AUTHOR'S NOTE: 2395
Hello, dear readers! ✨
Thank you for your patience and unwavering support. I know there's been a delay in getting this chapter out, and I truly appreciate your understanding. This chapter is especially close to my heart—a slow-burn, intimate moment inspired by Ana Huang's evocative style. In it, Anaya and Rudra navigate a rare, vulnerable encounter that challenges their defenses and draws them closer than ever before. I hope the raw emotions and subtle tension resonate with you as much as they did with me while writing it.
Your feedback, thoughts, and support mean the world to me. Please let me know what you think about this chapter and share your favorite moments!
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Thank you for being a part of this journey. Your love and encouragement inspire me to continue pouring my heart into every page.
With all my love,
Penola.S
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The top floor of the Singhaniya Mansion was Rudra's domain. His kingdom.
It housed his office, his bedroom, and everything he needed—everything that kept people out. It was a place where no one dared to intrude.
No one except her.
Rudra pushed the door open with a lazy shove, his movements slow and slightly unsteady. The whiskey burned in his veins, making his usually sharp senses duller, but not enough to erase the weight in his chest. He wasn't drunk—at least not the kind that made him lose control—but he wasn't fully sober either.
The dim glow of the city skyline filtered in through the open balcony doors, casting long shadows across the room. The air was crisp with the cool night breeze, brushing against his heated skin as he moved.
He walked toward his bed, fingers lazily working open the buttons of his coat. It slipped from his shoulders in a smooth motion, landing on the floor with a soft thud.
Next came his tie—loosened with one rough tug before he pulled it off and let it join the discarded coat.
Then his shirt.
He unfastened each button, his fingers moving slower than usual, the alcohol making his limbs heavy. As the fabric slid off his body, the moonlight kissed his bare skin, highlighting the lean muscles and the deep scars that marked his past.
He barely made it to his bed before collapsing face-first onto the mattress, the tension in his body melting into the softness beneath him.
His bare back, golden under the silver light, rose and fell with each deep, steady breath. Sleep came for him fast, pulling him under.
But he wasn't alone.
Across the room, two wide eyes stared at him, unblinking.
Anaya.
She sat at his office desk, her laptop still open, a half-finished report glowing on the screen. She had been working—focused, determined—until the door opened and she saw him.
Her husband.
Her almost twenty-eight-year-old husband.
Her cold, distant, untouchable husband.
She had heard the door creak, had instinctively switched off the main lights to avoid disturbing him, but now she was the one who couldn't look away.
Rudra never removed his shirt in front of her. Never let his guard down. Never looked this… human.
She swallowed hard.
Oh God.
Her gaze traced the broad expanse of his back, the dips and curves of muscle, the way the moonlight carved out every sharp line like a masterpiece painted in shadows and silver.
She had never seen him like this before.
So unguarded. So raw.
He drank again. She sighed internally, shaking her head. I'm sure with his friends and Aarav. Why do men always drink?
Her lips pressed together as her gaze drifted back to him. But he has a good body.
The thought came unbidden, and her cheeks heated instantly.
Anaya shook her head, scolding herself. This is not the time to admire your husband's body, Anaya.
And yet… she didn't move.
She should. She should go back to her work, pretend she hadn't just seen what she had.
But something about the sight of him lying there, completely vulnerable, made something tighten in her chest.
Then she noticed something else.
His shoes.
He hadn't taken them off.
Her brows furrowed as she sighed softly. He must be uncomfortable, but he was too far gone to care.
After a long battle between her heart and mind, she let out a breath, closed her laptop, and placed the files aside.
She got up, hesitant but determined, and slowly walked toward the bed.
Every step felt heavy, like she was crossing some invisible line she wasn't meant to.
She crouched beside him, careful not to make a sound, and reached for his shoes.
As soon as her fingers touched his ankle, Rudra stirred.
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Anaya took slow, careful steps toward him, her heart drumming a little too fast for her liking.
She had only meant to help—to remove his shoes so he could sleep more comfortably—but the moment her fingers brushed against his ankle, Rudra moved.
Before she could react, before she could even process, he grabbed her wrist.
Firm. Warm. Unyielding.
She sucked in a breath, startled.
His grip wasn't rough, but it was enough to make her body freeze. Enough to make her aware of the way his fingers brushed against hers, the way his skin burned against hers.
He didn't even look fully awake, his movements slow and languid, yet he caught her like he had been expecting her.
Does he have a third eye in the back of his head? She wondered, irritated at how fast he had noticed her.
Rudra blinked at her, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, his voice raspier than usual when he spoke.
"What are you doing, Anaya?"
Her lips parted, her throat suddenly dry. Why does he have to sound like that?
"I—" she swallowed, keeping her tone steady. "You didn't remove your shoes, so I was just helping—"
She didn't get to finish.
Rudra's hold didn't loosen. Instead, he exhaled a slow breath and pulled her down to sit on the bed beside him.
His fingers still lingered against hers, his warmth seeping into her skin like an unspoken whisper.
"You're in this room… since when?" he asked, his dark gaze studying her.
Anaya stiffened.
She was in his room—their room—but she had spent most of the night working at his desk, silently blending into the darkness. He hadn't even noticed until now.
"I—" she started, then quickly looked away.
His shirtless state was very distracting.
She hated when he drank. Hated the bitter scent of whiskey clinging to his skin. But despite that… she found herself not looking away.
Because tonight was different.
Tonight, he looked tired, not just physically but something deeper. Something she couldn't place.
Rudra's gaze didn't waver from hers. "Are you working? At this hour?"
Anaya inhaled sharply, regaining her composure. "Remove your shoes first, then sleep," she instructed, her voice firmer, sharper, leaving no room for argument.
He let out a low chuckle, the kind that wasn't entirely amused.
"You hate it when I drink, don't you?"
She exhaled, pressing her lips into a thin line. "Just sleep, Rudra."
He didn't push further. Instead, he finally let go of her hand, leaned down, and pulled off his shoes.
Then he lay back on the bed, one arm resting over his forehead, his chest rising and falling steadily.
Seconds passed before his eyes flickered toward her again.
"You're not going to sleep?"
"I will," she replied, "after you."
His brows tugged together slightly. "Change into something comfortable first," she added.
Rudra glanced down at himself, noticing the state of his clothing. His dress pants weren't exactly ideal for sleeping, but he shrugged.
"I'm fine."
Anaya sighed, rolling her eyes. "At least change your lower ones. It's not comfortable."
She didn't wait for his response.
She turned away, heading toward the nightstand to get him water. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw him moving toward the closet.
She didn't mean to notice.
But she did.
The way his muscles flexed with each step, the way his broad shoulders tensed slightly before relaxing.
She quickly turned her gaze to the bottle of water in her hand, not allowing her thoughts to go anywhere unnecessary.
When Rudra returned, he had changed into his night pants, but his shirt remained absent.
Of course.
Anaya bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to react as she turned to face him.
She held out the water and a small tablet. "Take this."
Rudra's fingers brushed against hers as he accepted the glass, drinking it in one smooth motion.
She turned to leave, relieved that this night was finally over.
But just as she took a step, his voice stopped her.
"Can I have a head massage?"
Her breath hitched.
Slowly, she turned back to face him.
Rudra was lying on the bed, his dark eyes hooded, his tone lower than before.
He was asking. Not ordering. Not demanding. Just… asking.
Anaya hesitated, but then she nodded.
"…Yeah. Sure."
And as she took a step toward the bed, she ignored the way her pulse quickened.
Because for the first time in a long time, Rudra was letting her in.
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Anaya let out a small breath, steadying herself as she walked toward the bed.
She had given him a massage before—once, maybe twice—but something about tonight felt different.
Maybe it was the way the room was dimly lit, the glow of the moon casting silver shadows over his bare back. Maybe it was the way his voice was lower, rougher, pulling her in despite the scent of alcohol lingering in the air.
Or maybe it was the fact that this was the first time he had asked for something so simple, so human, without his usual cold distance.
She reached the side drawer and pulled out a small bottle of massage oil, pouring a few drops into her palm and rubbing them together to warm the liquid.
"Lay down," she instructed softly.
Rudra hummed in acknowledgment but didn't move immediately. Instead, he patted the empty space beside him on the bed.
"Sit here."
Anaya hesitated.
She had planned to sit on the edge of the mattress, just close enough to reach his head, but the way he tapped the space next to him—like it was an unspoken request—made her pause.
After a beat, she exhaled and sat properly on the bed, adjusting her position so she could reach him more comfortably.
Rudra leaned back, his head resting against the pillow, his dark hair tousled and slightly damp from the night air.
"You can start," he murmured, his voice quieter now.
His back was facing her, broad and bare, the play of moonlight against his skin making her stomach twist in an unfamiliar way. She forced herself to focus, shifting her attention to his hair as she slowly began to massage his scalp.
Her fingers worked through his strands gently, moving in slow, rhythmic motions.
Minutes passed in silence, only the sound of their breathing filling the space between them.
Then, without warning, Rudra shifted.
Anaya stilled, her hands freezing mid-motion as he turned—his face now tilted toward her, his expression unreadable.
Before she could react, before she could even register what was happening, he moved again.
Without wasting a second, he placed his head on her lap.
And then his arms—his strong, warm arms—wrapped around her waist, holding her there like she was something precious.
Anaya's entire body stiffened.
Her breath caught in her throat, her hands hovering awkwardly above his head as she tried to process what the hell just happened.
He was hugging her.
Not just loosely, not just casually—but fully, like he needed to ground himself.
Like she was his anchor.
Her heart pounded, each beat ringing in her ears as she sat frozen, unsure of what to do, what to say.
She told herself it was because he was drunk. That he probably wouldn't even remember this in the morning.
That he was just seeking warmth.
So she let him.
She let him hold her the way he wanted, let him rest against her like this wasn't new, like this wasn't setting her entire world off balance.
His grip on her waist tightened slightly, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her nightwear.
She swallowed, finally finding her voice.
"…Rudra?"
A low hum vibrated against her thighs.
"Hmm?"
Her lips parted, but she hesitated before speaking.
She wanted to ask him so many things.
Why he always kept his distance. Why he only allowed moments like this when he was drunk. Why he looked at her sometimes like he was fighting himself.
But instead, she asked, "Why do you drink?"
His grip around her waist tensed slightly before loosening again.
A slow exhale.
Then, a quiet, almost lazy response.
"Because my friends and I were celebrating."
He didn't elaborate, didn't give her anything more.
Anaya frowned, shifting slightly.
She glanced down at him, only to find his dark eyes already on her.
The room was dim, but even in the low light, she could see something vulnerable flicker in his gaze.
Something… unguarded.
He never looked at her like this.
Not when he was sober.
She wet her lips, her fingers instinctively moving through his hair again, softer this time.
Rudra watched her in silence before murmuring, "I'm sorry."
The words were so quiet, she almost didn't hear them.
She blinked. "For what?"
He exhaled, closing his eyes briefly before speaking again.
"For drinking sometimes… when I'm with my friends."
It wasn't much of an apology, but coming from him, it was something.
She shook her head, sighing. "I won't open the door if you ever drink past your limit."
She meant it as a warning, a boundary, but her voice came out softer than intended.
Rudra's lips curled slightly, the ghost of a smile playing on his face as he studied her.
"You won't?" he mused, his tone laced with something unreadable.
Anaya narrowed her eyes. "No."
He hummed again, his grip on her waist not loosening.
She didn't know what was more dangerous—the way he was looking at her or the way she was letting him hold her like this.
Because for the first time in a long time…
She wasn't sure if she wanted to push him away.