Chapter 1— Running away from him

The night felt wrong.

Too dark.

Too cold.

Too silent—yet the wind howled through the empty road like it carried something restless with it.

Dry leaves scraped against the ground. Branches creaked under the force of the wind. The sky stretched endlessly black, without a single star.

Like even the night didn’t want to witness what was about to happen.

And in the middle of it—

Zoya ran.

Her breath came out in sharp, uneven gasps, the icy air burning her lungs. Her steps faltered against the rough road, but she forced herself forward.

Faster.

She didn’t dare look back for more than a second.

Because she already knew.

If he was coming—

He wouldn’t stop.

The distant hum of an engine broke through the wind.

Her head snapped up.

A taxi.

Hope surged through her.

Without thinking, she rushed toward it, pulling the door open and collapsing inside.

“Drive,” she said breathlessly, gripping the seat. “Please… just drive.”

The driver hesitated for a second, startled by her state—but something in her voice made him obey.

The engine started.

The taxi moved.

Zoya leaned back, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her fingers trembling against the seat.

Maybe—

just maybe—

she had escaped.

Then—

Headlights.

Blinding.

A black car cut across the road, stopping right in front of the taxi with a sharp screech.

The driver slammed the brakes.

Zoya’s body lurched forward.

“No…”

The world outside went still.

Too still.

The driver’s door of the black car opened.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

A polished black shoe touched the ground first—clean, untouched by the dust swirling around.

Then he stepped out.

Tall. Composed. Effortlessly commanding.

The night seemed to settle around him, like it belonged there—like he belonged to it.

He closed the door quietly.

No rush. No anger. No chaos.

Just control.

The faint light caught his face as he lifted his gaze.

Sharp features. Defined. Striking.

But it wasn’t that which made Zoya’s chest tighten—

It was his eyes.

Dark. Steady. Unreadable.

They didn’t search.

They didn’t question.

They locked onto the taxi.

Onto her.

“Drive,” she whispered urgently. “Go!”

But the driver didn’t move.

Because the man outside had already started walking.

Step by step.

Unhurried.

Certain.

Like the distance between them didn’t matter—

because it would end anyway.

The taxi door was pulled open.

Cold air rushed in.

And then—

his hand wrapped around her wrist.

Firm.

Unyielding.

Zoya jerked back instantly, trying to pull free.

“Leave me!” she snapped, anger cutting through her fear. “I’m not coming with you!”

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t argue.

With one sharp pull, he brought her out of the taxi.

Her back met the sleek surface of his black car.

Before she could steady herself—

he stepped in close, one arm braced beside her, blocking her escape.

Not hurting.

But not allowing distance either.

Trapping her in place.

Zoya’s breath hitched, but she forced herself to glare at him.

For a moment, she saw him clearly.

Sharp jawline. Dark hair slightly disturbed by the wind. Eyes that didn’t just look—they held.

He was… dangerously striking.

But there was nothing warm about him.

Only something controlled.

Something inevitable.

“Done running?” he asked quietly.

That calmness made her angrier than anything else.

“I hate you,” she shot back, her voice trembling but fierce. “Just leave me alone!”

A faint shift in his expression.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

Her frustration snapped.

“I would rather die than marry you—” her voice rose, sharp, filled with anger,

“—Aarav Malhotra.”

Silence fell.

Heavy.

Something in him changed.

Subtle.

But real.

His grip on her wrist tightened slightly as he stepped even closer.

Too close.

Her back pressed harder against the car, the space between them gone.

Her breath caught.

Not from fear alone—

but from the intensity of him.

He leaned in.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

His face near hers—

then closer—

until his voice reached her ear as a whisper.

Low.

Controlled.

Unshakable.

“Then don’t die yet.”

A pause.

His presence didn’t move.

Didn’t ease.

“Stay alive long enough to regret saying that.”

Her breath stilled.

The words didn’t sound like anger.

They sounded certain.

Like something already decided.

He moved just slightly closer, his voice dropping even further—

“For the next sixty-six days…”

The wind howled again.

But she heard every word.

“…you don’t belong to yourself anymore.”

Silence followed.

Heavy. Suffocating.

And then—

even quieter—

“And the sooner you understand that…”

a pause.

“…the less it’s going to hurt.”

Zoya’s fingers curled into her palms.

Her anger burned—

but now something else wrapped around it.

Something colder.

Something unavoidable.

Before she could react, he straightened, pulling her toward the car.

“Let go of me!” she struggled, trying to resist. “You can’t force me—!”

“I already have.”

The door opened.

And in the next second—

he pushed her inside.

The door shut with a final sound.

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