The dining table was made of dark, polished wood, reflecting the flickering candlelight like a mirror. Zaviyar sat at the head, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking effortlessly calm as he focused on his meal. The silence of the villa was heavy, broken only by the soft clink of silverware.

Ulfat watched him from across the table. Wo itna khamosh kyun hai? she wondered. His indifference was a challenge she suddenly wanted to break. She had spent an hour getting ready, choosing a silk dress that clung to her curves in all the right places, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders.

"The food is good," she said, her voice dropping an octave, smooth and intentional.

Zaviyar looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. "I'm glad you like it. Maine socha tumhare liye kuch khaas mangwaun."

"It’s not just the food," she countered, leaning forward so the candlelight caught the glow of her skin. She reached for the water pitcher, but instead of grasping the handle, her fingers 'accidentally' brushed against his forearm.

His skin was warm, and she felt a jolt of electricity run up her arm. She didn't pull away. Instead, she let her fingertips linger, tracing the line of a vein on his wrist. Uska lams itna sakht aur garam tha ke Ulfat ki saans atak gayi.

Zaviyar’s fork stopped mid-air. He didn't look away. His gaze dropped to her hand on his arm, then slowly traveled up to her eyes. The air between them thickened until it felt hard to breathe.

"Ulfat," he warned, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low growl. "Tum kya kar rahi ho?"

"Nothing," she whispered, a small, daring smile playing on her lips. She leaned in closer, the scent of her perfume filling the small space between them. "Is it wrong to thank my host properly?"

She stood up slowly, walking around the table until she was standing right beside his chair. The forced intimacy of the small dining room made every movement feel magnified. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her thumb grazing the column of his neck.

He dropped his napkin on the table,

He stood up slowly, looming over her. The height difference in the small, candlelit room felt overwhelming. He didn't look like a man who was tempted; he looked like a man who was disappointed.

"Tumhay ye sabh koie mazak lag rahi hai?" He stepped toward her, forcing her to take a step back until her heels hit the edge of the sideboard. He placed his hands on the wood on either side of her, trapping her in the small space between his arms. "Tumhe lagta hai ke tum apni adaon se mujhe kabu kar logi?"

Ulfat tried to maintain her defiant smirk, but her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm.

"I was just—"

"You were being reckless," he interrupted, his dark eyes boring into hers. "You are living in my house, under my protection. Meri zimmedari ho tum. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to provoke a man who is trying his best to respect your boundaries?"

He leaned in closer, his shadow engulfing her. The scent of his cologne was everywhere, making it hard for her to think straight.

"I am a man of my word, Ulfat. I told you that no one would disturb you here, and I meant it even if that 'someone' is me." He reached out, his thumb grazing her jawline, but there was no tenderness in the gesture only a stern warning. "Lekin agar tum ne dobara aisi harkat ki, toh yaad rakhna... main hamesha itna sabar nahi dikhaunga."

He pulled back abruptly, the sudden loss of his warmth making the room feel freezing. He straightened his cuffs, his composure returning as if it had never left.

"Ab jao apnay room me," he commanded, not looking at her. "Eat, sleep, and tomorrow, we will act like adults. Umeed hai tum meri baat samajh gayi hogi."

Ulfat stood there, stunned, her face burning with a mix of embarrassment and an even deeper, more chaotic attraction. He had lectured her like a child, yet the intensity in his voice had left her knees weak.

Wo mujhse gussa tha, magar uski aankhon mein jo jhalak thi... wo kuch aur hi keh rahi thi.