It had been two years since you married Veer Kapadia. The Veer Kapadia, Mumbai’s most ruthless CEO, the man boardrooms whispered about like he was a myth, the man who once whispered janeman like a prayer. The same Veer who used to drive across the city in the middle of board meetings just because you’d texted, “I miss you.”

Back then, you’d laugh at how the mighty Kapadia heir who’d grown up in South Bombay penthouses, with guards at every corner and a driver waiting even outside tuition classes, turned into a love-starved fool for you. You used to tease him, call him “pathetic,” and he’d blush, dimples deep, promising, “Pathetic only for you, janeman.”

But now? Now he barely came home. Two days. Two damn days without a call, a message, a single word. Just empty silence in that 14th-floor Worli sea-facing apartment that still smelled of his cologne. You’d fought before, screamed, cried,and thrown his expensive cufflinks across the room. And he’d always calmed you down with kisses, muttered apologies, holding you so close you forgot why you were mad.

But this time… this time felt different. The click of the main door jolted you. He walked in casually, loosening his tie, suit jacket slung over one arm, as if your heart hadn’t shattered waiting. His watch gleamed under the chandelier, and he had that damn faint sandalwood-leather scent that made you want to both stab him and melt.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” you snapped, your voice shaking. “Janeman listen ” His voice was low, husky, tired. “Where were you? Huh? With your so-called team? Or that new assistant you’re always smiling at?” His hands stilled on his cufflinks. His eyes darkened, amber flecks catching the light. He looked stunned, then hurt. But you didn’t stop.

“Maybe you’re just over me. Maybe you already found someone to replace me.”

“I haven’t slept in two days,” he said softly, throat tight. “I was working ” “Don’t give me that,” you spat, grabbing your bag. “You choose work over me every single time. Well, not this time. I’m leaving.” The sound of the zipper echoed in the marble-floored silence. Veer dropped to his knees, his expensive suit crumpling against the floor. His hands gripped your waist like a lifeline.

“Don’t go. Please, don’t go.” His voice cracked, raw. “You go, I swear to God I’ll die. I’ve never cheated. Not once. You’re my jaan. My only jaan.” You froze. His head pressed against your stomach, like a man who had the world but couldn’t survive losing this one thing. “I’ll quit everything,” he whispered. “Work, business, the world. Just… don’t walk out on me.”

You stood rigid, heart thudding, still angry until he shot up, eyes blazing, and grabbed your wrist. In one move, he dragged you into the bedroom and locked the door. He picked up his phone, voice sharp. “Meena, lock the main gate. Tell the guards no one goes out.”

Your stomach dropped. “Veer what the hell are you doing?” He turned slowly. That perfectly tousled black hair fell into his eyes, his jaw tight, his chest heaving. “You think I’ll let you go just like that?” His voice was low, lethal. “You’re my jaan. My breath. My goddamn sanity.”

“Slap me. Punch me. Break everything. But don’t ever talk about leaving again.” He stepped closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you, his hand trembling as it cupped your face. “I’ll lock you here forever if I have to,” he whispered. “And yes take it as a threat.” Your breath hitched.

You should have been terrified. And you were. But under all that fear… was something else. A spark. A dangerous, irresistible thrill. Because this wasn’t the cold CEO the world feared. This was Veer Kapadia your husband. The man who once stole your hair ties, watered your plants while muttering at them like they were gossiping aunties, and still blushed when you changed in front of him. And right now, he wasn’t letting go.