“Nine.” I yawn, deliberately casual.
“NINE?!” He shoots up, the sheets pooling around his waist, still in the shirt that he wore yesterday, hair adorably tousled. “I never sleep this late!”
I bite back my laughter. “Clearly, miracles do happen.”
He exhales and looks at me, his eyes soft. “You are the miracle, you know that, right?”
It takes me a second to breathe, to remember how air works. Because this man—this grumpy, impossible, obsessive-with-work man—just said that to me. And he means it. His eyes haven’t left mine. There’s no smirk on his lips, no sarcasm in his tone, just a raw kind of honesty I haven’t seen on him in… well, maybe ever.
I should say something clever. Something light to deflect the way my chest clenches too tightly.
But I don’t.
I just look at him—this beautiful, complicated man—and reach out to push the strands of hair falling on his forehead.
“You really never sleep in?” I whisper.
“Not past six.” His voice is rough from sleep. “Even if I’m hungover. Even if I’m dead tired. My body just… won’t let me.”
“So what changed today?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Last night changed everything. The weight he’s been carrying all these years, the truth he shared with me—he let it out. He let me in.
“I think,” he says slowly, his gaze dropping to where my hand now rests over his heart, “it’s because of you.”
My breath catches again, and I hate how easily he does this to me. How one sentence from him can turn me into a puddle of emotions, and yet I’ll still act unaffected.
I pull the covers higher, trying to shield myself from how much I’m feeling. “Well,” I tease, “your sleeping in has made me late to work. I should go. My boss is a demon when it comes to punctuality.”
That earns me a snort. “Is that so?”
I nod solemnly. “He once told me, ‘Aditi, if you’re five minutes late again, I’ll deduct it from your lunch break.’” I mimic his voice. “He has no heart,” I pout.
He stares at me, unimpressed. “I don’t sound like that.”
I grin. “You do when you’re scolding me in the conference room in front of three managers and a clueless intern.”
He’s laughing now, and I can’t help but admire it. Not the forced kind, not the polite kind. This one is real. And rare.
He reaches for me before I can get out of bed, pulling me down onto the mattress again. I yelp in surprise, landing on top of him.
“Abhimaan!”
He grins, sleepy and smug. “Maybe I should have a word with your boss. Teach him a lesson.”
I lean over and peck his lips. “You don’t need to. I’ll do it myself.”
Before he can respond, I jab my fingers into his side. He jumps, surprised. “Aditi!”
I giggle, then tickle his ribs again. “What? Can’t take a little torture, sir?”
He grabs my wrist, then flips us over so fast I yelp.
Now, I’m pinned beneath him. His hands trapping mine above my head. His body heavy against mine. His face inches from mine.
My heart stutters.
There’s a smile playing on his lips. But it’s the eyes that kill me. Soft. Steady. Like he’s seeing all of me and isn’t scared of what he finds. He leans down slowly, brushing his lips against mine in the gentlest kiss. The kind that doesn't ask, doesn't demand—just feels. And I let myself sink into it, into him, into the quiet promise that lives between us now.
“Everything you said might be true,” He says, “I might be a demon.” I frown, opening my mouth to protest, to tell him that it was a joke, but he interrupts me, “But there’s one thing you are wrong about: I did have a heart.” He gently brushes a strand ofmy hair away from my cheek. “I don’t have it anymore because you stole it from me.”
