The evening air was cool, but inside the master suite, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Divyash adjusted his cuffs, the silk of his black tuxedo catching the light. It was the same suit he’d worn to his sister’s wedding, a garment that felt like a second skin yet carried the weight of a formal transformation. He had spent the last hour grooming in his brother’s room, a silent gesture of chivalry to grant Avni the sanctuary of their shared space to prepare.
When he finally stepped across the threshold of their bedroom, the world seemed to narrow until it was only her.
She stood with her back to him, a silhouette of grace against the vanity mirror. The black saree she wore was a masterpiece of shadow and light, clinging to her curves with an elegance that made his heart stutter. As she sensed his presence, she turned.
Divyash’s Perspective
The moment her eyes met mine, I felt the air leave the room. She was more than beautiful; she was divine. The way her hair cascaded over her shoulders looked like a silken trap I’d gladly fall into. My blood ran hot, a sudden, fierce rush of heat that made me look away for a split second, trying to reclaim my composure. God, help me, I thought. How am I supposed to survive an entire night of this?
"Divyash? Are you even listening to me?"
Her voice, tinged with a sharp edge of frustration, snapped me back to reality. I realized then that she’d been speaking for a while.
"I’m sorry," I said, my voice dropping an octave as I tried to soothe her. "I got lost in thought. Give me your full focus now—what did I miss?"
"I can’t reach the knot on my blouse," she sighed, her frustration softening into a plea. "I’ve been struggling with this dori for fifteen minutes and I’m about to give up."
She turned her back to me, sweeping her hair over one shoulder to clear the way. The sight of her bare skin was a physical blow. My breath hitched. I moved toward her, my fingers trembling slightly as I reached for the delicate silk ties. Every instinct told me to pull her closer, to trace the line of her spine, but I forced myself to be the gentleman she needed.
As I worked the knot, my knuckles brushed against the small of her back. I felt her shiver, a reaction that mirrored the fire building in my own chest. I caught sight of a tiny mole nestled between her neck and shoulder—a small, perfect detail that felt like a secret meant only for me. I finished the knot and gently draped her hair back over her shoulders, my breath ghosting against her skin.
"We should leave," I managed to say, my voice strained. "Before I change my mind about going at all."
Avni’s Perspective
The drive to the venue was a blur. My mind was still trapped in that bedroom, pinned under the weight of his gaze. I could still feel the phantom heat of his breath against my ear and the electric spark where his skin had met mine. He looked devastating in that tuxedo—the broad set of his shoulders, the tailored lines that made him look like a man who knew exactly what he wanted.
I stole a glance at him. He was composed, focused on the road, yet I could see the tension in his jaw. Why was he holding back? I didn't want a "controlled" husband tonight. I wanted the man who looked like he was ready to devour me. By the time we pulled into the valet, the party was the last place I wanted to be.
The Gala
The venue was a sea of glittering lights and high-society chatter. Divyash was uncharacteristically quiet, his steps measured. I knew these circles were foreign to him—a far cry from the world of engineering and logic he inhabited—but as he interlocked his arm with mine, his presence was more commanding than any CEO in the room.
"Good evening, Miss Sinha," a voice interrupted. It was Mr. Sehgal, a man whose smile never quite reached his eyes. "It’s been far too long."
"Good evening, Mr. Sehgal," I replied, my professional mask sliding into place. "Allow me to introduce my husband, Divyash Singh."
The introduction was met with a patronizing tilt of the head. "Ah, the lucky man who tamed the almighty Avni Sinha. Good to meet you."
Divyash shook his hand, his grip firm and his expression unreadable. I made our excuses as quickly as possible, guiding us toward the hosts.
"You don't like him, do you?" Divyash murmured once we were out of earshot.
I laughed softly. "That obvious?"
"Only to me," he said.
The night continued in a cycle of polite nods and repetitive small talk. We greeted the Malhotras, where Divyash handled questions about his family of lawyers with a dry wit that made me proud. "I’ve always been more fond of codes than courts," he’d joked, deftly steering the conversation away from his father’s legacy.
But the peace didn't last. Rajveer, a man I was currently negotiating a deal with, approached us with a gaze that lingered too long on the bare skin of my waist.
"Avni, I didn't think you'd make it," Rajveer said, ignoring Divyash entirely.
I felt Divyash’s demeanor shift instantly. A protective, possessive energy radiated off him. He didn't wait for an introduction. He stepped closer, sliding his hand firmly onto my waist, his palm warm against my skin.
"Her husband," Divyash intervened, his voice like velvet over steel. "And we were just about to head to the dance floor."
Rajveer’s eyes dropped to Divyash’s hand, his smug expression faltering. "I didn't realize you were married."
"We prefer to keep our private life... private," Divyash replied, pulling me flush against him.
As Rajveer retreated, I looked up at Divyash, my heart racing. "A dance? I thought you said you didn't know how."
"I don't," he admitted, his thumb tracing a slow circle against my side. "But I wasn't going to let him keep looking at you like that."
The Departure
We left the party earlier than planned, the hunger for dinner replaced by a different kind of urgency. However, as we reached the parking lot, a familiar figure caught Divyash’s eye.
His brother, Vivek, was standing near the shadows of the far pylon, deep in conversation with a woman I didn’t recognize. Vivek looked flustered, his usual legal composure shattered.
"Bhai? I thought you weren't coming," Divyash called out.
Vivek jumped, looking like a man caught in a crossfire. "I... I got caught up with some paperwork," he stammered. "You two should head home. Don't wait up for me."
Divyash’s eyes traveled to the woman. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"
"This is Kajal Mehra, my intern," Vivek said quickly. "She was just... dropping off my phone. I left it at the office."
Kajal offered a polite, hurried greeting before vanishing toward her scooter. The air between them had been thick with something that wasn't "paperwork."
I didn't give Divyash a chance to interrogate his brother further. I saw the look in Vivek's eyes—a mirror of the one Divyash had been wearing all night. I reached for Divyash’s hand and pulled him toward our car.
"Let him be, Divyash," I whispered. "I think he has everything under control."
As we pulled away, the lights of the gala faded into the rearview mirror, leaving only the quiet, electric dark of the car and the long drive home.
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