Prologue (18+)

Surbhi's POV

"Yeah, Fuck me! Fuck me like that" 

 His body pressed against mine with urgent need, the heat of his erection searing through fabric as he ground into me. My legs instinctively wrapped around him, pulling him closer as if our bodies were magnets drawn to each other's poles.

"Fuck yeah," he growled low in my ear, his breath hot against my neck. "Just like that." His hips rolled in slow circles, teasing at first but growing more insistent with each passing second. 

The friction built-skin slapping against skin in rhythmic slaps that echoed off the walls. My shirt rode up under his hands, bunched at my ribcage but not discarded yet; neither of us bothered with such trivialities when urgency took over.

I arched beneath him, nails digging into his back as pleasure coiled tight in my belly. "Harder," I gasped between ragged breaths, voice barely above a whisper but carrying all the desperation I felt. He obliged without hesitation-his thrusts deepening until every inch of me felt claimed by him alone.

Time lost all meaning as we chased our shared release. A meeting loomed on the horizon-a deadline we'd both forgotten in our haste-but none of that mattered now. Only this: the slick slide of flesh on flesh, the way my orgasm built like thunder before finally crashing over me in waves so intense they stole my breath away.

His mouth swallowed my cries as it hit-teeth grazing my lower lip while his own climax shuddered through him moments later. I could feel him pulsing inside me even as my head fell back against the pillows, limbs trembling from exertion and oversensitivity alike.

For long seconds after we just lay there-panting together like two animals sated from their hunt yet already craving another fix someday soon down this same twisted path where morning became night again.

Simply because neither wanted reality intruding upon perfection found here within tangled sheets. 

His hand slid up under the crumpled fabric of my shirt, calloused fingers tracing the curve of my breast before capturing a nipple between them. 

A low moan escaped me as he rolled it gently, his face buried in the crook of my neck where his breath was hot against sensitive skin. "Mind another round, baby?" he whispered, voice rough with lingering desire.

I could feel him still inside me-thick and heavy, his cum slick between us as he shifted slightly. My blush deepened at the intimate sensation even as pleasure flickered back to life despite myself. "We have a meeting, Dev," I protested weakly, hips arching involuntarily when he began moving again in slow, deliberate strokes designed to reignite every flame.

"Fuck the meeting," he growled against my throat before nipping at the tendon there. His hands made quick work of the buttons on my shirt now-tugging it open to bare me completely to his hungry gaze. The cool air hit my nipples just before his mouth did; a sharp gasp tore from me as he drew one into his mouth, sucking hard enough to leave marks while one hand kneaded its twin.

My own fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt now-yanking it apart impatiently so I could rake nails down his chest. He groaned into my flesh when I found a particularly sensitive spot but didn't stop thrusting-each push grinding deeper than the last until I was seeing stars behind closed eyelids.

"The meeting can wait," he muttered thickly between kisses along my collarbone. "First let me fuck you how you deserve." His pace quickened then slowed again teasingly-he knew exactly what drove me wild and wasn't afraid to use that knowledge ruthlessly.

The clock ticked away silently outside our little bubble of lust and denial but we both knew already: 9 AM would come and go without us ever stepping foot in that conference room today.

And judging by the way Dev's grip tightened on my hips while driving into me harder yet? Neither of us cared about anything except this moment right here where nothing else mattered but chasing another shared release together no matter how late we'd be afterward...

The night air was heavy, matching the exhaustion settling deep into my bones. The entire day had been an absolute whirlwind restless, demanding, and draining from the moment the sun came up. 

My morning had started in a blur of shared heat and tangled sheets with Dev, a fleeting moment of quiet intimacy before the chaotic demands of our respective empires pulled us apart.

Now, I was sitting behind the wheel of my car, the city lights passing by outside the window like blurred streaks of gold.

My father had called earlier, requesting my presence at the mansion. A text from him always carried a specific kind of weight. 

Fathers are strange, contradictory creatures. To them, their daughters are always a paradox simultaneously mature enough that society expects them to be married off into a good lineage, yet somehow always deemed too young, too naive, or too reckless to choose the right partner. That was always the unspoken subtext behind my father's heavy stares. He looked at me and saw someone who needed protection from her own choices.

I didn't live under their roof anymore. I had carved out my own space, living independently in my own apartment. In reality, it was a space I practically shared with Dev, though our arrangement was complicated. 

We couldn't officially move in together; his position as the Singhania heir required him to maintain his own residence for appearances and the unending demands of his family's textile empire, just as the explosive growth of my brand, REHA, kept me tied to my own studio. We moved between two worlds, balancing love with legacy.

Pulling into the familiar, sprawling driveway of the Thakur estate, I turned off the engine and stepped out into the cool night. The massive front doors loomed ahead.

I reached out and knocked.

The heavy door swung open, and the tense, analytical thoughts in my mind temporarily faded as my mother welcomed me, pulling me into a warm, fierce hug. Stepping past her, I crossed the threshold into the lion's den.

The silence in the dining room was suffocating.

My father sat at the head of the table, a thin trail of gray smoke rising from the cigarette held between his fingers. He didn't say a word at first, merely motioning with a slight nod of his head for me to sit. I pulled out a chair opposite him, the heavy wood scraping against the marble floor. My mother, sensing the impending storm, quietly retreated upstairs, leaving the two of us alone in the expanse of the room.

I hated the smell of his tobacco, but tonight, the tightness in my chest had nothing to do with the smoke. It was his presence. The sheer weight of his judgment.

He finally tapped the ash from his cigarette, his sharp eyes locking onto mine. "You are twenty-seven, Surbhi."

I met his gaze, my posture rigid. "Yes, I am."

"Any plans to finally settle down?"

There it was. The inevitable, exhausting question. A wave of familiar, bitter anger flared up inside me. It was the ultimate societal trap the moment a woman hits her late twenties, her achievements are wiped clean, replaced by a ticking clock. Settle down. What did that even mean to a man like him? I had built a brand, secured financial independence, and carved out a name for myself in a brutal industry. Was none of that considered "settled"?

"I am not ready for marriage," I said, my voice deadpan, looking him directly in the eye.

He didn't flinch. He just took another slow drag of his cigarette. "Is that your choice, or is it that scoundrel boyfriend of yours, Dev?"

Dev. The word felt like a spark thrown onto dry wood. My father had never hidden his disdain for him, labeling him a scoundrel from day one. But to me, Dev wasn't just a partner; he was my childhood sweetheart. We had fallen in love in the hallways of our school when we were just sixteen years old. Eleven years of history, of shared secrets, and navigating the transition into adulthood together.

I never understood why my father loathed him so much. Perhaps it was because Dev wasn't a pawn he could control, or perhaps it was a deeper, unexpressed frustration that his only daughter was building a life entirely outside the boundaries of his traditional expectations.

"Never in your life have you decided to listen to me," my father said, his voice dropping into a harsh, disappointed growl. He ground the burning cigarette out into the glass ashtray, the embers dying instantly. "I told you to study journalism. I had a position waiting for you at the network. You are my only heir, Surbhi. But no. A fashion designer. I still don't understand what gratification you get from making clothes."

My fingers tightened against the fabric of my dress, my knuckles turning white. The insult hit hard, striking a raw nerve. It was the classic, unyielding mindset of a tycoon who couldn't comprehend art as a legitimate empire. He wore bespoke suits every single day, yet failed to recognize that the very fabric on his back was the result of someone's vision, design, and labor. To him, if it wasn't media or old-money corporate industry, it was an unstable hobby.

"And you remain stubborn," he continued, leaning forward, his expression hardening. "You only decided to push into this field because of your boyfriend. What do you think, Surbhi? That he will always support an unstable career like yours?"

The words stung because they carried a twisted version of the truth. When I refused my father's empire, Dev had stepped in. He had insisted I join Singhania Textiles, placing me at the head of their luxury fashion department. It was true that his backing had accelerated my timeline; his family's massive infrastructure provided the perfect launching pad for REHA. But my father spoke as if I were a charity case. He completely ignored the grueling hours, the sleepless nights, and the raw talent that actually built the brand's reputation. Dev gave me the platform, but it was my hard work that made it fly.

"My career isn't a charity project, Dad," I said, my voice trembling with controlled fury. "And it certainly isn't unstable."

He smirked, a cold, patronizing expression that made my blood run hot. "Really? If it's not unstable, why don't you leave the Singhania empire? Resign from his company, walk out, and start from the absolute ground up like every other independent designer does. Let me see how long you survive out there on your own merit."

The sheer audacity of his words struck a raw nerve. "I don't understand what suddenly possessed your mind tonight," I snapped, my voice shaking with rising fury. "Everything was perfectly peaceful, and you suddenly call me here just to throw dirt on my career?"

"You are my daughter, Surbhi," he said, his voice dropping into a stern, unyielding register. "I don't care what other people do with their lives, but I care about yours. You think this rebellion of yours is a personality trait. But you've been entirely blinded by it for eleven years. That relationship is the exact reason you refuse to grow up."

The tension in the room snapped. The anger between us flared out of control, suffocating the space between us.

"Oh, really?" I challenged, leaning forward, my eyes blazing. "And if I had listened to you and joined journalism, would that have been any better? Wouldn't you just use nepotism to force me into a top position? There would be people at your network who are far more deserving, who actually worked for it, but because I am your daughter, you would instantly favor me. Isn't that just blatant favoritism?"

My father stood up, his towering frame casting a dark shadow across the table. "I would favor you because you are my daughter. What I won't do is sit back and watch you waste your life because you spend your nights......."

"DAD, STOP!" I screamed.

The word tore from my throat, echoing sharply against the high ceilings of the dining room. My heart hammered violently against my ribs, the air instantly leaving my lungs.

My father didn't back down. He gripped the edge of the table, his eyes drilling into mine. "What? Does hearing the truth hurt? It hurts me too, Surbhi, hearing the kinds of things people whisper about my only daughter!"

I froze, completely stunned. The room felt like it was spinning. My hands went cold against my lap.

Everyone in our high-society circle knew Dev was my boyfriend. We had been public for years. But the venom in my father's voice, the underlying accusation it felt like a sudden, brutal slap to the face. What exactly had he heard, and who had been talking?

"Do you really think your boyfriend is oblivious?" my father pushed, his voice cutting through my paralysis like a scalpel. "Do you honestly believe the rest of the world sees you as his girlfriend?"

The room felt like it was violently tilting. Eleven years of history the foundations of my entire adult life suddenly felt like a glass structure cracking right before my eyes. What was he trying to say? At the Singhania headquarters, everyone knew we were close. Everyone saw us together.

Didn't they?

A sickening doubt crept into my mind. Why was I suddenly questioning it? Because the truth was, Dev and I kept our personal lives fiercely guarded at the office. We arrived, we commanded our departments, and we left. I had always assumed our status was an unspoken, respected fact. I thought people simply looked at us and knew we belonged to each other.

"People have a natural tendency to sniff around other people's business," I forced out, my voice tight as I tried to regain my footing. "That doesn't mean my life is complicated just because they whisper."

My father let out a cold, dark laugh that chilled me to the bone. "Oh, really? I should have known. You're my daughter, stubborn to the marrow. You need absolute proof, don't you? Fine. I will give it to you. Be ready by ten tomorrow morning. I am going to break every single one of your illusions."

I stood there, completely paralyzed. My father was a man of calculated moves; he never made a claim this severe unless he already held the winning cards. He had proof.

But as the heavy silence settled over the dining room, a darker, more horrifying thought began to take root in my chest, making me physically sick. If people in that corporate empire were whispering cruel, degrading things about me if they viewed me as nothing more than a powerful man's temporary plaything, a slut climbing the corporate ladder, did Dev know?

He ruled that company with an iron fist. Nothing escaped his notice. If those rumors were circulating through the hallways of his legacy, did he hear them? And if he did... why had he never done a single thing to stop them?