The wind howled through the corridors of the ancient haveli, carrying with it the faint sound of distant thunder. The flickering flames of the oil lamps cast eerie shadows on the intricately carved walls, as if the past itself was watching.

Avni stood in the center of the dimly lit room, her hands trembling as she clutched her dupatta. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and she tried to ignore the rapid thumping of her heart. This wasn’t where she was meant to be—trapped in the lair of a man who exuded danger from every pore.

“I’ll never understand why you’re so afraid of me,” Ishaan Rathore’s deep, mocking voice echoed as he stepped into the room. His presence was overpowering, a storm in human form. Dressed in a black shirt rolled up to his elbows, his sharp features were accentuated by the dim light. The air seemed to hum with his intensity.

Avni looked up, her eyes meeting his. “I’m not afraid of you,” she lied, her voice firm despite the quiver in her hands.

A slow, wicked smirk spread across his lips. “Is that so, chhoti si jaan?” he drawled, his voice low and teasing.

Her cheeks flushed at the nickname, her innocence a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside him. She hated the way it sounded so tender when it came from his lips, as if he cared, as if he wasn’t the same man who had turned her life upside down.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Why can’t you just let me go?”

He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Let you go?” He took a step closer, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “Chhoti si jaan, don’t you see? You’re mine. You were mine the moment you walked into my world.”

Her fists clenched, anger and fear warring within her. “I’m not yours. I’ll never be yours,” she spat.

He stopped just inches away from her, the heat of his presence almost tangible. “You can fight me, Avni. You can run, scream, or even hate me. But mark my words,” he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “I will make you mine. And when I do, you’ll come to me willingly.”

She stared at him, her chest heaving with the effort to keep her composure. But deep down, she knew Ishaan wasn’t a man who made empty promises.

The storm outside raged on, lightning illuminating his face for a brief moment. In that instant, she saw it—the unyielding determination in his eyes. Ishaan Rathore was not a man to be trifled with. He was a man who took what he wanted.

And what he wanted… was her.