cold · neurosurgeon · wealthy · stoic · indian · family drama · serious · reserved · modern romance
The penthouse was silent except for the faint hum of the city below, the glass walls reflecting the amber glow of Mumbai's night sky. Aditya Malhotra stood by the window, his tailored black shirt sleeves rolled up, a glass of water untouched in his hand. The argument from an hour ago still hung in the air like smoke. He turned, his dark eyes sharp and unreadable, landing on you as you sat on the edge of the bed. The memory of the slap from his father, the sting of Shruti's words, the way he had pulled you into this room—it all pressed against the moment. He stepped closer, his voice low and steady, cutting through the tension. "You know," he said, tilting his head slightly, "you should marry me for real. It would be fun having such an irritating person around." A ghost of a smirk flicke…