Sia didn't return home for hours. After the heated clash in the bedroom, she had wiped her tears, straightened her cotton saree, and headed to the older part of the city. She didn't want a corporate job where Reyansh's name would follow her. She wanted something of her own. She had found a small, dusty shop for rent—a perfect place to start the bakery she had always dreamed of.
When she finally walked back into the Thorne mansion, her feet were aching, but her eyes were glowing with a spark of hope.
Reyansh was waiting. He was sitting in the darkened master suite, a glass of scotch in his hand, looking like a king on a throne made of shadows. He didn't look up as she entered, but his voice was like a whip.
"You're late. Where were you?"
Sia ignored him and walked toward the closet to grab her nightclothes.
In an instant, Reyansh was up. He moved with a predator's speed, blocking her path. "I asked you a question, Sia. Don't test my patience."
Sia looked him in the eye. "I was finalizing a lease. I'm opening a bakery. My own business, with my own savings. I won't be needing your permission or your money."
Reyansh froze. A bakery? He expected her to beg for a job at a firm he could easily buy. But a small shop? That was harder to control. His eyes darkened with a mixture of annoyance and an attraction he couldn't name.
"A bakery?" He stepped closer, his shadow engulfing her. "In that crumbling neighborhood? You think the wife of Reyansh Thorne belongs in a flour-stained apron, serving bread to strangers?"
"I belong wherever I feel like a human being, not a captive," Sia replied, her voice steady.
Reyansh reached out, his hand gripping the edge of the wardrobe behind her, effectively pinning her between the wood and his body. The proximity was suffocating. He could see the exhaustion on her face, but also her resolve. He leaned down, his face so close that his breath fanned against her cheek.
"You think you can just walk away from my world? Every person in this city knows who you are. No one will dare step into your shop if I don't want them to."
Sia felt her heart racing. The "Unwanted Romance" was back—the way he looked at her wasn't just filled with hate anymore. There was a hunger there, a possessiveness that made her blood run hot. She could feel the warmth of his chest, the scent of expensive sandalwood and whiskey swirling around her.
"Is that your plan, Reyansh?" Sia whispered, her lips inches from his jaw. "To ruin a small dream because you're scared I might actually survive without you?"
Reyansh's gaze dropped to her lips. For a second, his grip on the wardrobe tightened, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to crush her spirit, but he also wanted to pull her closer and never let go. The conflict was driving him insane.
"I'm not scared of anything," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave.
"Then let me go," she challenged.
He didn't move. For a long, breathless minute, they stayed like that—two enemies caught in a web of physical attraction and mutual loathing. Finally, Reyansh pulled back, his expression turning back into a mask of ice.
"Fine. Open your little shop. But remember this, Sia... when you fail, and you will, don't come crawling to me. Because when you fall, I'll be the one making sure you have nowhere else to go."
He turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door. Sia leaned against the wardrobe, her knees trembling. She had won this round, but she knew Reyansh wouldn't sit still. He was a man who played dirty, and her bakery was about to become his new battlefield.