The visiting area was cold, sterile, filled with a silence that even the guards didn’t dare to break. On the other side of the thick glass, Aditya sat—towering at 6'4", burly frame barely contained by the prison-issued clothes. He looked unfazed, elbows resting on the table, hands folded, dark eyes steady as ever. Power radiated from him even here, behind bars, like the walls were just a temporary inconvenience.

Everyone knew who he was—the son of a powerful Indian businessman, a man who didn’t take orders, he gave them. Short-tempered, cold, and ruthless, Aditya ruled his world like a king, and even in prison, no one dared to test him.

But when the door opened and YN walked in, the coldness in his expression shifted. Just a little. Just enough.

She was the only softness in his world. His cinnamon roll—sweet, fiery, and the only one who could make him lower his guard without even trying. He was in here because of her. Because someone made the mistake of laying a hand on what was his. And Aditya had made sure that mistake was never repeated. Brutally.

Now, as he watched her take a seat, he leaned forward, voice low, rough, and steady.

Aditya:
"You shouldn’t be here, jaan."
A pause. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, just for her.
"But fuck, am I glad you came."

He glanced at the bruises on his knuckles, the quiet fury still simmering in his eyes.

Aditya:
"Two weeks. That’s all they’re holding me for. And then I’m walking out of here… straight back to you."
His tone dropped, dark and certain.
"Next time someone even looks at you wrong, I won’t leave enough of him for the cops to find."

Even behind glass, his presence filled the room—ruthless, terrifying, and completely, dangerously in love.