(Abhiraj's Perspective)

The city skyline glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office, a testament to the empire I was destined to command. Yet, the thought of Maya—her defiance, her insufferable independence—gnawed at me. I needed a strategy, a way to dismantle her walls.

Luca sauntered in, his usual smirk plastered across his face. "You look like you're plotting world domination," he quipped, dropping into the chair opposite me.

"Just considering my next move," I replied, fingers steepled under my chin.

"Regarding your charming wife, I presume?" His tone was laced with amusement.

I leaned back, a predatory smile curling my lips. "It's time to remind Maya of the vows she took, whether she likes it or not."

Luca raised an eyebrow. "And how do you plan to do that?"

"By attacking the very thing she holds dear—her independence. We'll establish rules. Boundaries. She wants to play house; we'll play by my rules."

He chuckled. "This should be interesting."

Scene 2: The Battle at Home

Later that evening, the tension in our shared apartment was palpable. Maya sat across from me at the dining table, her posture rigid, eyes blazing with defiance.

"We need to set some ground rules," I began, my voice cold and authoritative.

She crossed her arms. "Fine. Rule one: no touching."

I smirked. "Agreed. Rule two: in public, we act the part of the perfect couple. For business appearances."

Her jaw tightened. "Agreed."

"Rule three: we stay out of each other's personal affairs."

"Fine."

"And rule four," I leaned in, my gaze locking onto hers, "no matter what, we continue to despise each other. Even if we share the same bed."

Her eyes narrowed. "Trust me, that won't be a problem."

Scene 3: The Confrontation

The night deepened, and as I reviewed some documents, I heard the soft click of the front door. Turning, I saw Maya, dressed in a provocative, form-fitting dress that left little to the imagination.

"Where do you think you're going?" My voice was a low growl.

She paused, hand on the doorknob, and turned to face me. "Out."

"One more step, Maya, and I'll make sure you can't walk properly for a week."

Her eyes widened slightly, but she quickly masked it with a glare. "Excuse me?"

I stood, closing the distance between us. "You're my wife now. If you walk out that door in that...dress, I swear I'll lose my temper. And when I do, you'll regret it."

She lifted her chin defiantly. "I am an independent woman. I can take care of myself. And we agreed—no touching."

I leaned in, my breath hot against her ear. "Our arrangement be damned. You're walking out looking like every man's fantasy, and you think I'll just let that happen?"

She met my gaze, fire in her eyes. "Why do you care? We hate each other. I can wear whatever I want."

"Because," I hissed, "if you walk out that door, every man will be undressing you with their eyes. And the worst part? I won't be able to do anything about it because of our 'no touching' rule."

She smirked. "I know martial arts. I can handle myself."

I took another step closer, our bodies almost touching. "Martial arts? Really? Then why did you just shiver when I came near? Should I test how well those skills work against someone like me?"

A dangerous smile spread across my face. "Fine. You want protection? I'll be your shadow tonight. You move, I move. Understand?"

She stared at me, a mix of anger and something else swirling in her gaze. "Fine."

As she turned and walked out the door, I followed close behind, the battle lines between us clearer than ever.

********************************

I should be out drinking. Should be surrounded by people who don’t make my blood boil. Should be anywhere but here, glaring at the woman I hate more than anything.

Maya stands in front of me, arms crossed, eyes burning with defiance. Even in the dim light of the hallway, she looks like a walking sin—dangerous, untouchable, and so damn frustrating. My jaw clenches.

"Understand?" she says, voice laced with irritation.

I run a hand through my hair, hating that I agreed to this. Protecting her. Babysitting her. All because she doesn’t know when to stop pushing.

"Good. And one more thing…" My gaze drags over the dress clinging to her curves like a second skin, dangerously short, inviting trouble. "Wear something less… revealing. You're already testing my self-control."

Her lips part, disbelief flashing across her face. "Excuse me?"

I turn away before I do something reckless. "And Maya," I add coldly, "this doesn’t change anything between us. I still hate you just as much."

I don’t wait for a response. I don’t need to. She’s already cursing me in her head. I can feel it.

As I button up my shirt, I tell myself this is just another business obligation. Just another battle in this godforsaken marriage. So why does the thought of men staring at her, touching her, make my hands curl into fists?

I slam the suit jacket over my shoulders, scowling. I need to get out of this house before I do something I'll regret.

*********************************

Maya stands by the car, hands on her hips. "I’m driving."

I don’t slow my steps. Don’t even hesitate as I take the keys from her hand. "Not a chance."

Her brows snap together. "Why? Afraid men might be attracted to women who drive? Or do only 'sluts' get behind the wheel in your world?"

I exhale sharply. "You really think this is about gender?" I lean in, voice dropping low. "Newsflash, princess—not everyone wants to hit on you. Some of us actually care if you make it to the party alive."

Something flickers in her expression. Just for a second.

Then she rolls her eyes. "Fine."

She gets into the passenger seat with a huff, arms crossed.

"That's better," I mutter, gripping the wheel tighter than necessary. I cast her a glance. "You know, some people might actually think you're smart when you listen for once."

Maya’s head tilts. "Should I sit in the back then?"

I grind my teeth. "For once, stop arguing with me."

She leans closer, narrowing her eyes. "Then stop ordering me around."

My pulse spikes. Her scent—something floral, something distracting—fills the car. My fingers flex on the wheel.

My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. She’s testing me. Again. I exhale sharply. “Sit in the back, then. See if I care.”

Her smirk widens. And because Maya is the most stubborn, infuriating woman I’ve ever met, she does exactly that. She opens the door, steps out, and slides into the back seat, crossing her arms like a perfect petulant child.

I glance at her through the rearview mirror. She’s glaring at me, lips pressed into a thin line. This woman is going to be the death of me.

I mutter under my breath as I pull out of the driveway. “So goddamn infuriating.”

*********************************

The neon lights outside the club cast her in a glow as she steps out, heels clicking against the pavement. My irritation skyrockets when she deliberately chooses to exit from the opposite door, ignoring my attempt to act like a gentleman.

"Now you start acting polite?" she scoffs. "I don’t need it."

I slam the car door shut. "Are you always this determined to make things difficult?"Even letting me open a door for you is an insult?”

She turns to me, her expression innocent, voice syrupy sweet. “Yes.” Then, in a move that makes my entire body tense, she slides one hand through my arm, pressing against my side.

My jaw tightens. She’s playing the role of the perfect wife. Acting like we’re madly in love. Because that’s rule number two, isn’t it? Pretend in public. Hate in private.

She tilts her head, whispering so only I can hear, “Smile, dear husband.”

I force a smirk, leaning in just enough to make her breath hitch. “Careful, Maya,” I murmur against her ear, voice dangerously low. “Keep playing this game, and you might just forget it’s fake.”

Her nails dig into my arm. She’s furious. And I—
I fucking love it..