(Abhiraj’s Perspective)

The night air is crisp against my skin, but it does nothing to cool the heat simmering beneath it. The weight of the encounter inside still lingers, pressing down on my chest, filling me with something I can’t name. Frustration. Irritation. Something worse.

Maya walks beside me, her presence a thorn under my skin—sharp, persistent, impossible to ignore. The streetlights cast a glow over her, highlighting the curve of her neck, the bare expanse of skin exposed by the ridiculous excuse of a dress she chose to wear tonight.

Of course.

My jaw clenches. The sight of her in that dress shouldn’t bother me. It shouldn’t affect me at all. And yet, it does.

She catches my expression and rolls her eyes, smirking like she already knows what’s coming. "I know you’re about to give me another lecture about my dress," she says, tilting her head, daring me to argue. "So, for my defiance—" she gestures toward the street, her voice dripping with mock sweetness "—my overcoat is in the car. Satisfied?"

Defiance. It drips from every word she speaks, from the way she holds herself—like she’s untouchable, like the world hasn’t already decided its rules for her.

I exhale, shaking my head, and without a word, I shrug off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders.

Maya freezes, looking up at me with wide eyes.

I smirk. For once, she’s speechless.

She takes the jacket anyway, slipping it on, the sleeves far too long for her frame. It swallows her whole. The sight is... unexpected.

Adorable.

I shake the thought away.

"Looks like a kid playing dress-up in daddy’s clothes," I tease, my voice low.

She chuckles, adjusting the oversized sleeves. "At least I look good doing it."

She’s impossible.

We walk in silence for a while, her shoulder brushing against mine occasionally, a soft reminder that she’s there. That she’s always there. Getting under my skin, seeping into the spaces I’ve kept locked up for so long.

"You know," I say finally, my voice quieter than before, "sometimes I wonder how you do it."

Maya glances at me, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Do what?"

"Stay so damn defiant," I murmur, half to myself. "You always have to fight back, always have to prove something. You never let up."

Her lips twitch. "I guess I’ve been like that since the beginning. Always competing with boys, proving the world wrong. Stubborn."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Stubborn is an understatement. You’re like a bulldog with lipstick."

She bursts out laughing, a real, unguarded sound that does something strange to my chest.

"You know what men deserve?" she muses, her voice teasing.

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh, I’m dying to hear this."

She grins. "To be challenged. To be proven wrong. To have their egos checked by someone half their size but twice their spirit."

I smirk. "So you’re saying your purpose in life is to make mine miserable?"

Maya shrugs. "I never said miserable. Just… interesting."

Damn her.

She drags me to an ice cream stall, her eyes lighting up at the endless choices. It’s ridiculous how something so simple can make her so… animated. and she presses a finger to her chin, studying the menu like it holds the secrets of the universe.

"I want vanilla," she declares. Then frowns. "No. Black currant. No—mango." She groans. "Why are there so many flavors?"

I watch her, exasperated but… entertained.

"Just pick one already," I mutter.

"Chocolate," she finally decides, looking victorious. "What about you?"

"I don’t eat ice cream," I say flatly.

Maya gasps dramatically. "How can you not? You’re already cold enough."

I narrow my eyes. "I don’t have time for it."

She scoffs. "You don’t have time for ice cream? Do you schedule your emotions too?"

I ignore her, pulling out my wallet and handing the cashier some cash. "Keep the change."

Maya’s eyes narrow. "You’re paying for my ice cream?" She takes a slow bite, licking the chocolate off the spoon. "That means we’re calling a truce then?"

My enemy. My forced wife. The woman I should be trying to get rid of.

I smirk. "It means temporary truce and I don’t want ice cream dripping on my suit while you argue about who’s paying."

She hums, considering. "I’ll allow it."

Infuriating woman.

******************************
Next day

"You’re acting like a goddamn teenager."

Luca’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I scowl at him. "I am not."

He smirks. "Oh really? Then why have you been brooding like some lovesick fool all morning?"

I glare, running a hand through my hair. "It’s nothing. Just… her."

Luca grins. "Oh, so we’re at the ‘just her’ stage now? This is serious."

I exhale sharply, pacing the room. Damn her. Damn the way she makes my head spin, the way I keep replaying last night over and over. The way she looked in my jacket. The way she looked at me.

Luca leans back against the couch, arms crossed. "You do realize you’re obsessed with her, right?"

I shoot him a glare. "I am not obsessed with her. She’s my enemy."

Luca raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Then why did you go to her party just to make sure she was safe? Why did you give her your jacket when she was cold? And—" he smirks "—why do you look like you want to punch someone every time Ansh gets near her?"

My jaw tightens.

Luca grins wider. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."

"I hate her," I snap. "I hate how she smiles. I hate how she laughs. I hate how she looked in my damn jacket."

Luca bursts out laughing. "Oh, this is gold."

I throw a pillow at him. "Shut up."

But Luca isn’t done. “Dude, you’re overthinking it. It’s not love, it’s just… sexual frustration. You wanna fuck her, that’s all.”

Abhiraj scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You always think with your dick, Luca. This is different. I… I care about her.”

The admission hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable. Abhiraj buries his face in his hands, groaning in frustration. “I hate her. I hate that I care about her.”

Luca chuckles, his tone teasing. “Caring is just a fancy word for ‘I wanna see her naked.’ So, you’re saying you want to ‘hate-fuck’ her? Get it all out of your system?”

Abhiraj glares at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re an idiot.”

Luca grins, unbothered. “Face it, Abhiraj."

"You like her, Abhiraj," Luca taunts. "Hell, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re halfway in love with her."

I stiffen.

Luca sees it. He sees the way my hands clench, the way my expression hardens.

"Oh, shit," he breathes. "You actually are."

I storm toward the door. "I need air."

"You need therapy," he calls after me, still laughing. "Or a confession booth. Either way, this is gonna be fun to watch."

I slam the door behind me, but his words echo in my head.

I don’t like her.

I can’t like her.

I hate her.

…Right