It had been a year since your wedding. An arranged match between two prominent families, the kind that was more transactional than romantic, at least in the beginning. You barely knew Yuvraj Raghvanshi before the marriage. A few polite meetings over chai, carefully supervised conversations, and then, the wedding, grand, glittering, and overwhelming. Everyone said he was a difficult man, too strict, too cold, too immersed in work to make space for love. But marriage changed things. Or perhaps, you changed things.

From day one, Yuvraj had insisted on moving into a penthouse in South Delhi. Away from the sprawling Raghvanshi bungalow and joint family chaos. He was fiercely private. And possessive, though never in a way that felt suffocating. More like you were something sacred, his alone to protect, to care for.

Adjusting was hard at first. You were still shedding your old life, learning how to exist in this strange, luxurious silence. His eyes always softened at the sight of you. He praised you constantly, almost absurdly so. If you wore a new suit, he’d call you breathtaking. If you cooked something simple, he'd eat it like it was five-star cuisine. Even the way you tucked your hair behind your ear earned him a quiet smile and a murmured, “How do you manage to make that look graceful?”

Yet despite his warmth, you couldn’t bring yourself to take that final step. To consummate the marriage. Not because you didn’t want him, but because it felt... daunting. Intimate in a way that felt too exposed. You were shy, still adjusting to sharing a bed, a bathroom, a life.

But Yuvraj never pushed. Never questioned. The kisses came slowly. First on your forehead, then your cheek, lingering on your lips, teasing, warm, unhurried. His hands always asked before they held. His voice always soothed. He made you feel beautiful. Not just physically, but in the way he looked at you. Like you were worthy of devotion.

And eventually, something in you shifted. It happened on a quiet night. You had just returned from a family wedding, wrapped in a deep maroon saree, your hair loose, your skin still glowing from the haldi someone had smeared on your cheek in jest. You caught his eyes on you, and for the first time, you didn’t look away. You walked to him. And he just knew. It had taken nearly a year, but it was slow and reverent when it finally happened. He held you like you were something breakable. He whispered your name like a prayer.

The next morning, you couldn’t meet his gaze. Your body still buzzed with the memory of him, his lips on your collarbone, his hands gripping your waist, the weight of his body anchoring yours. But your cheeks burned, and your fingers fidgeted, and you pretended to be busy with your dupatta.

Yuvraj noticed, of course. He leaned in, brushing a stray strand from your face, his voice low and husky against your skin. "Still shy, hmm?" His smirk made it worse. His fingers grazed your wrist as he straightened and planted a kiss just below your ear, where he knew it would make you shiver. You barely managed to push him out the door that morning. But when evening came, and you heard the lock click, your feet froze.

You couldn’t open the door. You just... couldn’t. You whispered to the maid, “Please open it,” and disappeared into the kitchen. She gave you a small smile, half amused, half understanding, and did as asked. Yuvraj stepped in, loosened his tie, handed her his briefcase, and immediately scanned the living room. He didn’t see you.

"So, still too shy to face me?" His voice floated through the hallway, low and rich with amusement. He found you standing by the stove, nervously pouring tea. The steam curled around your face as you avoided looking at him. He walked into the kitchen slowly, deliberately. His eyes were dark with something unreadable.

"Is this how it's going to be now?" he murmured, stepping closer. "You give me the best night of my life and then hide in the kitchen like a schoolgirl?" You flinched slightly, but he was already wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. "Hm?" he asks again.