Chapter 13: Between Fire and Obsession

Diya sat in her room, fingers clenched around the sheets. Her body still hummed with the ghost of Abeer's touch.

This is wrong.

This is dangerous.

She had to stop this.

But the truth?

She wasn't sure if she wanted to.

Diya swallowed hard. Abeer was pulling her into his world.

And she was letting him.

That afternoon, a letter arrived.

No messages. No threats. Just an invitation.

A royal blue envelope.

With gold lettering that sent a shiver down her spine.

Abeer Rathore requests your presence at The Black Lotus tonight.

The Black Lotus.

A private, exclusive club—one where only the most powerful and most dangerous men played their games.

A chill ran down her spine.

He wanted her there.

But why?

And why did a small part of her ache to say yes?

Diya entered the club, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

The air smelled of expensive whiskey, smoke, and something darker.

Men in tailored suits. Women in designer dresses.

But all eyes shifted when Abeer walked in.

And when he saw her?

Everything stopped.

He was in all black, his sharp jawline illuminated by the dim lighting.

His dark, kohl-rimmed eyes found hers instantly.

And then, he smirked.

Like he knew.

Like he had expected her to come, even before she made the choice.

Diya lifted her chin. She would not let him win.

She walked to him, every step measured. "Why am I here, Abeer?"

Abeer exhaled slowly, his gaze roaming over her, like he was memorizing every detail.

"You tell me," he murmured.

Diya narrowed her eyes. "You sent for me."

Abeer tilted his head, watching her like a puzzle he wanted to unravel.

"And yet, you came."

Her stomach tightened.

She hated that he was right.

Abeer guided her to a private lounge, dimly lit, secluded.

"Drink?" he offered.

Diya crossed her arms. "I don't trust you."

Abeer smirked. "Smart girl."

She exhaled sharply. "What do you want?"

Abeer leaned back, watching her like a predator watching his prey.

"You," he said simply.

Diya's breath hitched.

For a second, she thought she had misheard him.

But the intensity in his gaze told her otherwise.

"You're playing a game," she said, forcing herself to sound calm.

Abeer took a slow sip of his drink. "I don't play, Diya."

His voice was low. Deadly.

"Not with things I want."

Her pulse skyrocketed.

She should have walked away.

But she stayed.

And Abeer?

He knew she would.

Abeer stood up, stepping toward her.

"Say it," he whispered.

Diya's breath caught. "Say what?"

"That you don't want me," Abeer murmured, his voice like a dangerous promise.

She opened her mouth.

She should have said it.

She should have lied.

But when Abeer lifted his hand, tracing his knuckles along her jaw, her throat, her collarbone—

The words died.

His fingers slid to her wrist, his grip firm, possessive.

"You can't," he whispered.

Diya's heart pounded. "Abeer—"

And then—

His lips crashed into hers.

This was not soft. Not sweet.

It was fire meeting fire. A war neither wanted to stop.

Abeer's hands slid to her waist, pulling her against him, as if he wanted her even closer.

Diya lost herself.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, her body pressing into his warmth.

Abeer groaned against her lips, deepening the kiss—slow, hungry, claiming.

She should have pushed him away.

But she clung to him instead.

When they finally broke apart, she was breathless. Shaking.

Abeer's forehead rested against hers.

"You should run," he murmured, voice rough with something dangerous.

Diya swallowed. "You should let me go."

A dark chuckle. "Never."

Her heart stopped.

And that's when she knew—

This wasn't just desire.

This wasn't just a game.

She had just stepped into something she would never escape from.

And maybe, just maybe—

She didn't want to.