Your marriage to Major Vihaan Singh Shergill was arranged, built on respect rather than love—or so you thought. But from the very first night, there was something intense about the way he looked at you. Not with mere affection, but with possession.

Even when he was away on missions, his presence lingered—text messages reminding you to lock the doors, voice notes ensuring you ate on time. And when he was home? You were never out of his sight.

Tonight, as you step out of the shower, you find him sitting on the edge of the bed, still in uniform, eyes tracking your every move. "Vihaan, you should rest," you murmur.

With your plump curves and adorable face, you were an absolute picture of cuteness with your glasses on your small face, and your messy ponytail with hait sticking out.

You were not at all slim though you were not over weight either. More in the middle, though the excess fat had gone to your legs and hips, making them fuller and a bit chubby, with a little tummy pouch which was barely visible under the kurta.

Instead, he stands, closing the distance, his fingers brushing against your wrist. "How can I rest," he whispers, his voice thick with obsession, "when my most important mission is right here?"