> "Lust was never the real danger.

Obsession was.

And now, someone else had entered the game."

---

🕯️ After the Storm

Meher woke to the scent of him — spicy, smoky, dark.

Veer was gone from the bed, but the sheets were still warm. Her body pulsed with the memory of last night: the silk, the ropes, his mouth on her skin, his breath at her throat as she shattered in his arms.

She stretched.

Sore.

Marked.

Owned.

A soft smile touched her lips.

> Until she saw the envelope on the dresser.

---

✉️ The Letter

Cream-colored. No seal. No handwriting.

Her name was typed on the front.

Just one word inside.

> “He killed your father.”

Her stomach dropped.

Then she saw it — a photo, folded behind the letter.

A childhood picture of her — barely seven — in a yellow frock, holding her father’s hand.

The edges of the photo were stained red.

She stumbled back, the breath knocked out of her.

---

🔒 Veer Returns

He walked in five minutes later — jaw tight, shirt half-buttoned, holding two black coffees.

He saw the letter in her hand.

And stopped.

She looked at him.

No words.

Just questions.

“What is this, Veer?” she asked, voice trembling.

He set the cups down slowly.

Then moved to her.

Took the letter from her hands.

Ripped it in two.

> "Don’t read what you can’t understand.”

---

⚠️ Control Tightens

“You’re not answering me.”

“Because I don’t owe you answers yet.”

“I’m not some doll you tie up and fuck, Veer. I need truth.”

He stepped closer — dangerously close.

“I didn’t lie.”

“Did you kill someone?”

Silence.

> And then, his voice — dark, cold:

“Yes.”

---

🥀 Past and Present Collide

“I was 19,” he said. “It wasn’t planned. But he touched something that didn’t belong to him.”

“Who?”

Veer’s eyes glittered. “A man who thought desire gave him permission.”

Meher swallowed.

He didn’t say more.

But she understood.

“You protected someone?”

“I ended him.”

“And you never paid for it?”

“I am paying,” he growled. “Every day. With blood. With silence.”

---

🧊 Cold Rage

“I need to know who sent this,” she whispered, pointing to the ruined letter.

“I’ll find out.”

“And if they come for me?”

His jaw clenched.

He stepped behind her, wrapped an arm around her waist, lips brushing her neck.

> “If anyone touches you, Meher…

I will paint this city in blood.”

She trembled.

Not from fear.

But from the sheer, cold promise in his voice.

---

🔒 The Lockdown

He cancelled her appointments.

Confiscated her phone.

Assigned guards outside her room.

“You don’t step out of this house,” he said.

“What am I now? A prisoner?”

“You’re mine,” he whispered.

“And I protect what’s mine.”

---

🕯️ The Forbidden Room

That night, she wandered down the hallway. Past the bedroom. Past the red-velvet chamber.

To a locked door.

The only door Veer had told her never to open.

But tonight, it was unlocked.

Inside — old files.

Photos.

Newspapers.

> And in one of them —

An article with a he

adline she’ll never forget:

"Delhi Architect Dies After Mysterious Fall — Suspected Affair with Minor’s Mother."

Veer was in the photo.

A teenager.

Eyes wild.

Blood on his shirt.