The iron gates of the villa creaked open, revealing a driveway lined with low lit lanterns. Ulfat stepped out of the car, her heart performing a restless rhythm against her ribs. She had expected a cold, imposing mansion something as sharp and unforgiving as the man she was moving in with. Instead, the small villa stood before her, elegant and quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the evening moon.

Ye jagah... itni pur sukoon kyun hai? she wondered, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

Then, the front door opened.

Zaviyar stepped out into the light. He wasn't wearing a formal suit or a mask of professional indifference. He looked relaxed, yet there was an undeniable gravity to his presence. The light caught the sharp angles of his jaw and the depth of his dark eyes as he looked down at her.

"Welcome, Ulfat," he said, his voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate in the cool night air. "I hope the drive wasn't too long."

Ulfat couldn't move. She just stared. Wo hamesha se itna haseen tha? The thought hit her like a physical blow. In the sterile light of their previous meetings, she had noted his features, but here, in the intimacy of his own home, he looked dangerous. He looked like a temptation she hadn't prepared for.

"I... it was fine," she managed to whisper, her throat suddenly dry.

Zaviyar stepped closer, narrowing the distance until she could smell the faint, intoxicating scent of sandalwood and rain clinging to him. He gestured toward the hallway.

"You’ll be comfortable here. Tumhe koi tang nahi karega, aur na hi koi tumhari privacy mein dakhal dega. Ye ghar ab tumhara bhi hai."

He was being a gentleman. He was being kind. But as Ulfat looked at his lips moving, her mind took a treacherous turn. She wasn't thinking about the room or the privacy. She was looking at the way his shirt stretched across his chest and the way his eyes lingered on hers a second too long.

Uff, Ulfat! Tum kya soch rahi ho? she scolded herself, feeling a hot blush creep up her neck. Tum yahan rehne aayi ho, usay har waqt ghoorne nahi!

But as he reached out to take her suitcase, his fingers brushed against her hand. The contact was brief, but it felt like a spark of electricity. Her thoughts went completely wild dirty, chaotic, and utterly inappropriate for a woman who was supposed to be keeping her distance.

Zaviyar paused, his eyes searching her face. "Ulfat? Tum theek ho? Tumhara chehra bilkul laal ho raha hai."

"I'm fine!" she blurted out, quickly pulling her hand away. "Just... the heat. Bohat garmi hai bahar."

He glanced at the cool, breezy night and then back at her, "Of course. Let’s get you inside."

As she followed him into the villa, watching the easy grace of his walk, Ulfat realized with a sinking heart that the "decent" villa wasn't the problem. The problem was the man leading her into it.