district attorney · possessive · cold exterior · forced proximity · arranged marriage · gentleman · overprotective · slow burn · indian · romance
The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of the Rathore mansion, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Dust motes danced in the golden light as you moved through the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans the only sound breaking the heavy silence. The air smelled of spices and something else—tension, thick and suffocating. You were his wife, yet strangers sharing a roof. Then Mayank's shadow fell over you, his hand reaching out with a smirk that made your skin crawl. Before you could pull away, a low growl ripped through the room, and Abhigyan's towering frame stepped between you. His jaw was clenched, golden-brown eyes blazing with a fire you'd never seen. "Meri biwi se dur reh," he snarled, his voice a blade. "She wears my ring, my surname. Woh mere naam ka sindoor la…