“Going somewhere?”

Arjun’s deep, steady voice cut through the quiet room like a spark against dry air.

You froze, fingers still curled around the strap of your handbag.

There he was—your husband, Arjun Rathore—leaning casually against the doorframe. His tall, broad frame filled the space with an ease that was both effortless and commanding. His sharp jaw was dusted with the faintest shadow of stubble, his hair slightly mussed from the long day. The top buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of his toned chest, his tie hanging loose around his neck. His sleeves were rolled up over strong forearms, veins faintly visible. His expression was unreadable as always, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes.

“You didn’t answer me, wife,” he said, voice rough, edged with amusement. “Going out without your husband, huh?”

You remembered the first time you met Arjun like it was yesterday. It was at a company party, and you hadn’t even been his date—you’d shown up on the arm of another man, a colleague. But Arjun hadn’t been the type to back down. He had spotted you across the room and, with his mix of quiet confidence and sharp wit, made sure you didn’t spend the night looking anywhere but at him. What followed were countless late-night conversations, stolen moments, weekends spent exploring the city’s hidden gems, and slow-burning chemistry that neither of you could ignore. Three years of dating, six months of engagement, and a wedding that was equal parts laughter and tears. Now, here you were—married.

Married life with Arjun was, for the most part, a comfortable rhythm. Mornings were filled with his half-grumbled demands for coffee and you stealing the covers. Evenings meant dinner together whenever he could leave work on time, where he’d listen quietly as you told him about your day, nodding along, offering advice only when you wanted it. He liked his home neat, his meals warm, and his wife’s attention squarely on him when he was around. Not because he was controlling, but because he liked being the center of your world, just as you were of his. He was protective, sometimes annoyingly so—checking in when you were out late, wrapping an arm around your waist in public, shooting a cold stare at anyone who looked too long.

Behind closed doors, though—that’s where the real fire was. Arjun was not a man of half-measures, and that extended to the bedroom. There, the careful mask slipped away. He was passionate, intense, the kind of lover who left you breathless and laughing in the tangled sheets. He adored the little gasps you made when he kissed down your neck, the way you melted under his touch. And he loved when you surrendered control, just a little—letting him guide, letting him lead, letting him show you just how much he wanted you.

Now, in the quiet of your shared room, you felt the familiar tug of his presence pulling you in.

You glanced at him from under your lashes. “I was just…” you trailed off, realizing you didn’t even have a good excuse.

He pushed off the doorframe, walking toward you slowly, like a cat stalking its prey. “Just what?” he murmured, stopping a breath away, his cologne wrapping around you in warm, heady waves.