Chapter 12: A Fire That Won't Die

Diya couldn't breathe.

Not because she was scared. Not because she was angry.

But because her traitorous body still burned where Abeer had touched her.

She stood in front of her mirror, staring at her own reflection.

Flushed cheeks. Wide eyes. Lips slightly parted.

God.

She looked like a woman who had just been thoroughly ruined.

And Abeer hadn't even done anything.

You don't want this.

She did.

For a moment.

For a single, terrifying second, she had wanted him to close the distance.

Diya slammed her hands against the dresser. No. No. NO.

She couldn't fall into this.

She had to get out.

Before Abeer decided he wanted more than just a game.

That night, a servant knocked on her door.

"Madam, Mr. Rathore requests your presence for dinner."

Diya's heart stopped.

Request? No. Summoned.

Her instinct screamed to refuse. But she knew Abeer. If she didn't go, he'd come to her.

She had to face him. Control the situation.

Diya took a steady breath and left her room

The dining hall was elegant and dimly lit, chandeliers casting a golden glow over the long marble table.

Abeer sat at the head, as if he owned the world.

Which, in his mind, he did.

He didn't look up when she entered. Instead, he poured himself a glass of whiskey, his movements lazy, unhurried.

"Sit," he said. Not a request.

Diya hesitated. It felt like a trap.

Still, she slid into the chair across from him.

Silence.

She waited. Waited for him to speak first.

But Abeer?

He simply sipped his drink, watching her with those impossibly dark eyes.

Like he was waiting, too.

Like this was a game of patience.

Diya refused to break. Refused to give him the satisfaction.

So she lifted a fork, took a bite of food, and pretended like she wasn't on the verge of losing her mind.

Minutes passed.

The tension thickened.

Finally—

"You didn't run today."

Diya set her fork down. "Should I have?"

Abeer smirked. "Would it have mattered?"

Her pulse spiked.

Because he was right.

No matter how many times she tried to escape, he always found a way to pull her back.

Diya exhaled sharply. "Abeer, what do you want from me?"

His smirk faded.

For the first time, his expression was unreadable.

Then—he stood.

And walked around the table.

Slow. Deliberate.

Diya's heart pounded.

She wanted to move. She should have moved.

But she didn't.

Abeer stopped behind her chair.

Close. Too close.

He leaned down, his breath warm against her skin.

"I want," he murmured, "to know why you fight me so much."

Diya gripped the edge of the table.

"I don't fight you," she whispered.

A deep chuckle. Dark. Sinful.

"Oh, sweetheart," Abeer said, voice like silk, "you fight me every second you breathe."

Diya's chest rose and fell too quickly.

"Maybe I just don't like being controlled," she said.

Abeer hummed. "Or maybe... you just don't like that it's me doing the controlling."

Her stomach flipped.

Because the worst part?

He wasn't wrong.

Abeer's fingers grazed the back of her neck.

Soft. Barely there.

But enough to make her entire body lock up.

His lips were too close.

"If you want me to stop," he murmured, "say it."

Diya swallowed.

Her body was a traitor.

Her brain screamed, Tell him to stop.

But her mouth?

Her mouth wouldn't open.

Abeer chuckled.

"That's what I thought."

And just like that, he pulled away.

Cold. Distant.

Leaving Diya burning in her own mess.

"I'll see you soon, Sia," he said smoothly, heading toward the door.

Diya forced herself to breathe.

To not let him win.

But as he left, she realized—

He already had.

Next Chapter Preview:Diya is furious at herself for giving in—even for a second.Tara warns her again, but something about Tara's behavior isn't adding up.Abeer pushes her boundaries once more—but this time, Diya fights back in a way he doesn't expect.And the biggest revelation yet—Diya might not be the only one trapped in this world.