5

  Anvika’s POV

The sweetness of the blueberry pastry melted on my tongue, but it did nothing to distract me from the tension thickening the air around us.
Rivansh’s piercing gaze stayed locked on me—steady, unreadable, like he was peeling back layers I didn’t even know existed.

I sipped my lukewarm hot chocolate, pretending the warmth would calm me.
It didn’t.

The questions boiling inside me had been simmering far too long.

Finally, I set the mug down and met his gaze head-on.

“Why me?”

His brows lifted slightly. “Why you?”

“Yes,” I said, fingers curling around the mug. “Of all the people in the world, why did you choose me? What makes me so… special?”

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Do you think you’re not?”

I scoffed. “I know I’m not. There are countless prettier faces out there. You’re… well, you. Rich. Powerful. Intimidating. You could have anyone you want. So why me?”

“You’re wrong, Anvika,” he said quietly. “You’re not just beautiful. You’re perfect.”

“Perfect?” I choked. “What does that even mean?”

He leaned forward, his gaze sharp and possessive.
“It means you belong to me.”

A shiver crawled up my spine.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” I shot back—but my voice lacked the iron I wanted.

“You belong to me,” he repeated, tone low and unshakeable. “And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

My heart pounded, confusion swirling inside me.

“That’s not an answer,” I argued, though my voice trembled. “You can’t just claim I’m yours without explaining why. What about me made you decide that? Was it something I did? Or didn’t do? Was there a moment you looked at me and thought—‘Yep, she’s the one’? Or am I just a pawn in some game?”

His expression shifted—serious now, smirk gone.
“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

He exhaled, leaning back.
“The first time I saw you was at the charity event last year.”

“The gala?” I blinked. “I barely remember that.”

“You were wearing a blue saree,” he continued. “Simple but elegant. While everyone else flaunted themselves… you didn’t try to impress anyone. You stayed quiet, observing. You didn’t care for anyone’s approval. And yet—”

“Yet what?”

“You caught my attention,” he said simply.

I stared. “So you saw me once at a party… and decided I belonged to you?”

“It wasn’t just seeing you. It was the way you existed in that space like the chaos didn’t touch you. I couldn’t look away.”

I shook my head. “You’re romanticizing me like some fairytale princess. I’m not extraordinary. I’m just me.”

“Average?” he repeated sharply. “You believe that?”

“Yes,” I insisted. “I’m regular. Plain. You must’ve misjudged me.”

He leaned in, gaze narrowing.
“You stand out more than you realize. And whether you accept it or not… you’re mine.”

His intensity stole my breath.

“Let me ask you something,” I said, trying to regain control. “Have I ever… hurt you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You know,” I waved my hand, “like in dramatic stories. The girl unknowingly wrongs the guy. He holds a grudge. Chaos follows. Did I do something like that?”

His jaw tightened. “Is that what you think this is?”

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped. “You’ve given me zero explanation!”

He stared.

I continued, spiraling farther:

“Are you sure?” I pressed. “Because honestly, if this is about a scratch on your Lamborghini—”

“I don’t drive a Lamborghini,” he cut in flatly.

“Ohhh,” I smirked. “So this is Ferrari trauma.”

He exhaled slowly, like he was genuinely reconsidering kidnapping me at all.

Still, the ridiculous ideas flooded my brain.

“Or maybe,” I said thoughtfully, “this is medical.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Bingo.

I leaned in. “Was one of your relatives in my hospital? Did I shout at them? Did I ban them from bringing food? Did I scold your little cousin for running around? Did I confiscate someone’s chips?”

He stared at me.

I gasped and pointed at him. “Or wait—WERE YOU MY CLASSMATE?”

“No,” he said quickly.

“But maybe you were!” I insisted, my voice rising. “Maybe you sat in the last row, silently pining, and I rejected your rose on Rose Day because I thought you were a prankster. Did I crush your teenage heart?”

“Anvika—”

But I wasn’t done.

I sighed dramatically, throwing my hands up.
“Then WHY, Rivansh? Why kidnap me? Why this whole ‘You belong to me’ vibe? What did I do to deserve this premium-level psycho attention?”

One of his guards literally choked on air.

I went on, unstoppable:

“Most girls get flowers. Chocolates. Cute little confession letters.
I get abducted like I’m some rare limited-edition Pokémon card!”

His jaw flexed.

“And don’t even get me started on your mysterious stare-from-across-the-room story. That’s not romantic. That’s Netflix documentary energy.”

His lips twitched—barely—like he was fighting a smile or insanity. Hard to tell.

“So please,” I pleaded dramatically, “tell me what cosmic crime I committed to get your obsessive attention. Because I swear, I’m starting to feel like I’m starring in ‘Kidnapped by a Rich Hot Lunatic”

The words had barely left my mouth when Rivansh’s lips curved—slow, wicked, absolutely illegal.
A smirk that promised trouble. The kind of smirk that belonged in dimly lit clubs, villain entrances, and women’s bad decisions.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting.

“So,” he drawled, voice low and annoyingly confident,
“you do think I’m hot?”

My soul left my body.

“I—what—NO!” I sputtered.

The smirk deepened, spreading into a full-blown sinful smile that should’ve been banned under public decency laws.

“You just said it,” he reminded me calmly, like he was pointing out a medical diagnosis.

“I said lunatic, not— not—” I flailed a hand toward his face, then dropped it like it burned. “Not THAT part!”

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning back like he owned the entire air I was breathing. “Selective denial. Interesting.”

“I am not selectively denying anything!”

“So you’re openly admitting I’m hot?”

“RIVANSH!”

His guards turned away, shoulders shaking.

His smirk only grew sharper. “Relax, doctor. I’m simply clarifying.”

“Clarifying your ego?”

“You want the real reason?”

“Yes,” I groaned. “Before I file a complaint with the Universe.”

He smirked—slow, lethal.

“The reason is simple, Anvika,” he murmured.
“You were the only woman in that room who wasn’t trying to impress me.”

His gaze darkened.

“And that made me want you more than anything.”

My breath faltered.

“That’s it?” I croaked. “I ignored you so you kidnapped me?”

“You didn’t ignore me,” he corrected softly. “You simply didn’t know I existed.”

“Same thing!”

“No,” he said, gaze locking mine.
“It was the moment I realized you weren’t chasing me…
that I decided I would chase you.”

My brain glitched.

“Congratulations,” I whispered. “You really are the deluxe edition psych—”

He raised one eyebrow.

I shut up.

But inside?

Absolute chaos.

And terrifyingly…

He seemed to enjoy every second of it.