The next morning, sunlight gently filtered into Ather’s luxurious bedroom. The space felt unusually quiet without his dominating presence. Ather had left early for his corporate headquarters — the trillion-dollar empire didn’t run itself, and he had back-to-back meetings scheduled.
Asra stirred slowly under the silk sheets. Her body still ached, especially between her thighs, but the pain had dulled into a constant, sore reminder. She sat up with a small wince, clutching the sheet to her chest. Her eyes were slightly puffy from all the crying last night.
For a few minutes, she just sat there, replaying everything — his roughness, his rare gentleness, the way he had called her “meri bacchi” while kissing her tears away. Her cheeks flushed.
“I still hate him,” she whispered to herself, but her voice lacked conviction.
She slipped out of bed and headed to the massive attached bathroom for a long, hot shower. The warm water helped soothe her sore muscles. After drying herself, she stood in front of the walk-in closet that had been filled with clothes for her.
Today, she chose something traditional yet cute — a soft pastel pink short kurti that hugged her upper body and a flowing long skirt in a matching shade that reached her ankles. She added delicate jhumkas that swayed with every movement, applied light makeup with care: compact to even her skin, a touch of blush on her cheeks, mascara on her long lashes, a pretty rosy lipstick, and some concealer to hide the faint marks on her neck. Finally, she left her long, silky black hair open, falling in soft waves down her back.
Looking at herself in the mirror, Asra felt a little more confident. She looked pretty… innocent… and maybe a tiny bit rebellious.
She wandered downstairs to the dining hall, still limping slightly. The staff greeted her politely, but everyone knew better than to ask questions. She ate a small breakfast quietly, her mind wandering back to Ather.
He’s probably sitting in his big CEO chair right now, being all cold and scary to everyone, she thought, pouting slightly.
Meanwhile, at the top floor of Chakrabortyy Towers — the sleek glass skyscraper that dominated the Kolkata skyline — Ather sat in his luxurious office during a video conference. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, he looked every bit the ruthless trillionaire CEO. His sharp jaw was clenched as he listened to his executives give reports.
But his mind kept drifting.
To a certain 18-year-old girl with puffy eyes, soft cries, and the way she had looked wrapped in his arms last night. The memory of her in his bed, wearing nothing but his marks, made his fingers tighten around his pen.
One of his secretaries knocked and entered with documents. “Sir, your 11 AM meeting—”
“Cancel everything after lunch,” Ather cut him off coldly, voice leaving no room for discussion. “I’m going home early today.”
The man bowed and left quickly, surprised. Ather never left work early.
Back at the mansion, Asra was sitting on the couch in the living room, flipping through a book but not really reading. Her jhumkas swayed every time she moved her head, and her open hair framed her face beautifully. She looked soft, feminine, and unintentionally tempting.
She had no idea that the dangerous man who ruled her world was already planning to come back and see exactly what his little wife was wearing for him.
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