Samayra's POV
"We just have each other, Mister Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat..."
The words settled heavy in the space between us, coating the silence in something sharp, almost dangerous.
My eyes locked with his. He didn't move, didn't blink-neither did I dare to. But after a few seconds, the intensity of his gaze burned too much, and I lowered mine, heat flooding my cheeks.
Why the hell is my heart racing like this?
I curled my fists tightly on my lap, biting the inside of my lip, willing myself to calm down. Still... he hadn't replied. Not a word. Not even a twitch.
God, what kind of man is this? Sitting like a statue while I'm out here combusting.
I sighed and decided to break the silence, forcing a lighter tone.
"Well... you told me about your family background. But not about your ex." I tilted my head, smirking slightly.
"Come on, tell me. I'm into listening to past love stories and all that."
A lie..I just wanna know what kind of woman he is into.. I just wanna discover more about this man.
But on my question his expression didn't shift. His eyes held mine as he answered flatly,
"Ex? ...What if I say, I never had any?"
I had just taken the last sip of my coffee-and nearly choked. It almost came right back out.
"What-what do you mean?" I sputtered, staring at him in disbelief.
"You... you haven't dated anyone? Till date?"
His reply was calm, steady, like stating the most normal fact in the world.
"I just said-I don't believe in it."
I blinked, leaning in with narrowed eyes, half teasing, half serious.
"Yeah, I got that part, Mr. Principles. But explain this to me-if you've never dated anyone, then that means... that means..."
I hesitated, then blurted out before I could stop myself,
"...are you... are you virgin?"
The word lingered in the air, bold and reckless.
My eyes widened the second it escaped my lips, but it was too late to take it back.
And across from me-Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat finally moved. His lips curved slowly, the faintest smirk pulling at his jawline, and his eyes-oh God-darkened in a way that made my pulse hammer louder than ever.
He nodded at my question. He nodded! That meant... oh God, he is... he is a virgin. At thirty-seven.
I almost smacked my forehead, muttering under my breath, "That's a trouble then..."
The slight arch of his brow, the way his eyes lifted and locked onto me, sent a shiver crawling up my spine.
"Everything fine?" he asked, voice deep, calm, but curious.
"No." I blurted, clutching my saree pallu closer as if I was hiding something from myself. "We need to talk... let's get out of here."
I rose to my feet, trying not to trip over my own nerves. He immediately straightened too, towering beside me, still watching as though he was trying to decode me.
"Where are we going?" His tone was low, patient, yet laced with command.
"Out of here," I snapped, refusing to meet his gaze as I strode to the counter. My heart was racing too fast.
I pulled out my card, already prepared to pay, but before I could swipe, his hand appeared, firm and unyielding, extending his own.
"I'm the husband. I'll pay."
I looked at him, lips parting at the sheer authority of his words, and then I slid my own card in.
"This time... it's my treat."
The machine beeped, the bill was done, and I lifted my chin.
"Now let's go."
And he-my husband, Abhimanyu Singh Ranawat-the man who could silence boardrooms with a glare, simply followed me like a gentleman, saying nothing.
He walked to his car, overtaking my speed to open the door. I glanced at him once, my lips parting as if to thank, but the words died.
"Can we... walk around? The beach is nearby," I murmured.
He nodded without a word.
On the street leading to the shore, silence wrapped around us, heavier than the night. The sea was calm, but inside me-storms. We reached the edge where the waves whispered against the sand. I pulled my pallu tighter around my arm, trying to hide the shiver that wasn't from the cold.
I bit my lower lip-hard. He noticed. Of course he did. His eyes lingered, questioning, waiting.
My breath left me in a rush. "It's a trouble..." My voice trembled. "You are a virgin... never dated anyone, not even once, at thirty-seven. But I did."
His eyes lifted slowly, steady as stone.
"It was my first year of BBA," I admitted, the words cutting through the air. "I liked someone. We dated for one years After graduation and then...then we broke up. He was from my college and... and yes, we even got physical once."
The waves crashed harder, as if mocking my confession. I hugged myself.
But today..this confession made me feel disgusted on myself.
I never thought. One day I'll get married to someone and I'll have to share my past. This part of my past with him.
The part I'm myself trying to forget behind the veil of spoiled girl Samayra.
I bit my lips tighter I can.
"See, Mister Ranawat..." I turned to him, forcing myself to meet his eyes, "I'm not justifying it. Maybe it wasn't right-gosh! It wasn't doing something like that in my early 20s... But I was immature. I thought... he'd marry me. But-"
My words broke, hanging between us like shattered glass.
"But then. In the second year of MBA, he..he cheated on me..We broke up immediately and never ever saw each other ever since the day..
I- I was too much into him. He meant Everything to me. But I..I meant nothing to him.."
Suddenly wet patch cornered on the edge of my eye. Still I looked up at him. At Abhimanyu. My husband.
"I gave him my trust. My heart. My soul. My body..and he broke Everything... That's why the world now sees the cold version of me. Not the sunshine I was.. I lost that part of me..on him."
His dark eyes didn't leave me, and I didn't stopped sharing. May be because ever in all these years, sharing felt finally peaceful.
His eyes didn't judge me. Not till now. But mine did. I lowered my head. The weight of my past lingering around me too Heavy to bear when my Present, my future..My husband stands beside me.
Yet,It was something he deserved to know-he is my husband after all.
My head was bowed low, buried in a spiral of thoughts, when suddenly I felt warmth drape over me. His coat.
I lifted my eyes slowly-he had wrapped me in it.
With a soft smile, he murmured, "It's okay... I'm not judging you. Never. I know... hormones happen."
Unbelievable. My lips trembled as I bit them hard, almost punishing myself.
"Are you sure?" my voice cracked, heavy with doubt.
"Are you sure you want that girl in your life... who was... who was used by someone... who is impure? We can get divorce-"
His gaze didn't falter, not even for a heartbeat. Rather he choose to cut me mid words.
"Who said this? Mrs. Samayra Kapoor Ranawat..." His tone was calm but firm, like an anchor steadying a storm.
"No one is defined pure or impure by their body. It's the soul that matters. And I know your soul is pure-because it takes courage to realise, to accept, and to confess. It's okay... it was long ago, even before we knew each other. Afterall...You just loved someone...You didn't make a mistake..It was the wrong person... and that's what life is.."
Is this man for real? My chest tightened-I couldn't believe my ears. A tear slipped down, uninvited.
I pressed my lips together, burying my face down. "I'm sorry..."
"You need not to be." His voice was softer this time, almost tender.
"Let's go back home... it's cold."
He extended his hand toward me.
I looked at him, at that steady palm waiting for mine. And for the first time in a long time, without hesitation, I placed my hand into his.
For the first time in my life, a mere hand gesture gave me butterflies. Not even in my one-year relationship had I ever felt this delicate-this reckless urge to trust someone. Yet with him, I wanted to trust blindly.
A smile curved my lips as I began walking with him, but the very next moment my feet twisted.
"Ah!" I gasped, stumbling. Before I could slip from his grasp and fall, his hand tightened, holding me firmly.
"Are you okay, Samayra?" His voice carried concern, yet his grip remained steady-unyielding.
"Yeah... I think my heel broke. The sand was loose," I murmured.
He didn't waste another breath. Kneeling in front of me, he glanced at my feet. "Remove the sandal."
My eyes widened. "No... you don't need to. Mister Ranawat, I'm your wife, but I'm also much younger than you. You shouldn't-"
He looked up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Are you... age-shaming me?"
Flustered, I shook my head. "No, I was just-"
"Remove the sandal, Mrs. Ranawat." His tone was final.
I sighed and gave up. He slipped the sandal off with careful hands, then rose, holding it as though it were something precious, not just worn-out footwear.
"I'll ask my driver to bring the car here. You won't walk barefoot," he said simply.
I only nodded, burying my face to hide the storm in my chest. But my eyes betrayed me, stealing glances at the way he carried my sandal. Exactly like the men I had only read about in fiction...
We stood there in silence, the world around us fading until the sound of the approaching car broke through. When it halted before us, he stepped forward without a word, opening the door for me with that quiet, effortless authority he carried.
I slid inside, and he followed, the leather seat sinking under his weight as the car began its smooth run back to the villa. For a while, neither of us spoke. The night stretched outside the window, calm and endless, and I found myself smiling faintly, my gaze fixed on the passing blur of lights.
It wasn't the words he had spoken earlier that lingered-it was the way he had looked at me, the way he had stood close enough for me to feel his quiet protectiveness. Strange how in four long years with someone else, I had never felt this warmth. And now, within weeks of this marriage of convenience, a single moment of care felt like the most intimate thing in the world.
I caught my reflection in the glass-smiling, glowing even-and my heart whispered the truth I wasn't ready to say aloud: this... this was the closest I had ever come to feeling what real intimacy might be.
.
.
.
.
.
The next morning, it was barely 6 AM, and I was already awake-half asleep, wrapped in the haze of lingering dreams. Not even the courage to change my dress; I was still in my pink satin nightdress, knee-length, soft against my skin.
I was mid-yawn, stretching lazily, when I heard footsteps behind me. Of course... it's him. I composed myself as best I could.
Before I could even stand, he walked past, pausing only when he noticed I was already seated at the dining table. He stopped and turned slightly toward me, his presence filling the room without a word.
My silly heart raced like it was competing in the Olympics, and I had no idea why. I forced a gentle smile and said softly,
"Good... good morning, Mr. Ranawat."
He raised a brow, the corners of his lips twitching into a small smile.
"Good morning... I'm surprised you're awake this early."
I tilted my head playfully, stretching the words.
"Do you mean I wake up late? You go to work so early... 10 AM seems like a good time to wake up."
His lips curved into a teasing smile, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
I narrowed my eyes, smiling like a fool.
"May not be... maybe 7 is better... or 9."
I waved my hand quickly, trying to correct myself.
"Or... whenever you like, I suppose."
He chuckled softly, and that smile... it reached his eyes, warm and genuine, making my stomach flutter unexpectedly.
"So... shall we have breakfast?"
I immediately nodded, settling into my chair properly. He sat down right across from me, and the morning air suddenly felt lighter, almost charged, with a quiet intimacy neither of us had yet named.
At my words, the servants brought a simple yet elegant breakfast-vegetable upma, fresh fruit salad, and toasted bread neatly arranged on the table.
I picked up the bowl, trying to serve myself, but the spoon felt heavier than usual, clumsy in my hands.
Abhimanyu's eyes met mine, calm and amused. He smiled faintly and gestured for me to pass it to him.
I could only smile back, feeling like a complete fool.
He took the bowl gracefully, serving himself with quiet precision. I watched him, mesmerized by the effortless way he handled everything. His hands, his posture... every little movement seemed to demand attention.
Before I could even try to serve myself again, he held out his plate toward me, silently offering it.
I blinked, my lips curling into another foolish, shy smile. Stupid me... I couldn't believe how simple gestures like this made my heart flutter.
That breakfast passed quietly-or maybe it was just my mind that was in a whirlwind. Every little movement of his-the way his hands worked, how he sat so perfectly poised like a model, the slow, elegant way he chewed-kept my gaze glued to him. Gosh... this man is dangerous.
I couldn't stop staring. But the moment he lifted his eyes and caught me, I panicked and quickly turned my face away. Of course he noticed. Of course he did.
But he didn't say a word. Instead, with that calm, deliberate air he carried, he simply shifted the topic.
"So... what are you planning to do? Modelling or business?"
I swallowed quickly, still slightly flustered, chewing the food in my mouth.
"For Dad's sake... business, I guess," I murmured, trying to sound casual, but my voice betrayed a hint of uncertainty.
He leaned back slightly, watching me with that unreadable expression, his eyes steady, unblinking.
"Hmm... for your father's sake," he repeated softly, almost like he was testing the weight of my words. "Not for yourself?"
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. How does he always catch the truth? I looked down at my plate, mumbling,
"I... I'll figure it out... eventually."
He didn't press further, but I could feel his gaze linger, studying me, as if he already knew more about me than I was willing to admit.
"My company is about to shoot a new ad," he said, swirling his coffee lazily, eyes never leaving me. "The team is looking for a fresh face... how about the industry gets a new competitor?"
"If you agree, you'll be the one shooting it." he completed.
I sighed. "As your wife?"
The title was yet too heavy for me. Especially when I don't wanna introduce myself as someone's wife in power rather want to make my name on my own.
My eyes remained glued to him.
He shook his head.
"No... as Samayra Kapoor. That's the name the world will see."
I shook my head firmly, a child like drama. "Absolutely not! My dad would never want to see Samayra Kapoor on a billboard or TV screen."
Because that's my biggest fear.
My Dad!
He has became strict back when I appeared for Miss Surat. And damn won that at 18.
It was that time when everything started. Yes I had passion about modelling that's why I showed up there and won that si easily but Dad didn't like it.
He went angry and that's when I began to feel lonely and thought dating someone in college would fix this.
But damn, it made everything worse.
Everything was swirling in my head when Abhimanyu faked a coughed, regaining my attention.
I looked up at his face. With a smirk he said.
"Then let the world see Samayra Kapoor Ranawat. Not just your identity... mine too. Tell me, wifey, would your father dare object to that?"
His eyes locked onto mine, daring me to refuse, teasing yet burning with a possessiveness that curled around me like fire.
And I...
Couldn't help but Smile.
.
.
.
.
.
Abhimanyu's POV
I don't think I'll ever forget that glow in her eyes when I offered her the shoot. The way her lips parted in disbelief, the way she tried to hide her excitement yet failed-damn, it burned into me. Two profits at one stroke: first, obviously, my company gains a new and mesmerizing face. But the second... that one feels far more personal. Samayra Kapoor-the girl who was almost ready to bury her dreams-is finally being handed the chance to live them.
For the first time in an eternity, I felt... blessed. Blessed that I could be the reason behind that joy. I sat through breakfast watching her secretly, the way she hummed under her breath, too distracted to even realize she was glowing like fire. My fire.
Once I left for the office, I immediately arranged for my secretary to guide her in every detail. I don't want her stepping into that shoot like some nervous debutante. No. When Samayra walks in front of the camera, I want her to own it, to silence the room, to make every damn lens crave her.
The shoot is next week, but it isn't just about one ad, one spotlight, one moment. This shoot is going to carve her place, define her strength-to her father, to the industry, and most importantly, to herself. And I swear, she won't falter. Not while I stand behind her.
Because the truth is, when I look at her, I see a reflection of myself-back when I still had dreams before the weight of legacy crushed them. I couldn't save mine. But hers? Hers I'll guard like an obsession. She is my wife. And no one-no world, no family, not even her own doubts-will strip Samayra Kapoor Ranawat of the destiny she deserves.
And God help anyone who tries.