"The Warning"

Abhimanyu's POV:

She fought me.

Of course she did. Her fists hammered into my back, fierce and wild, her voice sharp like a blade. But to me, she was weightless—fury wrapped in silk. I carried her down the hallway as if she belonged to me—because she did.

The bedroom door slammed open.

I threw her onto the bed.

She bounced once, scrambling back on instinct, pushing herself toward the headboard. Her breath was quick, defiant. Her eyes burned with fire.

"Don't touch me," she snapped, voice trembling—not with fear, but rage.

I said nothing.

I stepped closer.

She slid to the edge of the mattress, trying to slip past me—but I caught her wrist mid-motion, twisting it with fluid precision until she was beneath me again.

One hand pinned her wrists above her head.

The other—free.

She gasped, hair fanning across my pillow, her chest rising and falling like a trapped bird's.

"You're insane," she hissed, struggling beneath me. No answer.

I began unbuttoning my shirt—slow, deliberate. My eyes locked on hers. Each second stretched, a silent threat.

"You don't get to touch me," she spat.

I leaned down, lips ghosting the soft curve of her jaw. Then lower. The column of her neck. Her skin burned beneath my mouth.

Her body tensed, rigid. But she was not silent. Not untouched.

"You're mine," I murmured against her throat. "Even when you fight me."

She trembled. Just a flicker. A breath.

I kissed the underside of her jaw, my voice brushing against her pulse.

"If I ever find you smiling like that for another man again," I whispered, "the punishment will be worse than this."

Her eyes flared.

"Is this a punishment?" she snapped, yanking at her arms, twisting to escape.

"It's a warning," I said, tightening my hold—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind.

"You think you can own me," she seethed.

"No," I said softly. "I do own you. I just haven't collected yet."

She kicked my leg—wild, breathless.

Her fight only made her more beautiful.

I released her wrists slowly—a test—and she shoved me back, scrambling to the other side of the bed.

Good. Let her run. Let her burn.

Because I am the fire she will always come back to.

She moved—not toward me, but away—bare feet hitting the polished wood with soft thuds. Before I could react, she was at the door, fumbling with the handle, breath ragged.

A tight smile curled my lips. Let her run.

The door burst open—she was gone, a shadow down the hallway. I didn't move. Didn't call out. No need. This isn't escape.

It's a retreat. I walked to the window. Streetlights cast stripes across the floor.

Below, a flash of red taillights disappeared into the night.

Her car. Speeding like hell was on her heels.

I watched until the night swallowed her. Then I turned to the mirror. My reflection stared back—unblinking.

A man, unbuttoned shirt, predator satisfied with the scent of his prey. A slow, possessive grin spread across my lips.

She can run.

But she can't hide. This isn't over. It's just beginning. The chase—that's the thrill. And what's mine…always, always…comes back.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Avni's POV:

The cold night air hit me like a blow—sharp, real—after the suffocating heat of that room, of him.

My bare feet slapped against the polished floor, each step a desperate drumbeat echoing the terror pounding in my chest.

Run. Run, Avni, run!

My lungs burned, air scraping raw in my throat.

I didn't care about the shoes I'd left behind, or the thin kurti clinging to me. Only distance mattered.

Freedom.

The front door—thank God—was unlocked.

I yanked it open and stumbled into the cool Himachal night.

The scent of pine and damp earth filled my lungs—clean, wild—cutting through the cloying, possessive scent of Abhimanyu still clinging to my skin.

My car—a beacon in the driveway—waited. My hands trembled so violently I nearly dropped the keys.

Get it together! The engine sputtered to life, a roar of hope in the silence. I slammed it into reverse, tires spitting gravel as I backed out. Not once did I look back at the grand, terrifying house shrinking in my rearview mirror.

Only when I was safely away. I started Breathing normally again. And a storm of other emotions took hold.

Rage.

Humiliation.

Betrayal.

"He's insane!" I gasped aloud, voice hoarse, unfamiliar. My hands gripped the wheel until my knuckles turned white.

You're mine. His words, whispered against my throat, echoed in my mind—making my skin crawl. The heat of his lips still burned there, a cruel brand I tried to scrub away.

Is this a punishment?

My voice had cracked with fury—not fear.

And he'd said,

It's a warning.

A warning—as if I were some errant pet, to be trained, broken, put back in place.

No, I do own you. I just haven't collected yet. My foot pressed harder on the accelerator. The speedometer climbed. The world blurred past. Own me?

The audacity.

The arrogance.

How dare he think he could take— Take my space. My defiance. My very self. A hot flush rose in me—not terror—but pure, unadulterated fury.

My jaw ached from clenching. He'd released my wrists slowly—a test—and I'd shoved him back.

Good.

I hoped it stung.

But beneath the rage, something else—a secret coil of shame in my gut. That tremor when his lips brushed my neck. That flicker when he pinned me down, hot and heavy.

No.

No, it was fear.

It had to be. A natural reaction. Not something else. He thinks he owns me .He thinks he can break me. He will learn. Avni Mehta is no one's possession.

And if this is his warning…

He hasn't even seen mine.