There are rules to every game.

Rules are there to prevent the loss and ensure the win.

But what of the rules that always changed? That wrapped you in its coils and kept you playing; never knowing if any move you made would lead to your loss or gain.

Well, that was the game Abhira had signed herself up to. A game with a winner who took each game in stride, ruthlessly knocking his opponents down and stepping over any carcass in his way.

"Urghhh" groaned Abhira as she turned over once more, smacking her pillow over her face to evade the rays of sunlight- why was it so bright anyway?

Sleep hadn't been an achievement since she'd sunk into the far too comfy embrace of her new bed; with silk curtains draping on each side and a long wooden frame that expansed over half of her room, it was every girl's dream, yet all it had been for her was a nightmare- why so comfy if it wasn't to bring sleep?

Then again, her lack of sleep could likely be due to her new "roommate" who she knew could hear her every turn, breath and sigh as the night went by, well, she couldn't let him hear her snore too.

A woman had to have some dignity.

"You belong to me" she mimicked childishly, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed and shoving her hair into a strange hybrid of ponytail-bun.

"You'll be mine in every way that matters" she poked her tongue out at her exhausted expression.

Where was autonomy in this century anyway if it allowed men like him to 'own' women like her?

Armaan truly was infuriating, and not in the 'oh, that's annoying' type way, more in the 'I understand why that woman killed her husband' type way.

"Some men do ask for it" she giggled, and her new husband had definitely been asking for a slap or two.

The nerve of him, honestly. He was just the type to use his money to control a woman, hold her in his grasp and cage her beneath his surname.

"Poddar, what kind of name *is* that?"

A loud knock almost made her jump out of her skin if her overly loud squeal was anything to tell by.

"Talking to yourself, Abhira?" His oh so suave grin sat playfully on his lips as he leant against the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well there was no one else in here to talk too" she spat back, so angry at him for invading her morning routine, could she have nothing of her own?

"Well, that's easily changed, sleep in my room tonight" before she could even respond to his proposition, he was behind her, tucking a stray hair from her face whilst meeting her gaze in the mirror. "Or I could move here? It is about time we christened the bed, hmm?"

Jumping away from him as if scalded, she wiped away imaginary dust from her shoulder where his chin had just sat.

"Poddar" he eyed her carefully, his sardonic smile still on his lips, "Means keeper of treasure".

The double meaning wasn't lost on her as she watched his eyes rake up and down her nightie clad body. Swallowing, Abhira turned away "It's not nice to eavesdrop, you know?"

He shrugged. "Guess you'll have to teach me a lesson".

"OUT!" She shrieked, index finger unshaken as she pointed to the door. She was far too flustered for her liking and she couldn't think of a suitable retort with such a lack of sleep.

Slamming the door shut, she leant against it, sliding down to allow her face to fall into her palms as his laughter echoed the halls. "Git".

***

"Main kya karu ram mujhe buddha mil gaya, main kya karu ram mujhe buddha mil gaya" scrubbing the food from the dish in her hand, she delved her brush into the soap, then leant down and shook her hips "Hoy hoy buddha mil gaya, hay buddha mil gaya".

At the sound of a man clearing his throat, she dropped the plate from her hand and let out a scream, gripping the sink to steady herself. Turning quick on her heel, she threw soap suds her way as she smacked her hand to her chest in disbelief. "What is wrong with you? Sneaking up behind a woman like that?"

Armaan hitched his brow up in curiosity, the humour on his face as clear as day. "What, an old man like me? I highly doubt I could scare a woman as young as you" his eyes twinkled with mirth.

Gritting her teeth, Abhira reached for the tea towel only for it to be ripped from her reach. "What are you doing? I'm wet!" She complained.

A full fledged grin crawled over his mouth, beckoning her forward with his index finger, he eyed her as she haplessly shuffled toward him. "Wet?" He almost groaned as he dried her hands with the towel, then moved it to dab at her chest. "How wet?"

Abhira stepped back, only to have the towel thrown behind her and wrapped around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to his muscular chest that rippled as her hands smacked into it. "Wh-what?"

"How wet, Abhira?" He enunciated her name as he watched her, eyes as dark as an abyss as his focus zoned into her pink, plump lips.

Gulping, she shook her head from left to right then right to left. Shoving him backwards, she glared at him as he caught himself without even a stumble- always so steady- she hated that.

Eyeing his watch, he signalled between them "We'll finish this later, for now, go and get ready".

Knowing she'd have to pass him to get to the stairs, she tried to creep past only to feel his arm wind its way around her waist, his teeth grazing her ear as he spoke; "And we *will* finish this later" he vowed.

Then she was scurrying off as fast as her little legs would carry her.

***

The door opened, and Armaan stepped into the room, dressed in a sharp black suit that fit him like a second skin. His hair was neatly styled, his jaw freshly shaven, and his eyes — those dark, unreadable eyes — locked onto hers with a quiet intensity. He scanned her from head to toe, his gaze lingering for a second longer than necessary on the soft curve of her waist.

"You're ready," he said, his voice smooth and calm as always. "You look beautiful."

Abhira turned to face him fully, her eyes flashing with a mixture of defiance and annoyance. "Spare me the flattery, Poddar. I'm not here to be your arm candy."

Armaan's lips quirked into a slow, almost amused smile, as if her words had no effect on him. Reaching for her hand, he brushed his lips against her knuckles, "It's *Mr* Poddar, to you".

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, her shoulders hunched. "Let's just get this over with".

Armaan took a step closer, his calm demeanor never faltering. He held his arm out for her to take, then tapped her hand as she held his bicep. "To getting it over with".

"Here, here" she cheered dryly.

It was as they reached the car that she snatched her arm back, chastising herself for giving it to him in the first place- what, was a year of her life not enough?

Sliding into the car, she held her clutch a little tighter on her lap- she could never be too careful, who knew where her hands would stray off to next time.

"Something bothering you?" His husky baritone interrupted yet another inner thought of hers.

"Yes, actually" she pursed her lips.

"Would that be your new husband, Mrs Poddar?" She could hear the smile in his voice.

The way he said her new last name sent a ripple of irritation through her. He was so damn composed. So unbothered. And that smug calmness drove her *crazy*. No matter what she threw at him, he remained perfectly still — like a wall she could never break.

She raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "How did you know?" Smacking her lap, she feigned shock with a drop of her jaw. "I'm about to be paraded around like some kind of trophy wife for your business interests, and there's only one person to blame for that, Poddar".

His smile didn't waver. In fact, it seemed to grow, just a fraction. "You're far from a trophy, Abhira".

Glancing over at him, a small smile graced her lips. "Th-"

"Trophies don't talk back" he interrupted, his smile now even wider, if possible.

Turning her head swiftly to stare at the corner of the window, Abhira huffed, she'd walked right into that one. "Don't expect me to make this easy for you" she warned, eyes narrowing as she glanced back at him.

"I'm not asking you to," he replied, stepping even closer as he helped her out of the car. He was so close she could smell his cologne — an intoxicating mix of spice and wood. "In fact, I like it when you fight back."

Her pulse quickened at the way his voice lowered, sending a shiver down her spine. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, though he stood just inches away. It took everything in her not to take a step back, not to let him know how much he affected her. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Oh, I'm sure you do," she shot back, her voice laced with venom. "You probably get bored with all those women throwing themselves at your feet, don't you? You needed someone to challenge you."

"Maybe I did," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "Maybe that's why I chose you."

Her breath hitched. He said it so casually, but there was something deeper in his tone that rattled her. He wasn't just playing this game for the sake of appearances — there was something else here. Something he wasn't telling her.

She took a slow breath, trying to steady herself. Tilting her chin up, she met his gaze with a fire that burned in her chest. "I'll play my part, Armaan, but don't expect me to fall in line. You may have bought my cooperation, but you don't own me."

His eyes darkened slightly at her words, but his calm, controlled smile never faltered. "We'll see about that."

Before she could snap back, he reached out and took her hand, his touch firm but gentle. The sudden contact sent a jolt of heat through her, and she hated how her pulse quickened at the sensation. He didn't say another word, just raised her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles.

It was such a simple gesture, but the way his lips lingered for just a moment too long, the heat of his breath on her skin — it made her stomach twist in ways she didn't want to admit.

She snatched her hand back, glaring at him. "Don't do that."

Armaan chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "What? You didn't seem to mind earlier".

Her heart raced, her chest tightening as he took another step closer, his presence overwhelming. She should've moved, should've walked away — but she couldn't. There was something about him, something maddeningly magnetic, that kept her rooted to the spot, even as her mind screamed at her to leave.

"I think you're enjoying this more than you should," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Armaan's smile was slow, dangerous. "Wouldn't you like to know?" His brows waggled playfully.

He was close enough now that she could feel the heat of his body, the tension between them thick and electric. Her breath hitched as his hand moved to her lower back, guiding her gently but firmly toward the door.

"We leave in ten minutes," he murmured, his breath brushing her ear. "Remember, tonight you're not Abhira Sharma anymore. You're *my* wife. And the world will see you that way".

Her heart pounded as he pulled back, leaving her standing there, speechless and trembling with the aftermath of his presence. She hated how much power he had over her in that moment, how her body betrayed her even as her mind fought to stay strong.

But as the door closed behind him, she clenched her fists at her sides, her resolve hardening.

She would play his game. But she wasn't going to lose herself in it.

***

"You're tense," Armaan's voice, low and smooth, broke through the gentle hum of the ballroom. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back, guiding her forward, but the touch wasn't oppressive. No, it was casual—possessive in its ease. It drove her mad how he could so effortlessly command her space.

Abhira shot him a sidelong glance, her lips pressing into a tight smile as she replied under her breath, "No shit, this isn't my idea of a good night".

A flicker of amusement crossed his features, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a lazy smile. "Come now, *Mrs. Poddar*," he said, voice a rich murmur, "Is that any way to talk to your husband?"

Her grip on her clutch tightened, but she forced herself to maintain the perfect image of a poised wife. The eyes of high society were on them tonight, their whispers already swirling through the room, but none of it fazed Armaan. If anything, the attention seemed to fuel him.

The crowd parted slightly as they entered the heart of the ballroom, and Abhira could feel the stares now—curious eyes on them as whispers swirled. She hated being the center of attention like this. Armaan thrived on it, of course, but she wasn't used to this kind of performance. Not in a space like this.

"You're doing just fine," he murmured as though reading her thoughts, his voice annoyingly smooth, lips curving into that teasing smile she had grown to loathe.

Before she could respond, they were interrupted by a man approaching with an eager smile. "Armaan! Good to see you again," he said, his gaze briefly flicking to Abhira before returning to Armaan. "And this must be your lovely wife."

Armaan's hand remained where it was, steady, as if he expected her to resist. "Yes," he said easily, "This is Abhira." He let the name linger between them for a second longer than necessary. "My wife."

Abhira gave the man a polite smile, though she could feel the weight of his gaze assessing her, trying to figure out how she fit into this world. She hated this part—the judgment, the assumptions. She was nobody's wife, at least not in the way these people thought.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, her voice polite, though there was an unmistakable edge to it.

The man nodded and exchanged pleasantries with Armaan, but Abhira's attention drifted. Her focus remained on the way Armaan's hand rested against her lower back, on the steady warmth of his touch. He was always there, always unbothered, always in control. Even now, while entertaining a conversation, he didn't miss a beat.

When the man finally walked away, she let out a slow breath, turning to face Armaan. "I don't understand how you do it," she muttered, her voice quieter now, as though the weight of the evening had finally caught up to her.

"Do what?" he asked, his tone still teasing, though there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

"Move through all of this without breaking a sweat," she replied, gesturing subtly to the room filled with people, each of them scrutinizing every move they made. "It's like you don't even care."

"That's because I don't, this is a mere formality" he spoke in a whisper, his gaze never leaving hers.

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable, frustration mixed with reluctant admiration. "It's all a game to you, isn't it?"

Armaan's lips quirked into that familiar teasing smile. "What can I say? Games are meant to be played". He paused for a moment, his eyes softening ever so slightly as they locked onto hers. "The game is all in its play, the moves you make, the control is in what they don't see coming, and who would expect Armaan Poddar to have a wife?"

She blanched from his words. A firm reminder of what this was; a business deal, she was as much a pawn in his game as everyone else here. "You enjoy this, don't you?" she said after a beat, narrowing her gaze at him. "Watching me struggle with all of this".

"I enjoy watching you," he admitted, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down her spine. His eyes glinted with that familiar playful light, and she knew he was baiting her.

Her breath caught in her throat for a second, but she quickly masked it with a roll of her eyes. "Of course you do!"

Armaan chuckled, his hand still resting at her back, a constant, infuriating presence. "I've told you before—*you* make this interesting."

"Glad I could provide some amusement for you," she muttered, taking a sip from her champagne to calm her nerves. She hated how easily he seemed to unnerve her, even when she was determined not to let him get to her.

"You provide more than amusement," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "But I suppose you'll realize that in time" he brushed her off with his words, spoken so carelessly but with so much weight behind them.

Her heart skipped at the way his words wrapped around her, smooth and teasing, but she quickly shook off the effect he had on her. She wasn't going to fall into his little game. She couldn't afford to.

"Keep telling yourself that," she replied coolly, stepping slightly to the side to distance herself from his lingering touch.

Armaan watched her with a hint of amusement, his eyes never leaving hers as she moved. He didn't follow, didn't press her further. He didn't need to. His confidence was maddening, but it was also what kept her on edge, always wondering what he would say next.

As the music shifted to a soft, slow melody, Armaan turned to her once more, offering his hand. "Shall we?"

Abhira hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering between his extended hand and his face. She didn't want to dance with him. Not after the way he constantly pushed her, teased her. But the eyes in the room were still on them, and refusing would only make things worse.

With a small sigh, she placed her hand in his, allowing him to guide her onto the dance floor. His grip was firm but not forceful, his touch steady and warm as they began to move to the rhythm of the music.

"You seem tense again," he said softly, his voice teasing as always.

"And you seem far too pleased with yourself," she shot back, though her voice lacked the edge it had earlier.

Armaan smiled, pulling her just a little closer as they swayed. "I'm pleased with you, *Mrs. Poddar*."

The music played softly in the background, the melody a gentle rhythm, but the way Armaan moved was anything but gentle. His other hand found the small of her back, pulling her close without hesitation, and before she could fully adjust to his touch, he spun her sharply, his control absolute.

Her breath caught in her throat as he twirled her once, twice, her body moving with his as though they were perfectly in sync. His movements were quick, decisive, and though she tried to resist, tried to maintain some distance, he was relentless. Each spin left her slightly off balance, only to be pulled back into his steady embrace, his grip unyielding but never harsh.

"Arma—" she started, but the word slipped from her lips, unfinished, as he dipped her suddenly, her back arching as his hand held her securely in place. The world seemed to tilt, her senses overwhelmed as she stared up into his dark eyes, her breath coming faster than she wanted to admit.

He held her there for a moment, just long enough for her heart to race wildly in her chest, before pulling her upright again in one fluid motion, the movement so seamless it felt like the air itself was bending around them.

"Too fast for you?" he asked, his voice low and teasing as he spun her again, this time pulling her closer when she returned to him.

Her lips parted, but she couldn't find the words to respond.

"You need to loosen up," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear as he brought her flush against him, his hand sliding a little lower on her back, just at the edge of propriety but still careful. "You're holding back."

Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming faster than she would have liked. "I'm not holding back," she said, though her voice betrayed her, a little too breathless, a little too affected.

Armaan's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, one that sent a ripple of heat through her. He twirled her again, this time faster, the room spinning in a dizzying blur of colors and sounds. She could feel her pulse quicken, not from fear or discomfort, but from the way his movements took control of her body completely, as if every step, every spin was designed to unravel her just a little more.

And then, without warning, he dipped her again—this time slower, his hand firm at her back as her body arched in his arms. Her breath hitched, her eyes locking onto his as he held her there, his face just inches from hers. For a heartbeat, the world around them disappeared. The music, the crowd, the whispers—it all faded into the background, leaving only the two of them suspended in that moment.

His dark eyes flickered with something she couldn't quite read, something more than the usual teasing amusement. It was intense, focused, as though he was waiting for something. Her breath came shallow and fast, and for the first time that evening, she felt truly off balance—not because of the spinning, but because of him.

"You're still resisting," Armaan sang playfully, the corner of his lips lifting as he pulled her up again, his mouth close to her ear. His breath was warm, sending a shiver down her spine.

She clenched her jaw, determined to regain some sense of control. "Not everything is about control, Armaan," she muttered, though her voice lacked the strength she wanted.

He only smiled, spinning her again with a confidence that left her breathless, each step precise, calculated. It was as if the room around them no longer existed. There was only the heat between them, the electric pull of his body guiding hers with an intensity she couldn't shake.

"Isn't it?" he whispered, his voice low, dangerously soft.

Then, just as quickly as he had dipped her, he pulled her back upright, his hand still guiding her movements as they continued to sway to the music. With his cheek against hers, he surveyed the crowd, waiting to see a familiar face in the shadows.

Feeling her to try to pull back, he refocused on her, watching as she tried to create some distance between them. But he didn't let her. With a gentle but firm pull, he spun her once more, faster this time, the movement so fluid and controlled that she had no choice but to follow his lead.

Then his eyes met another man's, his form hidden in the shadows, but he knew what he saw, or rather, who he saw. With a brief nod, he brought his attention once more back to Abhira.

"See?" he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear again, sending another shiver down her spine. "You can keep up. All you needed was a little push."

Her breath came in shallow bursts, her heart racing as his words sank in. He wasn't just talking about the dance, and she knew it. He was pushing her in every way, testing her limits, seeing how far she would go before she pushed back. And the worst part? She wasn't sure if she wanted to push back anymore.

"Excuse me" he whispered in her ear, releasing her from his warmth and leaving her in the cold glare of too many stranger's eyes as he walked away from her and around a pillar till she could no longer see him anymore.

Dropping her eyes to her shoes, she hurried off the dance floor, out the doors and to the safety of the car she hoped he hadn't locked.

***

Elsewhere, in the darkness, a tall figure handed a pair of leather gloves to a man striding closer. "Boss" he greeted.

Slipping each finger through the dedicated hole, Armaan eyed the unconscious man with what seemed to be a telephone cable around his throat. Then he was knelt beside him, surging through his pockets, pulling the back off his mobile and pocketing the sim.

Rising back to his feet, he threw the gloves to the ground, kicking the body as he did "Get rid of this" he ordered, then he was walking away, back into the darkness toward his new found light.