The clock blinked 11:00 PM in red neon on the side table, casting a dim hue across my living room.

I sat curled on the corner of the velvet couch, hair bundled in a careless messy bun, draped in my favorite printed night suit—the one with little clouds and stars, ironic for someone who hadn’t seen sleep in days. A smoothie glass dangled between my fingers, forgotten long ago. Documents laid open on my lap, ink smudged from where my thumb pressed too hard. But my eyes… they weren’t on the papers.

They were glued to the screen.

The split-screen surveillance showed every corner of Rehan Qureshi’s luxury penthouse—the door, the hallway, the living room where he usually threw his coat, and that one particular chair he always sat in to loosen his tie. But today… nothing.

The door remained closed.

The hallway? Still.

The living room? Empty.

Where the hell are you?

My lips parted with a whisper, “Where are you, Rehan?”

Only silence answered.

I leaned forward, eyes scanning every pixel of the screen like a madwoman searching for a ghost. My nails dug into the armrest. It had been 72 minutes since he was supposed to return home. I knew his schedule better than his secretary. I memorized every pattern—his sighs, his footsteps, even the tilt of his damn whiskey glass.

And when 11:30 PM hit, dread coiled itself around my chest like a serpent.

Without wasting another breath, I tossed the smoothie onto the table and rushed to my room, yanking open the drawer where I kept a small tracker—Rehan’s GPS. A green dot blinked on the map. Not at home. Not at the office. My breath hitched.

He was at a club. In New York. Alone.

The world tilted. The Rehan Qureshi I knew didn’t do clubs. Not without a purpose. And never alone.

I booked a cab in seconds. Tossed on a black bodycon dress that clung to my skin like obsession clings to memory. Red lipstick. Hair down. Eyes sharp. I wasn’t dressing for the club. I was dressing for him.

___🖤___

THE CLUB. 12:01 AM

Bass throbbed like a second heartbeat the moment I stepped inside.

Lights strobed in violet and crimson, bodies grinding on the dance floor like sin had taken physical form. The air was heavy with sweat, smoke, perfume, and secrets. Girls with glitter-stained thighs laughed into the necks of strangers, while men licked tequila from their skin. Lust danced in the air like incense.

But my eyes?

They were bloodhounds. Trained. Focused.

I scanned the corners, the bar, the private lounges.

And then… I saw him.

Slouched on a leather chair in the darkest corner of the club, dressed in black, glass in hand, and misery painted all over him.

Rehan Qureshi.

His hair was an unkempt mess, like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, veins prominent, the watch on his wrist hanging loose like he didn’t care. His jaw was clenched, and his lips... bruised. His eyes—normally sharp and arrogant—were red. Swollen. As if he’d cried.

My feet froze.

What the hell happened to him?

He looked like a storm that had been ripped apart mid-air. No women clinging to him. No friends beside him. Not even a damn phone in his hand. He was drinking like the world had ended, and he was the only one left to mourn it.

I started walking. Fast. The crowd blurred. Music faded.

With every step closer, my heart pounded like a war drum. Not out of fear. But something darker. Deeper.

Worry. I was worried for him.

He looked up—eyes meeting mine.

And for a second, I swear the world stopped breathing.

His gaze locked onto me like I was both the poison and the cure. My breath caught in my throat. The haunted look in his eyes shifted—recognition, then confusion, and then… peace. As if my presence had just stitched together the ruins of his mind.

I walked to him, trembling hands clenched. Every cell in my body screamed to touch him. To fix him. To hold him. To ruin him if that’s what it took to make him feel again.

“Rehan…” I whispered.

He blinked slowly, like his name alone was something too sacred to believe.

“Jasmine?”

The way he said my name—my name—wasn't casual. It was aching. As if he’d waited a lifetime and still wasn’t sure I was real.

I sat beside him.

Our knees touched.

He didn’t pull away.

Silence stretched between us like a string wrapped too tight around our throats.

"She doesn't leave my mind, princess... she still haunts me," he murmured, his voice low, wrecked, drowning in the burn of another sip of whiskey.

The glass trembled in his hand, but not as much as the ache in his chest.

My eyes were fixed on him—on the man I had loved in silence, in screams, in silence again. On the man who once ruled boardrooms but now sat shattered under the leather lights of a New York club, surrounded by bodies yet completely alone.

I hated her.

Not for what she did to him—but for the fact that she still lived inside his soul, curled up like a parasite in the darkest corner of his heart.

Jasmine Kharish.

That name alone made my skin crawl.

And yet... it was my name too.

A cruel joke by the universe—to make me live with the same cursed name of the woman who destroyed him.

The irony? I’d die just to fix what she broke.

I didn’t say a word. Words would crumble under the weight of his pain.

So instead, I placed my hand gently over his—his calloused, trembling hand that rested on his thigh. His fingers were cold, stiff, holding on to the glass like it was the only thing anchoring him to this reality.

Rehan turned slowly. His eyes—bloodshot, swollen, glossed over with hurt—found mine. He wasn’t in his senses, and yet… he sensed me. Always did.

His grip tightened over my hand. Not possessively, but soft. As if I was the only thing left keeping him from collapsing.

I wanted to snatch the glass away, to scream, 'Look at me, Rehan. I’m here. I’m not her.'

But I didn’t.

Because tonight, even pain had a purpose.

He tilted the fifth glass back like it was water, his throat moving with every drop. My gaze flickered down to the faint bruise forming near his collarbone, maybe from a fight, or maybe from crashing into a wall while trying to outrun memories.

“She betrayed me...” His voice was rough, broken, each word dripping with venom and heartbreak, cutting through the throb of the music like a blade pressed to skin.

“But you don’t betray me, princess.”

And then—slowly, almost painfully gently—Rehan let his head fall onto my bare shoulder.

I froze.

My breath hitched so hard it felt like my ribs would split. My body was trembling, not out of fear, not out of hesitation—but out of the sheer weight of his nearness. His hair brushed against my collarbone, his warmth seeped through my skin, and every single cell in me screamed with one truth: he is the exception.

Rehan.

No one had ever been allowed this close to me. No one had ever earned it. But him? He didn’t just slip past my defenses—he shattered them as though they were nothing but glass beneath his touch.

My hand moved on its own. I caressed his knuckles, rough and calloused, each scar telling a story I wanted to memorize. I trailed upwards, along his arm, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the quiet storm coiled in his muscles. Then, with a tenderness I didn’t even know I was capable of, I bent forward and kissed the crown of his head.

Like porcelain. Like whispers. Like something sacred.

My eyes burned—not from tears, but from rage.

Rage at the world that had torn him apart. Rage at her, that vile ghost named Jasmine Kharish, who had taken his trust and ground it beneath her heel. Rage at myself—for standing here, for breathing, for existing, yet not being able to erase his pain.

“I’ll die before breaking your trust, Rehan,” I whispered, my voice shaking with the only truth I had left. "My life? It isn’t mine anymore. My eyes? They don’t see anyone except you. My heart?” I pressed my palm against my chest, feeling it thunder. “It doesn’t beat for me anymore—it only loses itself every time I whisper your name. Rehan.”

I leaned closer, my lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Betrayal… is a sin. And I won’t commit it. Not to you. Not in this life, not in any.”

His breathing shifted, a deep inhale, his head pressing harder against me as though he was anchoring himself into my scent.

“She was your nightmare,” I murmured, caressing his cheek now, letting my thumb brush over the faint stubble. His eyes closed, lashes trembling like fragile wings. “But I… I am faith, Rehan.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. The way he rested in me, trusted me in this vulnerable state, spoke louder than words.

I am not just written in your faith, instead I am the one writing your fate, Rehan.

Because from the moment my eyes first found him, from the moment I dared breathe the same air as him, my heart had been his. And without even knowing, I had started writing our script. Our story. And in my story, I will burn the world to ashes for him. Every soul that dared touch him with cruelty—I will reduce them to dust. Jasmine Kharish was only the beginning.

I looked at his face—those sharp edges softened by exhaustion, by pain, by the alcohol in his veins. My storm calmed at the sight of him, and yet, a darker storm brewed in me. The thought of anyone, anyone, daring to hurt him again… it was unbearable.

And then I noticed them.

Girls.

Cheap, painted, bold—hovering too close, fluttering around him like desperate moths drawn to a flame that could incinerate them in an instant. Their eyes were greedy, their smirks sinful, their steps slow and deliberate.

My jaw clenched so tight it hurt. My nails bit crescents into my palms as I prepared to rise, to shred them apart with nothing but the violence of my glare.

But I didn’t need to.

Because four men moved.

Towering shadows built of muscle and menace, loyal only to him. They stepped forward, their presence slicing through the air like steel, blocking the girls before their heels could even click twice in his direction.

The girls froze. Their smirks faltered. Their painted lips parted in silence as the reality of it sank in—Rehan Qureshi was untouchable.

One of them turned his head slightly towards me, his voice deep, commanding, and brimming with the kind of loyalty most men could only dream of earning.

“We are Sir’s men.” I nodded.

And more than the sight of those four brutal bodyguards, what shocked me most was the realization that they had been there all along. Watching. Protecting. Allowing me to stay. Allowing me to touch him, sit with him, breathe next to him… while refusing every other soul even an inch of him.

Why?

Why me?

The question roared in my head, but I shoved it down, because answers could wait. Right now, there was only one truth:

He was mine to protect.

Mine to keep safe.

Mine to burn the world for.

I looked down at Rehan, his lashes brushing against his cheeks, his lips parted ever so slightly as his breath fanned against my skin. And in that moment, the universe itself could collapse into chaos, but I wouldn’t move. I wouldn’t let go.

Because if I was his faith, if I was truly his fate… then nothing and no one would ever take him from me.

Not the ghosts of his past.

Not the vultures circling him now.

Not the world itself.

Only I would ever have the right to bring Rehan Qureshi to his knees.

With the help of his men, I took him to his house. His house. The one place that carried his scent, his soul—dark, sharp, intoxicating. The moment I stepped in, my heart twisted. Black walls, black sheets, black silence. His world. His throne. His cage.

I laid him down gently, as though he were made of glass. His shirt hung loose, a few buttons undone, exposing a chest I could drown in, stained with whiskey like sinful marks left behind. My throat tightened. My hands moved before my mind could stop them. I picked up a tissue, wiping at those stains, as though I could erase his pain along with it.

That’s when I felt it.

His eyes.

Half-lidded, hazy, but locked on me. Like even in the middle of his drunken haze, he knew it was me. His lips curved—not into his usual devil’s smirk, but into something raw, almost boyish. A smile that pierced me deeper than any blade could.

I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

And then, when I leaned forward to rise, his hand moved.

Fast. Firm.

He grabbed me, pulling me down. My body fell against his, and the air between us shattered. His scent was everywhere—whiskey, smoke, and something dangerously addictive that belonged only to him.

“Princess…”

The word left his lips in a broken whisper, yet it hit me harder than a scream. My chest ached. My eyes stung. Tears threatened to spill, and I didn’t even know why. Why did a single word, from him, have the power to rip me open?

I bit my lip, but then came the second blow.

“I missed you.”

My heart stopped.

He touched my cheek, rough fingers tracing it like a man memorizing his last prayer. Then lower—he brushed his lips against my nose pin, lingering as if claiming it. My breath trembled. He pressed a kiss on my forehead, gentle, reverent, destroying me with every brush of his lips.

And I—Jasmine—the girl who swore to never bow, never break, never fall for anyone, was trembling like a fool in his arms.

I should have pushed him away. Reminded him he’d forget this tomorrow. That his mind, clouded by whiskey, would erase my face, my touch, my everything.

But I didn’t.

Because in that moment, he was mine. Completely, desperately mine.

I covered him with the sheet, my fingers lingering longer than they should on the hard ridges of his chest, the warmth of his skin branding me. I bent down, lips brushing his cheek. Soft. Feather like. Dangerous.

“Your pain is my pain, Rehan,” I whispered, my lips still resting against his skin. “And your princess promises to give them the same pain they gave you.”

I stayed there, eyes shut, imprinting this moment onto my soul, before finally pulling away. My steps felt heavier than usual as I forced myself toward the door, back to my empty apartment.

But my heart?

My heart stayed there with him.

Because no matter what tomorrow stole from his memory…

I would always remember tonight.

7:00 AM.

The first thing I felt was pain. A sharp, merciless headache that split my skull in two, reminding me of last night’s sins. I clutched my head, forcing myself upright on the black silk sheets, my breaths ragged.

But then—

Her fragrance.

Jasmine?

It wasn’t faint. It wasn’t a trace. No, it was everywhere. In the air I breathed. In the fibers of my clothes. In my damn bloodstream. I sat there, frozen, the world blurring until only one thought pounded through my head—she was here.

I searched for her, eyes darting around the dark room like a madman, expecting her to be in a corner, a shadow, a ghost that never left me. My light. My fire. My princess.

But the room was empty. Silent. Cold.

Still, her fragrance wrapped around me like chains. My mind betrayed me, dragging me back to the night before.

The club. The burn of alcohol flooding my throat like poison, glass after glass after glass until the memories of her—that betrayer, that venomous mistake—blurred. The way she had torn me apart, reduced me to a boy bleeding at her altar.

And then Jasmine.

Out of nowhere, like she had been carved out of the night itself just for me.

I remembered leaning against her shoulder. Her voice soft, her words like a balm I didn’t deserve. She stayed. She didn’t flinch, didn’t run, didn’t treat me like I was broken glass. She touched me—lightly, hesitantly—but enough to remind me what breathing felt like.

And her eyes.

Those damn eyes.

Worried. For me.

The memory of them stabbed me harder than the headache. And my chest? It wasn’t steady anymore. It was erratic. Restless. Skipping beats like a fool in love.

What the hell was happening to me?

I forced myself out of bed, each step heavy, my body still soaked in her ghost. I peeled my shirt off, intending to toss it to the floor—but then I stopped.

Her scent was there.

On me. In me.

And instead of discarding it like I should, I… folded it. Neatly. Like some obedient child terrified of losing his treasure.

I hated myself for it. Rehan Qureshi does not bend, does not cling, does not kneel.

But I couldn’t throw it away. I couldn’t strip her off me.

Because how the hell do you discard something that smells like her?

I stepped into the cold shower, hoping it would burn her ghost out of me. Instead, it only awakened more memories—the way she whispered, the way she touched, the way her breath brushed against my skin like a promise I wasn’t allowed to claim.

When I stepped out, I was already dressed in armor again—my signature. A three-piece green Lauren suit that fit like sin, the fabric molding to me as if it knew who it belonged to. I buttoned each cuff with precision, adjusted my watch, styled my hair until it was perfect. One strand fell forward, carelessly rebellious, and I let it.

But even as I dressed like a king, my eyes kept drifting—back to the shirt I refused to throw, back to the memory of her hands, her fragrance.

By the time I stood before the mirror, I wasn’t looking at myself anymore. I was searching. For her. In the hollow reflection of my own eyes.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I grabbed it instantly, as though my life depended on it, scrolling through messages like a starving man desperate for food. But there was nothing from her.

No message.

No call.

Not even a trace.

She had been here. In my room. In my world. And then she left, as though she hadn’t just stitched herself into my veins. Why? Why the hell did she walk away when I—

No. I wouldn’t think about that. I wouldn’t unravel.

I tightened my tie, exhaled hard, and walked out to the hall.

The maids and chefs lined up, bowing, the breakfast table set with silver trays and crystal glasses. But the sight disgusted me. Food was nothing. Luxury was nothing. Control, dominance, money—none of it mattered.

Not when I needed her.

Not when every cell in me screamed for one thing, one person, one presence.

Jasmine.

And that was all it took.

I walked past the table without a glance, my strides hard and sharp, keys already in my hand. The staff lowered their heads, sensing the storm in me.

The car roared to life under my grip. Every turn of the wheel, every breath I dragged into my lungs, was poisoned with her scent. I hated how much it calmed me. I hated how much it ignited me.

But I couldn’t stop it.

Because today—this morning, this second—I needed to see her. Not later. Not when fate allowed. Now.

With a determination bordering on madness, I drove straight to my firm, my thoughts spiraling, my pulse hammering, one truth blazing through me like fire—

"I am missing her."

___🖤___

10:07 AM.

The clock ticked louder than my own pulse. Each second dragged like an insult. Each minute without her presence felt like betrayal. My body refused to stay still—I paced back and forth before the glass wall of my cabin, my fists clenching, my chest heaving.

Where the hell are you, Princess?

I whispered it under my breath like a prayer. Or a curse. My entire being was restless, my veins dry without her essence.

And then—

It hit me.

Before her presence, before the sound of her heels, before my eyes dared to catch her—her fragrance filled me. Sweet, intoxicating, maddening. My lungs expanded violently, like I’d been suffocating until now.

I turned toward the door.

And there she was.

Jasmine Shaikh. My ruin. My obsession. My Princess.

Walking through the hall as if the world was hers to command. That white denim skirt hugging her curves, each step of her white YSL heels echoing like a heartbeat I could sync to. A full-sleeved white lace top clinging to her delicacy and strength in the same breath. White. Of all colors, she chose white today—peace, purity. She thought this would calm me? Ohh, Princess. Peace was the last thing I felt.

What I wanted was chaos. What I wanted was her in my lap, trembling, surrendering.

My eyes drank her in greedily, shamelessly. That face—God, that face—I was getting addicted to seeing it every damn day. Those strands of hair framing her, the nose pin I’d already claimed with my lips once, and then… her mouth. Her brown, soft, utterly sinful lips.

My tongue burned just imagining them around mine again.

“Fuck, Rehan,” I cursed under my breath, my control already fraying as I watched her glide closer, her aura setting fire to the air.

And then—our eyes met.

That was it. My entire system rebelled. My heart didn’t just skip—it went insane, pounding against my ribs like a beast desperate to escape. Electricity surged, crackling in the space between us, filling me with a hunger I couldn’t disguise.

And then… she smiled.

A soft, devastating curve of her lips. A smile so innocent, yet it struck me harder than whiskey, harder than bullets.

I am not a teenager, I told myself savagely. I do not lose my mind over a mere smile. But my traitorous heart? It didn’t listen. It never did when it came to her.

She walked closer. Closer. And then—like she was going to torture me deliberately—she passed me. Walked right past as though my existence wasn’t already clawing at hers.

That was it.

Before logic could interfere, my hand moved. A traitor. A desperate, shameless traitor. I grabbed her wrist, spinning her toward me, and in the next breath she was inside my cabin. Door slammed. Blinds shut. My body caging her against the glass.

“Rehan…”

Her voice. My name from her lips. That was it. That was fucking it.

I bent down instantly, burying my face against her neck. Inhaling. Drinking her in like oxygen. Like heroin. Her scent hit me so hard, I groaned.

“You’re okay?” she whispered.

Not pushing me away. Not fighting me. Just… there. Soft. Concern etched in her tone.

I pulled back slightly, locking my eyes into hers, drowning in the storm she carried. “You were worried?” I asked, my voice harsher than I meant.

And in her gaze—something I didn’t want to name. Something I couldn’t.

'It’s love'. My heart screamed it. Loud. Shameless.

I ignored it. I buried it. But every cell of me wanted to rip the word out, scream it into her ears, brand it into her skin.

“Am I not allowed to be?” she asked back, her voice so steady, so disarming.

Something inside me cracked. I smiled. For the first time today, I smiled—because what else could I do? She was stripping me bare with every word, every look.

Her presence wasn’t obsession. It wasn’t possession. It was something more dangerous, more consuming. Something I wasn’t ready to face. Not yet.

“Don’t be,” I warned. My tone was steel, but even I knew it was useless.

“Not in my hands,” she whispered, her lips curving into a shy smile.

That was it. My last thread of control snapped.

My hand wrapped around her throat—not to hurt, but to claim, to remind her she was mine. Her lips parted, forming a pout, and my other hand slammed onto her waist, dragging her impossibly close.

“I missed this mouth, Princess,” I growled, my lips brushing hers.

And then I took it.

Not like before. No hunger. No fury. This was slow. Soft. Almost reverent. My lips molded over hers, claiming, cherishing, worshipping. She melted instantly, her hands climbing my neck, threading into my hair. Her body pressed against me, surrendering as though she had always belonged there.

My hands explored, desperate to memorize every curve, every line of her. Her waist. Her hips. Her softness against my palms. I touched her like she was the only thing I would ever allow myself to want in this cursed world.

And our lips…

God, our lips.

They fit too perfectly, moved in sync like they were stitched together by fate itself. I kissed her deeper, slower, losing myself in her, forgetting every scar, every betrayal, every demon that haunted me.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes of pure oblivion. Ten minutes where the world ceased to exist.

Finally, I broke the kiss, but I didn’t let her go. My lips hovered against hers, stealing her air, feeding on her breath.

“By the way…” I whispered, my voice ragged, “…I wanted to thank you. For yesterday.”

Her lips brushed mine as she whispered hardly, “Then thank me.”

I smirked against her mouth. “That’s exactly what I’m doing, Princess. Thanking you. I just hope you like it.”

Before she could respond, I captured her again—harder this time, biting her lower lip, tasting her gasp, devouring her like the sweetest sin.

Because no matter how many times I kissed her, no matter how many times I touched her—I couldn’t get enough. I’d never get enough.

When she hit my chest lightly, begging for oxygen, I finally released her lips, but not her body. Never her body.

She looked wrecked. Breathless. Beautiful.

And all I could think was— She’s mine.

"There are other ways to thank me, Mr. Qureshi," she whispered, lips curling into that infuriatingly smug smirk of hers—the one that always made my pulse misbehave.

For a moment, I froze, her words ringing in my ears. Mr Qureshi? She was playing with the demon, and she knew it. Jasmine Shaikh wasn’t scared of fire. No… she walked right into it, daring it to burn her.

"You didn’t like this way of thanking you, princess?" I asked, my voice rougher than I intended. My fingers trailed across her cheek, lingering longer than necessary. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft, and flushed crimson from the little "thanking session" we had just shared. That blush? It wasn’t just from the kiss… it was from the war going on inside her, the same war tearing me apart.

Her lips parted, breath shaky, as though she was trying to form words but couldn’t. I leaned in, close enough to feel her exhale tremble against my face.

"I…" she started, and then stopped. My patience stretched thin, but I waited. Always waited for her. She had me hooked like that.

"But it’s not enough, sir."

I nearly choked on my own breath. Not enough?

"My pardon?" I managed, my voice low, caught somewhere between disbelief and desire.

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with challenge. "I’m inviting you on a date tonight, Mr. Qureshi. No formals, please. Wear something that will make me go crazy for you…"

I swear my brain short-circuited. A date. She wasn’t asking—she was commanding. And me? The man who commanded boardrooms, who had people trembling under his gaze? I stood there, completely undone by one woman.

"Well, I hope you know I’m your boss, princess," I reminded her—or maybe I was reminding myself, because this woman was dragging me into chaos I wasn’t prepared for. She was the storm I had no chance of escaping.

Her reply? One word. Calm. Cold. Cutting right through me.

"Unfortunately."

Unfortunately?. As if she hated the fact that I had this title, this position, this power that should’ve kept her away but only pushed her closer.

I should’ve walked away. I should’ve ended it. But instead, like a fool intoxicated by her existence, I found myself asking, "And what are you wearing for our date, princess?"

Why? Because there was no way I could refuse her. Even if I wanted to, my lips would betray me. Every "no" turned into "yes" the second she looked at me. That was her power.

She smirked, wicked and devastating, and pushed me back with her palms flat on my chest. I caught her wrist instinctively, the heat of her pulse thrumming beneath my fingertips, but she slipped away before I could anchor her.

At the door, she paused, eyes glittering like a devil cloaked in silk.

"Something that will drive you crazy, Rehan Qureshi."

___🖤___

Be honest, darlings—how many times did you scream at them in your head while reading today’s update? 😚💫

___🖤___