The moment Aryaveer's fingers closed around Heer's wrist, she knew-pain was coming.

He didn't drag her. He didn't yank her.

He guided her like a predator leading prey to a slaughterhouse, his grip iron, his strides long and purposeful. The maids scattered like rats, their whispers dying in their throats. The guards didn't dare meet his eyes.

Heer stumbled once-her knees still weak from hours of scrubbing-but Aryaveer didn't slow. He didn't even glance back.

She was nothing.

And he was making sure she remembered

She didn't resist.

She didn't speak.

She let him drag her through the mansion, past the wide-eyed maids, past the guards who now kept their gazes locked on the floor. The only sound was the sharp click of his dress shoes against marble and the faint rustle of her damp, ill-fitting clothes.

His bedroom was a fortress of shadows.

The room was as cold as he was.

Black marble floors. Dark wood panels. A bed too large, too empty, too untouched. The scent of sandalwood and gunpowder clung to the air, suffocating in its masculinity.

Aryaveer released her wrist only to slam the door shut, the sound like a gunshot in the silence.

Dark wood. Black silk. The scent of leather and something bitter-whiskey, maybe, or the lingering smoke of a cigar.

Silence.

Then-

"Look at me."

A command, not a request.

Heer lifted her chin. Slowly. Her eyes met his-empty. Unreadable.

A muscle feathered in Aryaveer's jaw.

"You think this is a game?" His voice was a blade, honed to a killing edge. "You think batting those lashes at my men will get you out of this?"

She didn't flinch.

He stepped closer, his breath hot against her face. "I saw the way he touched you."

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, but she didn't pull away.

"Did you enjoy it?" A cruel smirk twisted his lips. "Did you think if you spread your legs for them, they'd help you escape?"

Nothing. No reaction. Just the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest.

It infuriated him.

His hand shot out, fisting in the front of her cheap, servant's blouse. The fabric strained, buttons popping, exposing the sharp lines of her collarbones, the hollow dip of her throat.

Still-no fear.

"You're mine," he snarled. "Mine to use. Mine to ruin. And if I ever catch you trying to play your little games again, I'll make sure the next man who touches you does it while I watch."

A beat of silence.

Then-

"Do you understand?"

Heer's lashes lowered. Just for a second. Just long enough to make him wonder if she'd finally break

But when her eyes opened again, they were as blank as polished stone.

"Yes."

One word. Soft. Hollow.

Aryaveer's grip tightened.

She wasn't fighting.

She wasn't begging.

And that-that-was the most dangerous thing of all.

Aryaveer didn't ask.

He didn't warn.

One moment, Heer stood motionless in the center of his bedroom, her damp servant's uniform clinging to her like a second skin. The next-

Rip.

The sound of tearing fabric split the air.

Buttons scattered across the floor like broken pearls. The cheap blouse gave way under Aryaveer's hands, the sleeves splitting at the seams. He didn't pause, didn't hesitate. The skirt followed-a sharp yank, and the thin material shredded at the waist, pooling at Heer's feet in a tattered heap.

She didn't gasp.

She didn't cover herself.

She stood there, bare except for her undergarments, her skin pebbling under the cold bite of the air-conditioning. Her arms remained at her sides, fingers loose. No trembling. No shame.

Aryaveer's gaze raked over her, lingering on the sharp jut of her ribs, the faint shadows of old bruises along her hips. His jaw tightened.

"Pathetic," he muttered, though the word lacked its usual venom.

Turning away, he strode to a carved wooden wardrobe and flung it open. Inside hung a single garment-a deep emerald-green saree, the silk so rich it shimmered like liquid under the dim light. He snatched it off the hanger and tossed it at Heer.

"Put it on."

The fabric landed against her chest, soft and heavy. She caught it before it could slide to the floor, her fingers curling into the delicate material.

Aryaveer smirked. "You didn't think I'd let you parade around in rags, did you? You're still a Raizada. Even if only in name."

Heer said nothing.

"Hurry up," he snapped, turning his back to her. "We have a meeting to attend."*

__________

Mahogany walls. Low, golden lighting. A long glass table where Aryaveer's most trusted-and most dangerous-associates lounged in plush leather chairs, cigars smoldering between their fingers. Conversations died the moment the double doors swung open.

Every head turned.

Every eye locked onto her.

Heer walked beside Aryaveer, her steps measured, her chin level. The emerald saree draped over her like armor, the fabric whispering against her skin with every movement. The blouse was snug, the pallu artfully arranged to cover her shoulders but leaving her back bare-a deliberate choice.

Aryaveer's hand settled at the base of her spine, fingers pressing just hard enough to remind her:

"Sit."

He guided her to a chair near the head of the table-close enough to be seen, far enough to be out of reach. Then he took his own seat at the helm, his presence swallowing the room whole.

"Continue," he said, flicking a hand toward his second-in-command, Rohan.

The men hesitated, their gazes darting between Heer and their boss.

Rohan cleared his throat. "The Khannas have moved another shipment through the docks. We intercepted it, but-"

"Burn it,"Aryaveer interrupted, his voice bored. "And send their men back to them in pieces."

A few grins spread around the table.

Heer sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap, her expression blank. She might as well have been a painting on the wall for all the attention she paid to the discussion of bloodshed and betrayal.

But Aryaveer?

Aryaveer watched her.

The way her lashes cast faint shadows over her cheeks. The way her breath stayed even, unbothered by the graphic descriptions of violence. The way her fingers didn't so much as twitch when Rohan mentioned Ayansh Khanna's name.

Nothing.

No reaction.

His fingers tightened around his whiskey glass.

---

An hour passed.

The meeting dragged on-territory disputes, supply chains, whispers of a new player entering the underworld. Heer's shoulders remained straight, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the window.

Then-

A faint sway.

So slight, Aryaveer almost missed it.

Her eyelids fluttered. Once. Twice.

A third time slower.

Aryaveer's smirk returned.

"Tired, jaan?" he purred, the endearment laced with mockery.

Heer blinked, her spine stiffening as if she'd been shocked awake. But the exhaustion was undeniable now. The dark circles under her eyes. The way her fingers pressed into her own thighs, as if trying to physically keep herself upright.

The men at the table shifted uncomfortably.

"Perhaps the lady should rest," Rohan suggested carefully.

Aryaveer's smile sharpened. "Why? She's done nothing but sit here. Unless..."His gaze slid back to Heer. "You're not bored, are you?"

Silence.

Then-

Thud.

Heer's head dropped forward, her body slumping sideways in the chair. The saree slipped slightly, revealing the sharp line of her bare shoulder.

She'd passed out.

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then Aryaveer laughed-a dark, humorless sound.

"Well,"he mused, swirling his drink. "At least she's quiet."

But as his men chuckled nervously, his eyes remained locked on Heer's unconscious form, something unreadable flickering in their depths.

___________