The engine roared to life, and they sped off into the night. Eve sat stiffly, her arms crossed as the city lights blurred past them.
"Relax, Eve," Arsh said after a moment, his tone almost mocking. "You're acting like I'm kidnapping you."
"Are you?" she shot back, her tone icy.
He chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly smooth. "Not unless you want me to."
Eve ignored him, refusing to take the bait. She kept her gaze fixed on the window, though she couldn't ignore the tension in the confined space or the way Arsh's presence seemed to fill every corner of it.
Within minutes, the car pulled up to an exclusive restaurant, its entrance framed by soft golden lights. A valet rushed to open Eve's door, and she stepped out, brushing off the feeling of Arsh's eyes on her as he joined her on the sidewalk.
"Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm with a mockingly polite gesture.
Eve shot him a glare before striding ahead, leaving him to follow with a soft laugh.
The dim lighting of the restaurant cast a golden glow over the table, highlighting the tension that simmered between them. Eve sat with her arms crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she watched Arsh take a sip of his wine, his movements deliberately slow.
She'd had enough.
"Just tell me what this deal of yours really is," she demanded, her voice low but cutting.
Arsh set his glass down with a faint clink, his lips curling into a lazy smile. "Patience, Eve. We'll talk after we eat. This restaurant is known for its excellent cuisine, and I'd hate for the experience to be ruined by business."
Eve's fingers twitched against the tablecloth. "You brought me here, disrupted my evening, and now you're telling me to wait?"
"That's exactly what I'm telling you," he replied smoothly, the glint in his eyes daring her to argue further.
She huffed, sitting back in her chair and refusing to engage. Fine, if he wanted to drag this out, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of her frustration.
But Arsh, ever the provocateur, wasn't content with silence. His gaze lingered on her, studying every movement she made. The way her hand reached for her glass, the delicate tilt of her head as she took a sip of wine, and even the fire in her eyes when she caught him staring. It all fascinated him.
"You're not very good at hiding your annoyance," he remarked, leaning forward slightly, his fingers brushing hers as he reached for the bottle of wine.
Eve recoiled, pulling her hand away and glaring at him. "Do you always act like this?"
"Like what?" he asked innocently, though the devilish smile playing on his lips betrayed him.
"Like an arrogant bastard," she shot back.
His laugh was deep and rich, resonating through the intimate space between them. "Only with you, darling."
They ate in a tense but charged silence after that, though Arsh's eyes never left her. He observed the way she wielded her knife and fork with precision, the way her jaw tightened when she forced herself to swallow down her irritation along with the food. She was a walking contradiction, graceful yet volatile, composed yet seething.
And he loved it.
To Arsh, Eve was perfect for this role. Not just because of her beauty or her undeniable power but because she was untamable. She would challenge him every step of the way, and for a man like Arsh, there was no greater thrill.
Eve noticed his gaze, felt the heat of it like a weight pressing against her skin. She set her fork down, meeting his eyes with a sharp glare.
"Let's get one thing straight," she said, her voice steady but laced with steel. "This… arrangement? This fake relationship you want? That's all it's going to be. Fake."
Arsh tilted his head, his smile growing wider. "Is that what you're worried about?" he asked, his tone teasing but his eyes dark with something far more dangerous.
"I'm not worried," Eve snapped. "I'm stating a fact. Don't get any ideas, Arsh."
"Too late," he murmured, his voice low and suggestive.
Eve's jaw tightened as she picked up her wine glass, downing the rest of its contents in one swift motion. Arsh watched her with an amused smirk, his fingers tapping idly against the stem of his own glass.
"Careful, Eve," he said softly. "You're playing a dangerous game with a man who doesn't know how to lose."
"Good," she said, standing abruptly. "Because neither do I."
She turned to leave, but Arsh caught her wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "We're not done yet," he said, his voice a velvet command.
Eve froze, her heart pounding as she turned back to face him. Arsh's eyes burned with something that felt like both a challenge and a promise.
Eve sat back down, her sharp gaze never leaving Arsh's smug expression. She threw the napkin near her, a futile attempt to mask the frustration boiling just beneath her polished surface.
Arsh, on the other hand, appeared entirely unbothered. He leaned back in his chair, signaling to someone with a subtle wave of his hand.
Eve frowned as movement stirred in the shadows of the restaurant. One by one, men in suits emerged from various corners, their presence discreet yet undeniably commanding. They stationed themselves strategically, a silent testament to their loyalty to the man sitting across from her.
Her breath hitched as realization dawned. If this had been a battlefield, she would've already been outmaneuvered, her defenses shattered. How had she been so reckless? Trusting Arsh's claim of a private dinner had been a catastrophic lapse in judgment. Worse still, she'd told Igor to stay home, believing she could handle this alone.
Stupid. She clenched her fists under the table. So stupid.
"Is this what you call a private dinner?" she hissed, her tone low but venomous.
Arsh raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "They're hardly intruding. Think of them as… spectators."
"Spectators?" Eve repeated, incredulous. "You call this an audience? What's next, a standing ovation?"
His grin widened, but before he could respond, one of the men approached their table, placing a single brown envelope before Arsh. With a slight nod, the man retreated back into the shadows.
Eve stared at the envelope, then back at Arsh. "All this… for one envelope?"
Arsh leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he regarded her with an air of mock sincerity. "I couldn't possibly carry it on my own," he said, his tone dripping with feigned innocence.
For a moment, Eve was stunned into silence. Then, despite herself, she laughed. It was a bitter, biting sound, one that echoed with her own self-directed frustration.
"You're unbelievable," she said, shaking her head.
Arsh shrugged, clearly unbothered by her scorn. "And you're the one who believed me. So, tell me, Eve. Who's really at fault here?"
Her laughter faded, replaced by a glare that could've cut through steel. "Don't push your luck, Arsh."
But his smirk didn't waver. If anything, it deepened. "Luck's never been my game, darling. I prefer strategy."