Testing patience

Ranvijay stood in front of the full-length mirror, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, the fabric straining over his muscular forearms. The tailored black vest and fitted trousers molded perfectly to his frame, exuding effortless dominance. With a practiced motion, he adjusted the silver dial of his watch, his movements precise, controlled.

But his control was about to be tested.

The bathroom knob twisted suddenly, and before he could turn, Myra stepped out.

And for the first time in his life, Ranvijay froze.

She stood there, oblivious to the storm she had just unleashed in him.

Draped in a delicate baby pink saree, her skin glowed under the soft morning light. The fabric clung to her slender frame like it was sculpted for her, the gentle pleats resting against the dip of her hips, leaving her chocolaty waist exposed. Her long, damp hair cascaded down her back, droplets of water clinging to the silky strands before slipping down, disappearing beneath the sheer fabric of her pallu.

She was breathtaking.

A vision of innocence wrapped in temptation.

Ranvijay had seen countless women before—dressed in finer silks, adorned in jewels, deliberately trying to catch his attention. But this?

This was different.

This woman—his wife—was testing his patience without even realizing it.

His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around his watch. His throat felt dry as his gaze trailed over her, taking in every detail, every drop of water gliding over her bare skin.

Unaware of his burning stare, Myra stepped toward the dressing table, still adjusting the pleats of her saree. Her movements were natural, effortless—but to him, they were dangerously enticing.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to look away.

But it was useless.

His gaze snapped back to her, drawn like a moth to a flame.

It was the contrast that drove him insane. The softness of her against the hardness of him. The way she radiated purity, yet unknowingly set his blood on fire.

She was untouched by the world. Unaware of the effect she had on him.

And that made it so much worse.

He could feel it—a dark, possessive hunger coiling inside him, demanding more.

He took a slow step forward.

The sound of his polished shoes against the marble made Myra glance up.

And that's when she saw him.

Her lips parted slightly, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face as her wide eyes met his.

Ranvijay didn't speak. He didn't need to.

The air shifted.

She could feel the weight of his gaze, the intensity darkening his already smoldering eyes.

"Myra," his voice was low, almost a growl.

She swallowed. "W-what?"

His lips curled slightly, but there was nothing playful about it. It was a smirk laced with something far more dangerous.

"I hope you don't plan on stepping out like this," he murmured, his fingers flexing at his sides.

Her brows furrowed. "Why?"

He exhaled, amused yet frustrated.

Why?

Because if she did—if she walked out of their chambers looking like this—with that exposed waist, those crystal droplets teasing his patience, that soft, intoxicating innocence—

He would have to kill a man today.

Instead of answering, Ranvijay took another step closer, closing the distance between them. Myra instinctively stepped back, but the dressing table was behind her, trapping her in place.

She barely had time to react before his fingers brushed against her waist, tracing the droplets that lingered on her skin.

She shivered.

Her breath hitched.

And Ranvijay smirked, his thumb pressing just slightly into the dip of her waist.

"You're testing me, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dark with restraint.

Myra's pulse stuttered. "I—I didn't do anything."

His fingers slid upward, barely grazing the curve of her waist before retreating. "Exactly."

"You are not leaving like this," Ranvijay's voice was sharp, edged with something dangerously possessive.

Myra barely glanced at him as she adjusted the pleats of her saree. "That's none of your business."

His jaw clenched. "None of my business?"

She turned fully toward him now, frustration flashing in her eyes. "Yes! I will wear what I want and go where I want!"

The air between them thickened, tension crackling like fire in a dry forest.

His patience snapped.

Before she could take another step, Ranvijay grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, trapping her against the cold wall.

Her breath hitched.

His body was close—too close. Heat radiated from him, his presence overwhelming, his grip firm but not painful.

"Let me go!" she protested, trying to move, but he didn't budge.

Ranvijay leaned in, his lips a mere breath away from her ear. "You have no idea what you're doing to me, do you?"

Myra's heart slammed against her ribs. "I-I don't care!"

His fingers tightened slightly around her wrists. "Oh, but you should," he murmured, his voice dark, almost amused.

She glared at him. "You can't control me!"

His gaze dropped to where her saree exposed the curve of her waist, then back to her eyes, burning with unspoken intensity. "Watch me."

Myra's breath came in short, uneven bursts. The way he looked at her—like she was something precious, something his—sent shivers down her spine.

"Ranvijay, let me go," she whispered, but even she could hear the wavering in her voice.

His lips tilted into a slow, knowing smirk. "Say it like you mean it, and I just might."

She hated him.

Hated the way he could turn her resistance into something breathless.

Hated the way he affected her.

Summoning every ounce of defiance, she met his gaze. "I will leave," she said firmly.

Ranvijay sighed, shaking his head like she was the most stubborn thing he had ever dealt with. His hold on her loosened slightly, but his other hand came to rest against her bare waist.

Myra gasped.

His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on her skin, his touch scorching. "You want to walk outside looking like this," he murmured, "when you can barely handle a single touch from me?"

Heat flooded her face.

She opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out.

Ranvijay leaned in, his lips hovering near her temple, his breath warm against her skin. "Go on, then," he said huskily. "But don't blame me when I carry you right back here the second I decide someone is looking at you the wrong way."

Myra swallowed hard.

Her heart was pounding, her resolve slipping—so she did the only thing she could.

She pushed at his chest, forcing space between them.

Ranvijay let her go, but the smirk on his lips told her he had won this round.

"You're impossible," she snapped before storming past him.

His deep chuckle followed her. "And you're tempting fate, sweetheart."