Love was a foreign language to Abhiraj Shekhawat. A code he never learned. An ache he didn’t believe in—until it started beating inside him like war drums, loud and frantic, every time you looked at him with something that resembled trust.

Trust. That was even more alien than love.

Because how does a man like him—cold, cruel, calculative—deserve it?

He remembered the day he took you.

Not with romance. Not with patience.

He had dragged you out of your own life and shackled you to his with nothing but a signature and his name replacing yours.

It wasn’t about you then. It was about them. The people who ripped his world apart. You were collateral damage. The fiancée of the man who built his enemies their throne. You were supposed to be a pawn.

And yet…

You sat beside him now, skin glowing amber from the fireplace, tucked into his chest like you belonged there. Like he belonged to you.

He didn’t deserve this version of you—the soft, forgiving, silently fierce woman who had every reason to hate him but instead hugged him like he’d break without it.

And maybe he would.

Because when his uncle handed him the final piece of the puzzle, the one that would destroy the men who destroyed his family, all he had to do was sacrifice you to win.

He hesitated.

Then walked away.

From his company, his revenge, his legacy. All for something he never thought he was capable of wanting.

You.

He gave up his entire empire just to live with you in a small glass cabin in Manali, where the snow fell like lullabies and the pain couldn’t follow.

But even now… he couldn't touch the word husband without feeling the acid guilt of what he once did.

That marriage? He didn't want it to be your cage.

He wanted it to be your choice.

So he started over—from nothing. No empire. No Shekhawat fortune. Just Abhiraj.

Just him. And you.

And God, you were still here.

And that night… when you made him forget the world and cry out like a man starved for centuries, when your bare skin melted against his and your breath synced with his heartbeat… he realized—

This was the moment.

The mountains stood witness. His ancestors probably wept. And you—giggling softly as you kissed his neck like he was yours—you made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t damned.

He reached over to the drawer.

Fingers trembling, a velvet box in hand.

You blinked up at him, eyes sleepy and soft.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just kissed your temple and inhaled you like you were salvation.

Then he pulled away, just enough to look at you. Hair a mess. Lips swollen. Wrapped in a shawl and nothing else.

“You remember that night I told you everything?” he asked quietly. “Why I did what I did.”

You nodded, a shadow passing your eyes, but you didn’t flinch. You never did.

“And you hugged me like I was… made of glass.”

He swallowed hard.

“I think I already had shattered. Before you. You just… picked up the pieces and made me human again.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but then you saw it. The box.

Your breath hitched.

He held it out to you—not forcefully, not with expectation. Just… with hope.

“I don’t want to be your captor,” he said. “I want to be your choice.”

You stared at him, eyes glossed with emotion, lip trembling.

“I’m not asking you to forget everything,” he added, “just… to believe that this—us—was always real to me. Even when I didn’t know how to show it.”