They say you remember the first time you were touched by someone who would ruin you.
But me?
I remember the first time he looked at me.
And in that single glance, something inside me shifted—like the world tipped a little on its axis.
I should've looked away.
I should've been terrified.
But I wasn't.
Because fear was never the problem with Aaryan Veer Rajwansha.
He was.
Not a man.
Not merely a presence.
But something older.
Hungrier.
Like desire forged into flesh.
A storm that knew my name before I ever spoke it aloud.
୨ৎ
[Past timeline]
6 years ago,
The gala was noise and excess and perfume-soaked lies.
Velvet curtains, endless champagne, glittering jewelry clinking against fragile egos.
Everyone wore masks, even without the costume.
My friends stood near the champagne fountain, laughing about something shallow, trying to impress men who couldn't remember their names by morning.
I wore red—not the kind that begged for attention, but the kind that whispered it was already mine.
Red like blood in candlelight.
Red like danger you let kiss your neck.
My back was bare, my heels too high, my smile sharp.
And then—I felt it.
That look.
The kind that slides down your spine like cold metal and settles deep in your stomach.
The kind that makes your heartbeat stumble, because somehow you already know this isn't a beginning.
It's a warning.
I turned slowly.
And then I saw him.
He didn't move.
He didn't flinch.
He just stood at the edge of the ballroom like a shadow dressed in black silk.
Eyes the color of storm clouds at dusk.
Hair dark, swept back with a ruthlessness that didn't belong to this century.
He was beautiful—but not in the delicate way women use that word.
He was beautiful like war.
Like nightfall over a battlefield.
He wasn't just watching me.
He was studying me.
As if I'd already done something unspeakable to him.
He watched me.
Not like prey.
Not like a man assessing a conquest.
No.
He watched like I was the only real thing in a room full of smoke and mirrors.
And something inside me... tilted.
My friends kept talking, unaware.
But my world had already begun to collapse.
୨ৎ
A waiter appeared at my side.
"From the gentleman across the hall."
In his tray: a single rose.
Blood-red.
Thornless.
It looked fresh, like it had been cut a minute ago.
Tucked inside the petals was a card.
Dance with me.
Or destroy me.
My lips parted.
Who was he?
Arrogant? Clearly.
Delusional? Maybe.
But the handwriting was elegant, sharp.
The kind of script that came from a man who never second-guessed himself.
The kind who gave ultimatums, not options.
I laughed under my breath.
A soft, dangerous sound.
Absurd.
Arrogant.
But oh, so interesting.
My friends didn't notice.
They were too busy playing at games I'd never had the patience for.
But I?
I was unraveling a challenge written in ten words and a stare that hadn't left me.
I plucked the rose and tucked it into my clutch, fingers brushing over the paper like it might burn me.
Then I turned.
And crossed the ballroom.
Each step deliberate.
Each heel-click an answer.
Let's see what kind of man demands destruction at a gala.
୨ৎ
He stood there like he owned time.
Not the room.
Not the people.
Time.
I stopped in front of him, one brow lifted.
"You always send roses to strangers?"
His lips curved.
Not into a smile—but into something older.
Sharper.
"Only to the woman who could ruin me."
"Ruin you?" I echoed, amused.
His eyes dropped to my mouth. "You already are."
My breath hitched—just a fraction.
He caught it.
"I don't ruin men," I said, sipping my champagne.
"They ruin themselves trying to own me."
"I don't want to own you." His voice dropped. Darker.
"I want to belong to you."
Something inside me clenched.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't sweet.
It was violent.
Like being claimed by a prayer you didn't know you'd whispered into the dark.
Silence stretched between us.
The music faded.
The world narrowed.
His words—blasphemous.
Intoxicating.
Impossible.
I was not a woman easily startled.
But his devotion didn't feel like a compliment.
It felt like a prophecy.
He extended a hand.
His fingers were strong.
His cufflinks were obsidian.
I didn't take it.
Not yet.
Instead, I turned.
And walked away.
But not before brushing my fingers—accidentally—against his.
That touch should've meant nothing.
But it did.
Like fire licking across silk.
Like ink spilling across white sheets.
My fingers burned long after I walked away.
Heat rising up my arm, curling under my skin. I was furious with myself—for noticing.
For reacting.
For feeling something real in a room so false.
But he didn't follow.
He didn't call out.
He simply watched.
Watched me like I was his prophecy.
Like he'd already decided what chapters we'd burn through together.
And when I glanced back—just once—he smiled.
Not the smile of a man who had just lost.
But of one who had already claimed me.
And that night, I couldn't sleep.
I kept touching my fingertips.
Wondering why a stranger's skin had branded mine.
I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his eyes even across cities.
And I knew.
Even then—I knew.
Aaryan Veer Rajwansha wouldn't come for me like a suitor.
He'd come for me like fate.
He would be the death of me.
And I'd go to him gladly.
୨ৎ
[Present]
Love isn't soft with him.
It never was.
It doesn't wrap me in warmth or whisper lullabies in the dark.
With Aaryan, love feels like being pulled underwater by something I willingly let drown me.
And I still open my arms every time he reaches for me.
Tonight, he sleeps beside me.
One arm curled around my waist, breath slow and even, chest rising against my shoulder blade.
But I lie wide awake—eyes open, staring at the ceiling as though it holds the answers I never asked for.
He doesn't know I'm awake.
Or maybe he does.
With him, I'm never sure.
He knows me too well.
Better than I know myself.
He always did.
I turn carefully, just enough to see his face.
Even in sleep, he looks like power sculpted into human form.
That infuriating jaw, shadowed by stubble.
Those lashes, too thick for a man who's broken people for breathing wrong.
His hand is still splayed over my stomach, as if reminding the world I belong to him—even in dreams.
And maybe I do.
God help me, maybe I always did.
I used to tell myself I hated him.
That I hated the control, the possessiveness, the silence between his rage and regret.
I screamed it in my head like a mantra on nights I couldn't look at myself in the mirror because my heart always beat his name.
But the truth?
I never hated Aaryan.
I hated how much I loved him.
How even when he broke me, he was still the only one I wanted to bleed for.
How even when I left, I kept waiting for him to follow.
When he didn't, the silence broke me more than his words ever could.
And when he did—when he came back—I let him in.
Again.
Because he's not just the storm.
He's the gravity holding my chaos in orbit.
He's the madness I made peace with.
I brush a finger along the back of his hand.
Just one gentle stroke.
And his lashes flick open.
Eyes like nightfall find mine, sleepy but alert in seconds.
He doesn't speak.
Doesn't ask.
Just stares at me like he already knows what I'm thinking.
Because he does.
He always does.
"I couldn't sleep," I whisper.
"Because of me?" His voice is low, hoarse from sleep.
"No," I reply.
"Because of how much I love you."
His hand tightens slightly.
His thumb brushes over my ribs.
"That scares me."
"Me too."
Silence.
And then—he pulls me to him, pressing his forehead against mine.
"We're a curse," I murmur.
"No," he breathes.
"We're a myth. People write tragedies about us and call them epics."
I close my eyes.
Let myself fall into his chest, into his scent, into everything that ever undid me.
Because at the end of every version of my story—
I still choose him.
And he... still stays.
Six years.
Six years of him.
Of us.
Of being loved so hard, I forgot who I was before his name became a pulse in my throat.
Sometimes I wonder how we survived it all—because it wasn't always gentle.
It wasn't built on candlelit dates or shared playlists.
No.
It was built on devotion that bordered on destruction.
Aaryan Veer Rajwansha didn't fall in love with me.
He claimed me.
He saw me, wanted me, and decided I belonged to him.
There was no request.
No hesitation.
Just a force of nature that swallowed me whole.
From the moment I walked into his life, he moved heaven and hell to keep me in it.
My schedule changed.
My routines twisted.
My shadows found light—but not before they found fire.
Because he wasn't the kind of man who just held your hand.
He took it, kissed it, and then used it to mark his existence into your life so violently you forgot how to breathe without it.
He would wait outside every one of my meetings just to walk me to the car.
He installed a tracking app on my phone—not because he didn't trust me,
but because he needed to know I was safe.
Always.
He sent me food when I forgot to eat, and flowers when I pretended not to miss him.
He had his men tail anyone who so much as looked at me wrong.
And he did it with a terrifying calm—never apologizing for it, never trying to be less than the storm he was.
He loved in absolutes.
And when I tried to leave—when I told him I needed space, that I couldn't breathe—he let me walk.
But I think that's what hurt most.
Not that he stopped me.
But that he waited.
Waited in silence.
Waited without begging.
Waited with eyes that said,
You'll come back, because I'm the only place you've ever belonged.
And I did.
I always did.
Because no matter how far I ran, my soul still wore his fingerprints.
Every kiss I tried to forget felt like betrayal.
Every touch from another man felt wrong.
Dull.
Forgettable.
Because no one touches like Aaryan.
No one looks like him—looks through you—like he's memorizing your wounds so he can tear the world apart for causing them.
He learned my body like scripture.
Learned my moods before I did.
He'd pull me into his lap when I was about to cry but didn't want to admit it. He'd rub circles into my thigh with his thumb when I was anxious.
He knew how I took my coffee, how I hated thunderstorms, how I flinched at the smell of certain colognes.
He remembered the dress I wore the first night we met.
Still has it locked away in a drawer in his closet.
"So I never forget what it felt like to need you before I even knew you." That's what he said.
I broke his heart more times than I can count.
But he only ever broke the world for me.
And yes, we fought.
God, we fought.
We screamed, we shattered things, we said cruel things in the heat of anger—but never once did he leave.
Never once did he stop loving me with the same fire that set us both on fire.
He's possessive in a way that used to scare me.
Now?
It anchors me.
Because I know it comes from the same place where he stores his grief, his rage, his endless hunger for control.
He's never hurt me.
But he's hurt people for me.
And I'd be lying if I said it didn't make something wicked in me ache.
Because I'm no saint either.
I want to be his only obsession.
I need to know no one else makes him lose sleep.
No one else knows how he kisses when he's desperate.
No one else gets the man behind the empire.
That version?
Is mine.
I am his.
And he's mine.
Simple yet complicated.
Completely.
Desperately.
Eternally.
Even when it hurts.
Even when we fall apart.
Because no matter how far I run, he's always there in the shadows, waiting.
And I keep choosing him.
Again and again.
Not because he's safe.
But because he's home.
My home.
୨ৎ
[Past timeline]
I walked into a private event I wasn't invited to.
And I did it in red.
Again.
You know why?
Because men like Aaryan Veer Rajwansha aren't moved by charm.
They're moved by disruption.
He was standing by the bar, white shirt, steel-cut jaw, face carved out of patience and wrath.
A hurricane disguised in a tailored suit.
Everyone was trying to impress him.
I just wanted to unsettle him.
So I walked in, made sure his eyes met mine—and then I spilled.
A full-bodied red wine down the front of his pristine shirt.
The room went silent.
A woman gasped.
Someone laughed nervously.
But he?
He just looked down... then at me.
That stare?
It didn't ask why.
It promised consequences.
"I should ruin you," he said.
Voice like thunder.
Quiet, but it shook something inside me.
I smiled.
Tilted my head, leaned closer—until my breath hit his neck.
"Then ruin me right."
His jaw flexed.
His fingers curled.
But he didn't touch me.
He just stood there, clothes ruined, soul rattled—and I walked away before he could recover.
But I forgot that,
Men like Aaryan?
They don't forget.
And I didn't let him.
.........
A month later,
Library gala.
Velvet gowns, marble floors, and a thousand masks.
I knew he'd be there.
He always showed up where the silence was sharpest.
I was in silver this time.
Hair up.
Ankles bare.
Holding a first edition like it was my lover.
He found me in the poetry section.
Of course he did.
"Do you even know how to smile?" I asked, still not looking at him.
He was behind me.
His presence didn't need an introduction.
It pressed against my back like gravity.
"You'd look better begging," he replied.
Not crude.
Not cocky.
Just... truthful.
Like he'd already seen it.
Tasted it.
I turned to him, met those storm-colored eyes, and whispered—
"Then make me."
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
But the heat between us?
Unholy.
The game had started.
But neither of us were playing anymore.
We were circling something inevitable.
...........
2yrs later,
It was raining that night.
Of course it was.
The rooftop was empty.
I was barefoot, soaked to the skin, laughing like I'd stolen lightning.
And maybe I had.
Because he was watching.
Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, shirt damp, jaw clenched.
Like watching me unraveled something he didn't know how to control.
"Aaryan Veer Rajwansha," I called out over the thunder, "do you ever feel anything?"
He didn't answer.
So I crossed the rooftop.
Stopped inches from him.
Rain between us.
Breath caught.
His eyes locked to my lips.
I reached up.
Fingers brushing his neck.
"Kiss me like you'll destroy me."
He did.
Apocalypse.
And for the first time... he wasn't cold.
He was chaos.
Mouth brutal.
Hands gripping like possession wasn't enough.
He kissed like a man who knew he'd regret it—and still didn't stop.
He trembled when I touched his chest.
Not from fear.
From me.
And that's when I knew.
The man the world feared-
Would come undone in my hands.
୨ৎ
[Present]
Now, I sit cross-legged on my bed.
Journal in hand.
Pages soft, worn, ink smudged in places I didn't have the strength to wipe.
There's one entry I've never re-read.
Until now.
"I didn't mean to ruin a man like that. But the second he looked at me... I knew."
I close the book, fingers trembling slightly.
Across the room, a photo of us from a gala — one the world thought he controlled.
But I knew better.
He may have built empires.
But I was the fault line beneath them.
"He's my greatest masterpiece.
And my favorite disaster."
I whisper the words aloud, just to taste them.
Because loving Aaryan Veer Rajwansha was never safe.
It was sacred.
And terrifying.
And infinite.
And I would do it all again.
Every mistake.
Every war.
Every kiss.
Ruin me right, Aaryan.
Because I was always meant to burn.
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