Aryan wasn't why she'd taken this assignment on. Or maybe he was. Maybe there was a small part of Imlie that needed to prove to herself that she was completely over Aryan – that he no longer wielded the same intense power he once had.

And she was off to a flying start. In the twenty four hours since arriving in Rathore Mansion and posing as a lowly household assistant, she'd seen Aryan three times, all from a distance, and all encounters had almost knocked her to her feet.

He couldn't recognize her – she had made a point of keeping her head bent, the fine, gauze scarf she wore around her glossy brown hair providing an added shield. She knew it would be a disaster if he were to pick her out of the crowd, but in that moment, watching the ceremony, how she wished he would look her way! How she ached for his head to turn, for his eyes to scan the crowd and land on her face. For him to see her and her to see him, and for Imlie to once more feel that heady throb of acknowledgement that had always raged between them.

It was absurd.

She was in his house to get what information she could and get out. The article would focus on the Rathores and their legacy – one acknowledged, one not.

The crowd stood, and Imlie blinked. The ceremony had come to a close – it was over. She flashed her gaze at the couple for a brief moment before returning her eyes to their original resting place, homing in on Aryan as though her every breath was dependent on seeing him.

And by the hand of fate, for no reason that Imlie could offer, Aryan's head turned at precisely that moment and his eyes, as brown as polished amber in first rays of dawn, landed directly on Imlie's face.

The butterfly inside her burst to life – she'd been discovered.

~o~

"What the hell are you doing here?" He demanded, and though the words were said quietly, there was no point pretending she hadn't heard. Nor that she didn't know he was addressing her.

With a heart that was hammering so hard and fast she thought her ribs might splinter, Imlie turned, her skin pale, her eyes on the alert. "Aryan.." She said, the very name on her lips a lash of desire that should have been long-dead.

The ceremony was over but there were people everywhere, and already Imlie could feel eyes turning towards them. Dressed as she was, in the uniform of a servant, it was highly irregular for her to be conversing with a guest – particularly the honoured brother of the host, Arpita Prasad née Singh Rathore.

"Please." She implored softly. "Log humein dekh rahein hain!"

'Log humein dekh rahein hain, Aru. Tum ek baar mere saath chalo!'

His eyes knit closer together and his handsome face formed a dark scowl. "Of course, log dekh rahein hain." He put a hand beneath her elbow and steered her away from the crowd, through the assembly room and into a wide hallway with tall, vaulted ceilings and so many floral arrangements that the air was thick with the sweet fragrance of outside.

'Logon ke dekhne ke liye hi toh tumne yeh sab kiya hai na? Toh dekhne do inhe! Banne do mera tamasha.. In fact, main tumhaare next article ka title abhi se hi de deta hoon - ARYAN SINGH RATHORE BREAKS DOWN. Kya pata log mujhe bhi jalaane aa jayein? Aane do unhe.. Unhe kuch nahi milega.. Kyunki mera antim sanskaar toh tumne already kar diya hai!'

"Tum yahaan kya kar rahi ho?" He demanded once more, when they had slightly more privacy. He didn't stop walking though, frog-marching her through the mansion as though she were a criminal. Which, she supposed, in his eyes she was.

'GET. OUT.'

"Aryan, please tum ek baar meri baat sunn lo.. Iska tumse koi lena dena nahi hai." Her eyes, honeyed caramel in colour and shaped like a cat's slanted to him in time to catch his harsh intake of breath.

'Main woh article nahi nahi publish karna chahti thi.. Aru, please meri baat toh sunn lo!'

"Tum mere ghar mein, mere staff ke uniform mein, meri behen ke bete ke first media appearance mein aayi ho. Tum.. Jisne ek hi baar mein uski poori duniya ko zinda jala dala! Jisne uski hasti khelti duniyaa ko raakh mein badalne laayak bhi nahi chhoda! Jisne uska sab kuch chheen liya! And yet you don't think I have a right to concern myself with your presence?"

'Main tumhaare saath apni duniyaa basaane ko chala tha.. Aur tumne toh meri poori duniya hi jala di! Isse better toh yeh hota ki tum mujhe Pagdandiya ke mujarimon ki tarah kahin zinda gaad deti!'

Imlie's step faltered for a moment, but she covered it quickly. "I'm sorry about the article.."

"Don't." He increased his speed, so that she almost had to jog to keep up with him. The corridor came to an end with large windows overlooking a lush garden and a beautiful lake beyond, but there was a hallway to the left, and one to the right. He took the latter, not pausing to allow her breath, let alone to enjoy the spectacular view that fell away from them.

"Tumhe kya lagta hai ki paanch saal baad tum ek sorry bologi aur tumhe maafi mil jaayegi? Is that how easy you think it is?"

"Tum meri baat tak nahi sunn-na chaahte the!" She reminded him stiffly, but it was with a vocal rigidity that hid her trembling emotions.

"Oh, I'm so sorry for inconveniencing you! You see, I was a little busy." He muttered, subjecting her to the full force of his mocking glare. "As you might recall, My Jiju died.. Actually was burnt alive, shortly after your filthy exposé hit the news."

Imlie's stomach rolled and without even trying, she mentally conjured the article. She could see the headline: FRAUD ARVIND SHEKHAWAT and the picture that had accompanied it – a rather indicting long-lens photo of drugs being adulterated in Shekhawat Pharmaceutical's.

It had been awful. Gutter press at its worst. Her part in that still had the power to fill her with shame.

"Jo bhi Arvind Ji ke saath hua.."

Now Aryan stopped walking and the look he reserved for Imlie was brimming with contempt. "You do not get to use his name to me." Aryan said darkly. "You do not deserve to speak of him, to think of him. So help me god, agar tumne unka naam dobara socha bhi toh.. Tumhe exactly pata chal jaayega ki kyun tumhaare alaawa koi bhi mujhse pyaar nahi kar paya." He raked his cold, hateful gaze over her body, landing with utter disgust on her pale face. He resumed walking, and she didn't think about not going with him.

But every step forward had her stomach dropping lower and lower, so that, by the time he came to a stop at the top of a spiraling marble staircase, she was almost nauseous with guilt.

She'd messed up. She'd known it from almost the first moment they met, certainly as they got more and more involved. When he started telling her things: secrets, private matters about his family, she knew she should have bailed. Or at least had the decency not to write them down.

But her journalistic training had been hard-fought and completely-ingrained. What harm could come from taking notes, in any case?

What harm, indeed!

"Woh article ek bohot badi galti thi!" She blurted out. "In fact, galti nahi gunaah tha. I shouldn't have done it."

"No, Imlie. You shouldn't have." His lips were a grim slash in his stony face. "But you did. So, ab kya? Yeh kaunsa naya drama hai? Ab kya barbaad karna chahti ho tum?" He gestured to the outfit she wore and heat suffused her face.

"Main.."

"Yes?" He crossed his arms over his chest, drawing her attention to his broadly muscled physique.

She'd never seen him naked – their relationship had been surprisingly old-fashioned, and she'd liked that. She'd liked that he had wanted to cosset and adore her. He'd made her feel like the most precious item in all the universe. And she'd become addicted to that feeling, so she could no longer think straight.

"Main sirf apna kaam kar rahi hoon." She said, turning her face away.

"You're writing another article." He muttered, and when she didn't answer, he seemed to grow at least another inch. "Tell me the goddamned truth, Imlie."

She winced at his harsh tone. "I just did."

"No, you're being deliberately evasive."

"I'm working. I have credentials." She reached into her pocket, curling her fingers around the laminated card that had granted her access into the palace. It was her photo, though the name on it was her mother's maiden name – a precaution she always used when on assignment.

Aryan took it and gave it a cursory glance, before jamming it into his own pocket. "And if I look here?" He pressed his palm to her hip, his eyes holding hers as he felt confirmation of what he'd suspected. "A voice recorder?"

Imlie's eyes swept shut. "Jaisa tum soch rahe ho waisa kuch bhi nahi hai!"

"I think you'll find you have no credibility with me, but give it a try, Imlie. Please mujhe samjhaane ki koshish karo ki tum ek fake identification tag aur ek spy device ke saath mere ghar mein kya kar rahi ho? And while you're at it, why don't you also tell me why you're in a top-security location at an event that is most firmly invitation-only?"

"Main koi 'Page-3' news ke liye yahaan nahi aayi hoon!" She said, her throat thick with shame. How mortifying the whole exposé story had been! She should never have taken the job with that particular paper, but she'd been desperate. She'd needed the money.

She still did. Her sister was counting on her, and everything Imlie did was for Malini's sake. She would walk through fire to make sure her sister didn't have to worry about her future: a risky pregnancy had been hard enough, and Imlie had done what she could to help. Now that 'pregnancy' was an adorable three year old with an absentee father for more reasons than one. It was up to Imlie to help. And she wanted to help. She worked herself tirelessly, writing articles for magazines, newspapers, anything she could, she did.

And this piece had been no different – except in one way. The pay was much better than usual. The inherent risk of going undercover in Rathore Mansion had meant the promised fee would cover their rent for almost a month. But she had to finish the damned thing!

"It's not gossip." She said again, clearing her throat. "This is a proper piece. That's what I write now."

Aryan's expression grew grimmer by the moment. "So you've come to my house, somehow obtained a false identification tag, posed as a servant, and all so you can snoop around my sister and her husband who, by the way, happens to be the CEO of Prasad Industries?"

Imlie swept her eyes shut. "It's not snooping. I'm a journalist."

"Semantics." Aryan disputed. "You are looking to prise open doors that have been pulled closed for a reason."

"That is just corporate drama." She said, knowing she had no right to claim the moral high-ground but clinging to it in any case. "And you can't just drag me out of a crowded room to berate and interrogate me."

His harsh laugh was a contradiction in and of itself. None the less, he responded with a soft and dangerous denouncement. "You are very lucky I dragged you from that room rather than alerting my brother-in-law to your presence."

At this, Imlie froze, her heart throbbing painfully inside her chest. "Tumhaare paas waisa karne ki koi wajah nahi hai."

"Koi wajah nahi hai? Are you hearing yourself right now? You wrote an article that directly led to my Jiju's death and you dare come within a hundred yards of my family? Of my sister? Her son? And on a day such as this?"

"I told you, I'm not looking to cause trouble.."

"Looking for it or not, the result is the same. Give me the tape recorder."

She shook her head mutinously, thinking of the deep background research she'd been doing for a fortnight, the documents she'd uncovered, all of which were notarized on the digital machine in her pocket.

"No. You're angry about the article and I get that; I was too. That's not the article I wanted to write.."

"It had your name on it." He interrupted, with a sceptically raised brow.

"I'm aware of that."

He lowered his head, so his eyes were close enough that she could see flecks of gold amongst the brown. "There were things in that article that only I knew – things that I told you in confidence, having never revealed them to another soul. I confided in you, I trusted you.."

Her guilt cracked wide open, flooding her with pain and angry recriminations. "I know." It was just a husky whisper.

"Ek tarah se dekha jaaye toh mujhe toh tumhe 'Thank You!' kehna chahiye.."

"Kyun?" She blinked up at him, and made the foolish mistake of sucking in a deep breath. She'd hoped it would calm her fluttering nerves but instead she caught a hint of his masculine fragrance and her knees almost buckled underneath her.

"Main kisi pe bhi asaani se bharosa nahi karta.. Kabhi bhi nahi kiya!" He pressed his thumb and forefinger to the flesh beneath her chin, lifting her face to his so their eyes were locked. "Par phir bhi.."

'Maine tumpe khud se bhi zyada bharosa kiya tha, Imlie!'

The words tapered off and it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the palace. They were floating in a vacuum, darkness, past, misunderstanding and pain, and yet the same magnetic tug held them in its thrall.

"Tum ek galti thi. You were a mistake." He said finally, breaking the spell and dropping his hand. "Trusting you was the worst error in judgement I've ever made. I was blinded by your beauty – what a fool. As if I hadn't been with beautiful women before! What was it about you, Imlie? Why did I feel like you were different?"

Her pulse was thick and fast in her veins. "Maybe I was different."

"Yes." He said with a touch of fury. "You're by far the most manipulative, dishonest bitch of a woman I've ever had the misfortune of meeting."

'Tum ek jhoothi ho. I can't believe ki maine tum jaisi se saccha pyaar kiya aur uss pyaar ki waapis milne ki dua maangi! Tumhaare pyaar ke liye main tumhaare saamne haath faila ke bheekh maangne ke liye bhi taiyaar tha aur tum mujhe ek sach bhi nahi de paayi?'

She stumbled backwards at the furious epithet, until her back connected with the cold stone wall. But he wasn't done.

"You lied to me with every breath you took and then you used what I'd told you to destroy my Jiju's life and legacy. That article will forever be associated with him – never mind all the good he achieved in his lifetime. Your stupid, invasive article will be on every internet search for anyone who chooses to type his name. You wrote an article for the sake of amusement and titillation and you destroyed a man in the process. You damned well nearly destroyed his business too. And now you think you can come here and what? Do exactly the same to my sister? Or to her husband who happens to be her second chance at happiness?"