Later that night, as Aryan sat in his dimly lit suite, a glass of untouched scotch in his hand, his mind drifted back to a memory that refused to fade.
Five Years Ago, London
The conference hall buzzed with energy, filled with powerful business figures from around the world. Anaya adjusted her blazer, her posture poised as she represented her own company—one she had built from the ground up. This was her moment, her achievement, far away from the shadows of Kapoor Industries.
She had expected negotiations, handshakes, and competition. She had not expected him.
Across the grand hall, Aryan Rathore stood in deep discussion with a group of executives. Time had done little to dull his presence—if anything, it had sharpened it. The confident stance, the unreadable gaze, the way he commanded attention with effortless ease.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, the noise around them faded. The years melted away, leaving only the ghosts of the past between them.
He was the first to move. Walking towards her, his lips curled into that signature smirk. "Miss Kapoor," he greeted, his tone smooth, teasing. "What a surprise."
Anaya forced a calm smile. "Mr. Rathore. I wasn't aware you were attending."
"Neither was I. But fate seems to have a sense of humor."
The tension crackled between them, unspoken words lingering in the air. Business kept them occupied during the day, but the nights were different. The second evening, they found themselves at the same rooftop bar, the city lights shimmering below.
A bottle of wine later, the formalities faded.
"You've changed," Aryan observed, his gaze locked on her.
"People do," she replied, sipping her drink.
"Not always. But you… You left everything behind and built something of your own. I admire that."
She looked away, the compliment stirring something in her chest. "And you? Still playing the golden boy of the business world?"
He chuckled. "Something like that."
Hours passed. Drinks turned into laughter, laughter turned into memories, and memories turned into something deeper. By the time they left, a slow drizzle had started, dotting the pavement with silver drops.
"London rain," she mused. "Unpredictable as ever."
Aryan turned to her, something unreadable in his expression. "Some things are predictable," he said, his voice lower, more serious.
Before she could ask what he meant, he leaned in.
The kiss wasn't hesitant. It wasn't cautious. It was inevitable.
Her hands found his jacket, his fingers tangled in her hair, and suddenly, nothing else mattered—not the past, not the guilt, not the consequences.
That night, the lines blurred.
What he did remember was the way her fingers had trembled when they touched his face, the way she had melted against him like she had been fighting it for too long. The stolen night they shared had been intoxicating, a mix of longing and uncertainty.
The next morning, they were still tangled together, the London rain pattering against the window.
But as the dawn crept in, so did reality.
Anaya watched Aryan sleep, her heart pounding with a war she wasn't ready to fight. She had made a choice last night—a selfish, reckless choice. But Abhay… Kapoor Industries… her past…
She slipped out of bed, dressed silently, and walked away.
Without a word. Without a note.
She never looked back.
By morning, she was gone. No note. No goodbye.
She had fled, leaving only the ghost of her presence behind.
And now, years later, she stood before him again, pretending as if that night had never happened.
His grip tightened around the glass.
She could lie to herself all she wanted. But he hadn't forgotten.
Not even for a second.
The next morning, Anaya stood at the balcony of her suite, her fingers curled around the delicate porcelain cup of coffee. The early sunlight painted the city in hues of gold, but her mind was consumed by the conversations of the previous night. Aryan's words echoed in her head.
You're playing a dangerous game. Be careful who you trust.
Her grip tightened on the cup. She had known stepping into this world again would be treacherous, but she hadn't expected Aryan to be the one throwing caution at her. He was supposed to be just another obstacle, another adversary she had prepared for. But he wasn't, was he?
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. She set her coffee down and adjusted her silk robe before answering.
To her mild surprise, it was Abhay. His expression was serious, his eyes scanning her as if looking for any signs of weakness.
"Good morning," she greeted, stepping aside to let him in. "I didn't expect to see you this early."
He walked in, shutting the door behind him. "You didn't answer my calls last night."
She arched a brow. "I was occupied."
"With Aryan?" His words carried an edge.
Anaya exhaled sharply, turning away. "Why does it matter?"
Abhay ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "Because he's not someone you can trust. You know who his family is, don't you?"
Her eyes flickered to his reflection in the mirror. "Not entirely."
Abhay sighed. "Then let me enlighten you. The Rathores are not just old money. They're power players in ways you can't even imagine. Political, corporate, underground—you name it, they have influence there. If Aryan is here, it's not a coincidence. He has a motive."
Anaya turned to face him, arms crossed. "And so do I."
Abhay stepped closer, lowering his voice. "That's exactly my point. He's dangerous, Anaya. You don't need more enemies."
Her lips curled into a mirthless smile. "Who said he's my enemy?"
Abhay's jaw tightened. "Then what is he?"
Anaya hesitated, but before she could answer, another knock interrupted them. This time, it was a staff member from the palace.
"Miss Kapoor, Mr. Rathore is requesting your presence for breakfast."
Abhay's expression darkened. "You're not going."
Anaya tilted her head, studying him. "Why does it bother you so much?"
"Because you don't know what he's capable of."
She let out a soft chuckle. "Then maybe it's time I find out."