His lavender forever

"You’re mine, Sanaya."

The words were a whisper against her neck, burning into her skin like a brand. His hands gripped her waist, firm but reverent, as if even the mere thought of letting her go would destroy him.



Sanaya’s breath hitched as she looked up into his dark, stormy eyes—eyes that always held back more than they revealed. They were too close. Her heart was thundering. And yet, not close enough.



“You don’t get to say that,” she whispered back, her voice shaky but defiant. “Not when I was never supposed to be yours.”



Abhimaan didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned in, pressing her back against the cool wall of their bedroom—the only place in the entire mansion where they didn’t pretend. Where the cold war between husband and wife melted into heat, touch, and unspoken truths.



“But you are mine,” he said, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Even if the world doesn't know it. Even if you keep running from it.”



His mouth descended on hers before she could speak again, stealing the rest of her argument. It was not gentle. It was raw, claiming, aching. A kiss that demanded everything and gave even more. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, gripping the fabric as if it was the only thing anchoring her.



He kissed her like she was his only salvation.

Like she was the beginning and the end of every storm inside him.