict. "Do you ever listen to me?" He didn't look at me. His hands found the wheel with practiced ease. "So what's the use?"

He was right, though. I wouldn't have sat in the car if he'd asked. I would have fought, argued, run in the opposite direction until my lungs burned. This was the only way I would have ended up here — captured, deposited, claimed.

"Still," I muttered, crossing my arms tight across my chest. "You should have been gentler."

And he laughed.

A real laugh — deep and rumbling, his head tipping back against the headrest, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his throat exposed in a way that made my fingers itch. The sound did something dangerous to my chest. Something warm. Something traitorous. Something that felt like sunlight hitting ice after years of winter.

"Me?" He glanced at me, still smiling, and for a second he looked almost human. Almost reachable. "Gentle? With you?"