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

That bastard.

If only I could kill him. If only I didn't want to hear that laugh again, didn't want to store it somewhere dark and private where I could replay it when he wasn't looking.

I crossed my arms and stared out the window, refusing to look at him. But I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and amused, and I knew — somehow I just knew — that he was smiling the entire drive home.

I sat in stony silence, arms crossed, staring at the blur of London streets to show him exactly how angry I was. He didn't seem to care. He never did.

When we reached the flat, I stormed inside, heading straight for my room — my sanctuary, the only space that was truly mine in this suffocating place. The only four walls where his scent didn't live in the walls and his presence didn't hum in the floorboards.

I flung the door open.

And froze.

There was a girl in my bed.

Not just sitting on it. Laying across my sheets, scrolling through her phone like she owned the place, her shoes — dirty, heeled, expensive — leaving dark marks on the pale blue duvet I had bought with my own money.

"Who are you?" My voice came out strangled. "And what are you doing in my room?"

She didn't even look up. Just smirked, stretching lazily, her body language screaming entitlement.

"It's my room." She finally deigned to meet my eyes, her smile sharp as broken glass. "I'm paying rent for this room. If you have a problem, ask the owner."

"Fine." My hands were shaking. I clenched them into fists. "Who is the owner?"

"The guy right behind you."

I turned slowly.

Dread pooled in my stomach, cold and heavy, spreading through my veins like ink in water. Advik stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching my reaction with that infuriating, predatory calm. He had planned this. He had known exactly what I would find, and he had waited to watch me discover it.

He didn't want me to leave.

And now he had already replaced me. Erased my space before I could even pack a single box.

"Yes, kitten." His voice was soft. Almost tender. "She's telling the truth. She has rented this room."

"Then what about me?" The words tasted like rust. "And my things?"

"All your things are in my room." He pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer, crowding the doorway until he filled it completely. "We will share a room from now on."

"What bullshit are you speaking?" I backed up, my shoulder blades hitting the doorframe of my — her — the stolen room. "I am not sharing a room with you!"

"I thought if you don't mind sharing Sahil's things," he said, his voice dropping to a velvet murmur, "you shouldn't mind using mine too."

"That is not the same!"

"Why not?" He stepped closer still. I could smell him now — sandalwood and rain and something darker that made my knees weak. "You liked sleeping in his bed, right? Now you will sleep beside me. In my bed. Every fucking night."

The words hung between us, heavy and charged, crackling like electricity before a storm.

My breath caught. My face burned. He stepped closer, crowding me against the doorframe of his room — our room — his chest inches from mine, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that vibrated against my skin.

"What if I told my father, huh?" It was the only weapon I had left, and it sounded pathetic even to me.

"Go ahead." He didn't flinch. Didn't blink. "Call him. Tell him how his precious daughter wants to run away and sleep in another man's bed. Let's see whose side he takes."

He knew. He always knew.

My father trusted him more than he trusted me. My father had handed me over like a parcel with a bow. And Advik was counting on it — counting on the fact that I had no ally, no escape, no voice that would be heard over his.

I stood there, trapped, my room stolen, my freedom gone, and the only place left to sleep was the one place I swore I wouldn't want to be.

Beside him.

"Try it, kitten." His breath ghosted across my forehead. "Then I'll see how your boytoy survives on this campus."

"You can't blackmail me like this."

"Then you shouldn't have started it." His eyes hardened, the mask slipping to reveal something raw underneath. "I was staying away from you. I was managing. But you insisted on leaving."

"Tell me why I should live here." My voice cracked. "I could stay in my room."

"Fine." He moved back, just slightly, putting a fraction of space between us that felt like miles. "I don't like seeing you leave. Especially for that bastard Sahil. If he even steps a single foot in your direction — then see what happens."

And then he left.

Just like that. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in the silence of his room.

I looked around.

Everything was cleaned and lined with precision — his precision, the same precision that made him fold his towels in thirds and arrange his books by spine height. My things fit with his perfectly, as if they had always belonged there. My books beside his. My clothes in the drawer next to his. My perfume bottle on the dresser, right beside his cologne.

This room had a strong scent of him.

Sandalwood and something darker, something that wrapped around me like a familiar embrace, like a hand around my throat that had learned to be gentle. I inhaled deeply, hating how safe it made me feel. Hating how my shoulders relaxed, how my racing heart slowed, how my body recognized this space as home even when my mind screamed that it was a cage.

I sat on the edge of his bed — our bed — and pressed my palm flat against the sheets.

They were still warm from where he had slept last night.