"How long?" Shubman asked as he sat on the couch in the dressing room, holding his phone to his ear.

He wanted nothing to interrupt you both during the promised date, but this was Ishan's call.

"More than a month," he answered from the other side. "They've kept an eye on her since the time you used to wait outside the diner."

"How sure?" The younger one asked again, not pleased at all with the news.

"Y/n's uncle was caught in a surveillance camera outside the mall, but not in the very next one. Neil's car is the only thing that passed it at that time," Ishan explained. "How sure do you think I am?"

So that's why his brother has been silent these days.

A man of high social position, a sovereign person, trained to kill, living up to his title as the prince of the underworld; he didn't have to worry.

But Neil wouldn't be a rival if he wasn't as powerful as Shubman.

He could simply grab his gun and fire a couple of bullets, if he wasn't a part of the High Table, an authoritative council headed by a certain someone from 1983, considered authoritative, laying out rules to be respected by the leaders.

(A/n: John Wick, anyone?)

Its main job was to make sure they were always high-powered in the international mafia, on the global stage.

Just so the country wasn't a complete bloodshed. Or maybe a little less.

It didn't restrict their powers, it was almost like they didn't exist, but they interfered when absolutely needed.

So Shubman couldn't simply grab his gun and kill them, unless they provoked him.

"Shubi," you called and the incandescent look on his face disappeared. "I feel like this hoodie is too big on me. What do you think?"

"You look cute, baby," he looked at you with adoring eyes, lowering his phone while Ishan waited patiently on the other side of the call. "You always do."

"I do love the color," you mumbled, looking down at yourself then turning to the mirror. "Alright then," you finally decided, grabbing the next t-shirt.

Shubman waited till you walked inside again, and then he continued his phone conversation.

"He wouldn't try anything for six months at least," he said. "Until the end of May."

"And once the council and meetings are done?" Ishan quipped.

"He'll be dead," he answered quickly, knowing you'll be back again any second now. "And the foreign affairs' secretary is dead. Dispose him."

"I'll take care of it," the older one replied. "But tell me why the usually calm and cold Shubman Gill is in such a hurry."

"I'm on a date, Ishu," he answered again. "Y/n said dinner is on her, and then we have to eat ice cream, go for a walk. I can't be on my phone."

"Alright, no need to rub it in my face," Ishan muttered before finally hanging up.

"I like the t-shirt," you walked out as expected, but wearing a black A-line dress. "And I like this one too. What am I supposed to buy?"

"Do you like everything you've tried so far?" Shubman got up from the couch, placing his phone away as he walked towards you.

"I do," you looked at your reflection in the mirror. "I feel like Ginny Weasley at Bill's wedding."

"Let's just buy all of it then," he stood by your side as you handed the t-shirt and hoodie to the staff.

He was going to end up buying everything you touched or looked at. Billing was already in the process as you tried on different clothes.

"I guess," you sighed before walking back to the trial room. "Anyway, help me with the zipper."

Shubman blinked, dumbfounded as he looked at you like you were speaking an alien language.

"Hurry up, will you?" You broke him out of his trance and he blinked again.

His insides churned and tingled at the same time with exuberance as he trailed to you.

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror while he closed the curtain behind him.

"There's also a hook on the top," you informed him. "Undo it."

You stood with your back facing Shubman, looking down casually.

He tried to even his breathing as his fingers went up, unhooking first as you told him.

His eyes searched for yours in the mirror, standing less than a couple of feet away from you.

All you did was glance around randomly with a straight look on your face, running a hand down the sleeveless dress.

Act fool, act fool.

While on the inside, you were screaming, matching Usain Bolt, running miles at the move you just made.

You tried not to hold your breath as you felt your zipper being dragged down slowly.

Controlling the urge to swear, you maintained your straight face when the dress was unzipped completely.

Breathe, Y/n, breathe.

When you looked at Shubman's reflection, his eyes were already on yours and you swear you saw a hint of his smirk, his tongue poking his inner cheek just slightly.

He pulled you to his clothed chest, an arm wrapping around your waist from behind.

His face leaned forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear in a hot whisper. "I know what you're doing, princess."

So you were princess now?

"And what am I doing?" You tried because you're never fresh out of luck with Shubman.

You felt his arms slide up your arms, his lips on your shoulder, his hand moving to caress your bare back as your camisole rode up.

Turning around, you kissed him first, tracing his jawline with your fingers as you felt yourself being pushed against the mirror.

You held his shoulders as he leaned into you, pulling your waist towards himself.

When you slide a hand down his throat, you hear him groan and kiss you back deeply.

Shubman almost lost it when you slid a hand under his shirt, dragging your nails lazily across his chest.

The mirror felt cool against your back, and the kiss, not so much.

It made your head dizzy with only his arms there to hold you up.

His index finger hooked itself to the strap of your camisole, twisting it with such intensity that you felt it could snap.

You breathed in the kiss, moving your lips against his sloppily, tongues intertwined, lust coursing through your veins.

Shubman's hand let go of the strap with a small tweak, resting on the spot between your neck and shoulder instead. He could feel you starting to sweat.

Your whole body felt like it was on fire as his kisses trailed down to your neck, your fingers burying themselves in his textured hair.

All he did was slide his hands over your sides, nuzzling his face into your neck.

He nipped the skin on your shoulder, the sleeve of your dress being pushed away just a little.

Shubman ripped off the tag effortlessly with his fingers, while also being careful not to hurt you or damage the dress.

Then he pulled away, leaving you in a weird haze as you tried to catch your breath.

"Wear this dress to dinner, honey," he mumbled, lips but an inch away from yours, caressing it with his thumb. "We're buying it."

He placed his hands on either side of your head, pressed against the mirror.

Leaning further, he tugged your lower lip between his teeth. "I'll be waiting," he let go.

He zipped your dress up again, kissing your cheek before leaving the trial room and you weak in the knees.