-• should I die for you? •-

There was a kind of intimacy I felt in a stranger's arms that night in the club, and there's a kind of intimacy Shourya makes me feel without touching me. He makes my heart race, my skin burn, and makes every part of my body feel every inch of his. He has me before he could even ask for me. I was wondering what effect he had on me, now I know. He treats me like he owns me, and for some reason, I like that.

As my hands slowly glide down his sinewy arms, the muscles stretch and flex under my touch. The strength of his body is so overwhelming, he easily towers over me by a foot or two. It's like he always wears an armour, sword sheathed, shield prepared, ready to slice the world in two to make way for him.

He doesn't touch me like I do, he doesn't cross his boundaries like I want him to. He simply stands, his breath fanning my neck, as though he's satisfied with where he is, with what he has. Unlike me. I want the whole him, every nook and cranny of his existence, even if for a fleeting moment, I really want to own him.

My hand settle on the narrow slant of his firm torso, before they drift past his structured, sexy mid-riff, halting on his pecs, and then I force myself to gently push him away.

He lifts his head from my neck, removes his glasses, his eyes flicker down to my lips, sliding down my neck and I see the brown swirls turn darker. "Not yet," a husky drawl to his deep voice, and then he buries his face back in the bridge between my neck and shoulder.

"I'm starting to feel you're obsessed," I look away, subtly giving him more room.

He hums, tracing the curve of my neck with the tip of his nose, and I feel his breath trail down the same path, leaving behind something hot, something palpable, something that I feel deep in my bones, and down to my core. His hand comes around to cup my nape, and his thumb runs along the slope of my throat, before it halts to feel the throb of my pulse, and he presses down there, significantly softer, gentler, but possessive, borderline obsessive. I rise my hand to cup the back of his, and slowly wrap my fingers around his wrist, removing his hand from my body.

"Fuck," he growls, enclosing me to the wall when he realises I'm trying to push him away. His forearms plant themselves next to my head, caging me as he stands before me like a shield, impenetrable, hard as rock, unyielding and unflinching. "Esther,"

I sigh, "Yes?"

"Why did you want me to hear that?" He breathes harshly over my collarbone, and then he lifts off his right arm to trace the delicate bone with the tip of his finger, like he's marvelling everything I'm made of.

"Hear what?" I play dumb.

"Hear you," his lips tease me along the length of my jaw, still not touching me. "Hear him," his body stiffens, but then he gets distracted watching his finger dip low in my cleavage.

Remember I said desperation is driven by two emotions? Fear or greed.

Shourya's greed is me.

The ever so calm, composed, patient man loses his sanity the moment I'm close. He's like a kid watching a burning flame for the first time. Warned by many to not touch it, to not go close to it, but that just intrigues him, lures him, until he's trying to catch it, and gets burned in return.

I flick the finger off and his eyes rise to meet mine, stubborn, angry, lusty.

"If you're done sniffing me like a dog, may I know what you're doing here?" Pushing him aside, I walk past him and into the rows of shelves holding files dated from late seventies.

He grabs my wrist and yanks me to his chest. My eyes dart to his instantly. "Did you fuck him?" Jaw clenched, the muscles beneath his ear shift.

"What are you? My gynaecologist?" I chuckled, trying to brush him off as I attempt to walk away.

Mr. Rajawat has different plans for us. He turns me around and wraps his arm over mine around my stomach, pressing my back to his chest, my butt to his front. "Where did he touch you?"

"Everywhere," I whisper.

His hand grips my chin harshly before he turns my head over my shoulder, looking down at me fiercely, the jealousy burning in his eyes, searing hot as it crawls into my skin like a snake through his proprietary touch. "Taranya, don't fuck with me." A warning, that I roll my eyes at.

"You wish." Tearing his arms off my body, I venture deeper into the room. "What were you doing here?" I inquire curiously.

He stands in his place, his arms fisted on his side, not happy with my attitude. I don't care. I'm not about to entertain his jealousy and offer him explanations just because we're sexually attracted to each other. And he already has his sweetheart to demand such kind of things from. When I look at him again, he puts on his glasses and ignores me, walking off to the other side of the room, probably to continue whatever he was here for.

I follow him and peer over his shoulder as he looks through several files in different cabinets with the help of the small flashlight. "Do you want me to hold it for you?" My offer is genuine.

He glares at me, then ignores me.

Noticing his struggle with opening the files using one hand and holding the flashlight with the other, I snatch the phone from him, earning another of his glare my way. "Focus," I lightly slap his face ahead. He heaves a long breathe of frustration, but is able to read comfortably.

Slapping the file close, he stows it away in the cabinet and shifts to his right, where I stand. I stumble back immediately, and the back of my heel hits the corner of a desk, causing me to lose my balance. I gasp in fear.

Shourya's arm shoots out to hold me around the waist, the flashlight in my hand casting a bright, sharp glow on both of us. I clutch his shoulder to stand straight and manage to reduce whatever safe distance I had put between us. When I swallow, my throat feels dry. This feels so much like that night. When he had me pinned to the bark of the tree, making me arch my back like a fucking bow. It was then I realised the extent of my flexibility.

His eyes, as if addicted, quickly drift down to my neck. Resisting the urge to shake my head, I peel his arm off my body and step away two feet. He clears his throat, resuming to study the files in the cabinet, appearing slightly awkward, as if it wasn't him going all caveman on me just a few minutes ago because he heard me moan another man's name over phone.

"I'm still clueless as to why you're here," I remind him.

He moves to the shelf behind him, I follow like a sheep following its shephard. "I need the records of the early seventies."

"Why?" I frown.

He shrugs, offering no explanation.

"Shouldn't they be in computers?"

He shoots me a poker look. "Computers? In seventies?"

"Right," I nod. "Why seventies specifically?"

"Your grandfather died in 1972." He responds.

I gasp. "Do you mean the hospital has something to do with his death?" I lean in, my hand on my chest. I thought he died in an accident? At least that's what Agastya told me, unless he was lying, or just like everyone else, had no idea either.

"No. It's just mean we took full control over this hospital after his death." He states.

"I'm still not getting the whole picture." I shake my head.

"If only I was here as your personal decoder," he remarks sarcastically and grabs my hand that holds the flashlight, fixing it over the file. My heart jumps at the abrupt contact of our skins.

"Are you trying to expose your own grandfather?" I ask softly. At this point, he must know his grandfather is not a very good man. If he's trying to expose the old man, I'm sure he also knows about Rudra.

"No," guessed it. Why would he go against his own grandfather? "I'm trying to overthrow him." He spares me a glance, the certainty in his eyes screams of confidence, like he knows what he's doing, what he's going to do, and he's just waiting for the right time, to strike in when the iron is hot.

"I heard you got shares in the main corporation on your eighteenth birthday as a gift?" I didn't hear per se, I saw the celebration on the news, through glimpses and pictures on social media. It's not a surprise Shourya garnered attention at a young age. He's insanely attractive, has a body of a model, face of Adonis, is astute and shrewd like a businessman, smart as a whip, and has an impeccable hold on his emotions in the crowd. If I was in his place, showered with so much attention and surrounded by so many people, my anxiety would have skyrocketed to new heights.

I'm addicted to the rare moments when he loses control, and it only happens when he's in the same proximity as me, sharing the same breath as mine, unable to touch me, but dying to touch me. Like he doesn't know what to do with me. Hate me or fuck me, or both. Or both.

"Are you impressed yet?" He smirks.

I chuckle. "Didn't I say-"

"Yeah, yeah, high maintenance. So when will I be able to afford you?" He licks the corner of his lips, his gaze flickering between me and the words on the pages.

"When you start earning."

"I'm sure it's not money you're talking about," he mumbles, distracted by the next file he slips out of the shelf.

"No," I murmur, my voice low. He stops reading and looks me in the eyes. "When you earn me."

He slams the file close and steps closer. I blink. "And how do I earn you?" A stray lock escapes my loose bun and dances on my cheek. The intensity in his eyes grows, the temperature in this room drops. Without moving an inch, I feel I've reached the end of the world. It decreases the span of my each breath, and I'm left with shallow, short pants that leave my parted lips. "Should I die for you?" His lips move, but I barely understand anything since it's his hand that steals my attention, the nimble fingers play with the end of my lock before gently tucking it behind my ear. "Tell me, Tara, should I die for you?" His words brush over my lips.

I place my hands on his chest. "Too easy."

"I'll kill for you."

My breath hitches. "Still not impressed."

"I'll sacrifice the world for you."

My lips curve to smile. "Cheesy."

So the hand slides down to wrap around my throat. "If I can't have you, nobody else will." It takes an effort to swallow with his hand feeling my throat so closely, like any minute he'll change his mind and choke me until he hears my last breath. "Tell me, I can't have you, Esther," he lowers his head to look into my eyes, "Tell me I can't have you now, and I'll come back years later. Tell me I can't have you in this universe, and I'll find the one in which you'll be mine. Tell me I can't have you ever and I'll kill you, before I kill myself, and then I'll follow you to the depths of the hell, until there's no end beyond, until you're finally trapped with me."

There's fear I feel, bold, courageous fear that holds me hostage with the echo of his words, but there's thrill, a rush of adrenaline I've never felt before. Subtracting whatever remaining distance we had between us, I cup his cheek and lean in, our eyes fluttering close just as our mouths are about to touch.

But then the knob rattles and we both pull away with a startle. He quickly takes the phone and turns off the flashlight, dragging me behind the wooden cupboard to hide. Sandwiched between the wall and him, I feel every contour and ridge of his hard body pressed against mine.

He looks down at me, then at my breasts that are pressed against his chest and cocks a brow at me. I roll my eyes, turning my head the other side.

"Now you're just asking for it," he whispers and buries his face in the nook of my neck.

"You're obsessed," I grit out, hoping whoever it is that came barging in leaves the room as soon as possible.

Thankfully, the door closes, taking away the hallway lights along with them.

He hums, agreeing with me and kisses the curve of my neck.

"They left," I try to move but he stops me.

"This feels nice," he makes sure to emphasize which places on his body feels nice.

"Pervert," I push him aside and step out of the congested place. "Have fun playing Sherlock Holmes, bye." I turn to leave.

He grabs my wrist. "I'll see you soon."

Removing my hand from his hold, I walk up to the door and open it, looking to my left and right in case someone's around. Finding the hallway empty, I glance over my shoulder and throw him a wink with a wave of my fingers before stepping out of the room. I hear him chuckle and a smile replaces the smirk on my face. Pretending I don't feel millions of butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I make my way back to Vivaan's office.

"Where were you, Tara?" Janet asks the moment I step inside my brother's office. "You even left your phone here. We've been trying to find you for the last thirty minutes!"

"I went to the washroom." I shrug.

"Is your stomach okay?" Ayush looks down at my belly.

I snort. "I'm absolutely fine."

"Here, I got this slice of cake for you." Janet offers me a box. As I stretch my hand to take it, my phone on Vivaan's desk starts to ring.

Reading Agastya's name on the screen, I pick up the phone and answer it. "What is it?"

"Tara," he whispers shakily and the feigned rudeness in my tone drops.

"What's wrong, Agastya?" I ask softly, my heart in my mouth.

"My pitch recorded 90 miles per hour this morning." He sniffles. "The- The Grand Slam was so impressed they selected me, from their twelve best players, to try out in front of the scouts from the 20 major league teams. My flight to US is scheduled this Friday."

My jaw drops.

"What -" Ayush quickly moves forward. "Is everything okay? What's wrong?"

"Is this a dream?" My lips split in a huge grin.

"No, no, it's not. I did it, Tara." He breaks down in sobs. "I'm so happy. Can you come here, please?"

Tears brim my eyes. "I'm on my way. I'll be there as soon as possible." I quickly hang up and look up, yanking Ayush in a tight hug. He hugs me back.

"What is it? Is it a good news?" He pulls away to ask me.

I nod hurriedly. "Agastya made it. He'll be flying to US this Friday."

Ayush gasps, before he chuckles heartily. "Oh my God, so it's final?"

I shake my head. "Not really. He'll be trying out in front of the scouts of major league teams. But I remember him telling me once he makes it there, it's just a piece of cake. He'll come back signing a contract with at least one of them."

Ayush shakes his head in disbelief. "I can't believe this."

"Me neither." I mumble. "Anyway, I've to go. Tell Vivaan Bhai I took a cab to Agastya's practice field. Also, I'll stall him as much as I can, make sure a celebration is ready to welcome him."

"You mean a surprise party?" Janet asks me with a smile.

I nod, looking back at Ayush. "Call your twin and tell him to invite Agastya's friends over. We'll have a blast tonight."

"Sure. You should go now. I'll handle the rest." He ushers me out of the office, handing me my purse from the desk.

I quickly take elevator to the ground floor and hire a cab from the main road, relaying the address to the driver. He manages to drop me off in less than twenty minutes. I Google pay him since I'm low on cash. Who am I kidding? I'm always low on cash.

I reach the open bleachers of the field and look through the people on the ground, frowning when I don't find Agastya.

"Tara!" Arjun waves his hand at me.

I wave back, grateful to find a familiar face among the strangers. "Where's Agastya!?"

He pats on one of his teammate's back and jogs up to the net fencing. I descend the stairs to reach him. "What did you say?" He pants.

"Where's Agastya?"

"He was in the sports room taking a shower when I came back to the field. But now he's not there. The janitor closes the room during lunch break. He must be either in the parking lot or the basketball court."

"Okay thanks," I leave the fence grip and turn around to leave. "Oh, Arjun," he raises a brow at me. "Come to the party tonight. I'm sure Ayush will call you to let you know about the time and venue. But just a heads-up. Alright, bye."

He smiles. "Bye."

I enter the building and snap a picture of the map on the ground floor, following the directions to the basketball court. Pushing the metal door open, I look up at the seating area and find a body hunched in one of the empty seats. Shoving my phone inside the pocket, I climb the stairs and walk upto him. It's when I sink into the chair next to him that he lifts his head, his eyes rimmed red.

"You did it," I whisper with a smile.

His lower lip trembles and he pulls me in a fierce hug. I reciprocate, locking my arms around his back, rocking him back and forth as a mother would do to her crying child. I run a soothing hand down his back, the other threads into his hair, and I hush him with sweet nothings. He weeps like he's finally done mourning the little-big sacrifices he made in order to achieve this moment. And it's all worth it. The perseverance of so many years has finally come to fruition. He made it possible and I cannot be any more proud of him.

He pulls away to look at me, as though he's confirming my words are not just a medium to satiate his desperate heart that seeks genuine encouragement and support.

"You're proud of me?"

"You've no idea how much," I whisper. "I cannot wait to boast in front of the world about you."

He smiles and hugs me back.

We sit in the basketball court for hours long, just basking in the silence of the moment, hearing what it has to say, feeling it through the calmness of the air, and the peace it brings us in unsaid.

Then my phone chimes with a notification. Turns out, the twins arranged the party in some club since it'll be hard to prepare the palace for the celebration at such a short notice.

"C'mon, let's go," I get up and hold out my hand to him.

"Where?" He looks at me confused.

"Just somewhere. C'mon, you'll love it." I nod at him.

He smiles and slips his hand in mine, getting up from the chairs to follow me out of the basketball court. We get in his car and I give him directions to the club. It's only five in the evening but it's considerably darker than usual. God, I'm hungry as fuck.

When we walk through the doors of the club, someone pops the confetti and several cheers ring around the room. Agastya grins broadly, his eyes wide as they look at me in genuine surprise.

"Go," I push him into the crowd of his friends. He's approached from every direction as the cake is brought in. I shake my head in disappointment seeing the pair of boobs as the shape of the cake.

Boys.

"Oh, Shourya!" I frown seeing Agastya raise his hand to wave somewhere behind me. When I turn around, my stomach drops seeing him stroll in with his arm around a pretty girl I don't recognise. Then he walks past me, ignoring me, like it wasn't him trying to kiss me in the hospital room.

"Who's she?" Janet whispers at my side.

"How would I know?" I snap and walk to the bar, ordering myself a shot of vodka.

"Who's she, Ayush?" I hear Janet ask the twin.

"Who? Akansha?"

"Yeah, whatever her name is. Who is she?" Janet probes impatiently.

"Shourya's fiance."

Whoops.

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