Maya
Sometimes, I feel like I was born to walk straight into danger with my eyes wide open.
It's been a week since that confrontation with Utsav in the gym. And yet, the memory still clings to my skin like a second layer, like smoke that won't wash off. No matter how many showers I take, how many times I replay it to rationalize things in my head, the dread resurfaces-cold, paralyzing, and all too real.
I've always known there's something dangerous about Utsav Mehrotra. His aura commands attention, and his masculinity? It's carved out of stillness, power, and silent rage. Every inch of him screams control-dominance. And as much as I hate to admit it, that pull-his darkness-it's magnetic. But that very allure is laced with something far more terrifying.
Fear.
Not the kind that makes you want to run away. No. The kind that makes you stay despite the warning bells. The kind that seduces your soul before your mind can protest.
We're still staying at the Mehrotra mansion-thanks to Aadi's father's decree that no one leaves until the wedding mess is sorted. Part of me feels trapped, but honestly? It's not the worst thing, being this close to Utsav. Even when he continues to treat me like a ghost, I'd rather be in his shadow than in someone else's arms.
I've tried everything-everything-to get his attention.
I started showing up at the gym the same time he does. Changed my entire routine just to get a glimpse of him shirtless, soaked in sweat, jaw clenched in that intense way that makes breathing optional. I time my breakfasts so I'm there when he is. I linger near the living room when he passes by, hoping for a glance, a nod, something. I stare at him like a lovesick fool, openly, shamelessly-and still, he never falters.
Utsav Mehrotra is ice. Untouchable. Unbothered. As if nothing-not even my growing obsession-can melt his resolve.
But I'm not one to give up.
The rest of the Mehrotra family? Surprisingly decent. His father is the stoic, traditional kind-a bit strict, reserved, a man who commands respect in silence. We haven't talked much beyond introductions, and I'm fine with that. His stepmother is sweet, the kind of woman who's graceful even in a mansion full of tension. I learned that Utsav lost his real mother as a child-some tragic event no one dares to speak of. I don't know why, but it hangs in the air like smoke in an abandoned room.
His stepbrother, Advik? That's another story. A flirt, yes, but there's something off about him-something sinister that slithers beneath his smirk. The way his eyes linger on me, crawling over my skin without ever touching, makes me feel... violated. I don't fear him, not exactly, but he unsettles me. There's a hunger in his gaze, something predatory, something that makes me want to rip his ego apart piece by piece. My instincts scream to claw his eyes out, to break his jaw with words, fists, anything. But I rein it in-for now.
Utsav's younger sister,Anvi is the opposite. Sweet, warm, and so full of life. In the chaos of this mansion, she's become my only comfort. We bonded in ways I never expected. With her, I can laugh. Be real. For a moment, I can forget that I'm living in a house built on secrets and blood.
But Utsav? He's still untouchable. A fortress.
Even after what I witnessed in that warehouse. Even after seeing him burn a man alive with my own eyes, after watching him become the monster people only whisper about... he remains calm. Composed. Unapologetic.
He never even flinched when I followed him. He knew.
And yet, I never felt in control-not even for a second.
He could destroy me. Bury me six feet under without lifting a finger. One call. One order. One flick of his gaze-and I'd vanish like dust in the wind. And the worst part? No one would question it. No one would dare.
But that doesn't scare me anymore. Because when Maya wants something, she takes it.
No matter what it costs.
And right now, as I stand on the balcony overlooking the sprawling backyard, all I can think of... is him.
Utsav Mehrotra.
Sitting on a teakwood chair with his usual lethal grace, surrounded by a few clients or perhaps associates-I can't tell. He's dressed in all black. A T-shirt that clings to his chest like a lover, trousers that fall perfectly along his sculpted legs. One leg crossed over the other, hand resting on his knee, jaw tight, expression unreadable.
Effortlessly powerful.
He's speaking in low tones, voice calm, eyes sharp like a predator resting in daylight. And yet, even with all that serenity, I can sense it. The tension beneath the surface. The storm waiting for its cue. As if all this control is a fragile illusion he allows the world to believe.
And I'm part of that illusion too.
He hasn't looked at me once. Not since I stepped onto this balcony. Not a flicker. Not a glance.
But I know he knows I'm here. He feels me. Just like I feel him.
We're connected in a way that defies explanation.
This mansion may be falling apart under the weight of secrets-Aditi's wedding shattered, Aditya's rising fury toward his father creating ripples of chaos-but Utsav? He remains unshaken. A calm eye in a storm he probably orchestrated himself.
But one thing is clear-Utsav Mehrotra never loses control.
And that's exactly what I plan to change.
Because if there's one thing more dangerous than a man like Utsav, it's a woman like me who's willing to do anything to be noticed.
This game of silence ends here.
He may think I'm harmless-a pretty girl with a soft voice and a foolish heart.
But soon, Utsav Mehrotra will know what it feels like to be wanted. To be pursued. To be claimed.
Because I've made up my mind.
He will be mine.
No matter the cost.
Just wait and watch, Utsav. I'm done waiting.
"You want me to drop you at your house?"
His voice dripped with disbelief, calm yet laced with subtle irritation. Utsav Mehrotra rarely allowed his tone to betray emotion, but I had become an expert at reading between the silences. And today, I was pushing my limits.
"Yes," I said smoothly, refusing to let his resistance affect my composure. "I want you to drop me, Mr. Mehrotra."
He stood in front of me, tall and impossibly composed, the last traces of his intense meeting still lingering in the air. Dressed in an all-black ensemble-shirt tucked neatly into tailored trousers, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the veins of his forearms-he looked every bit like a man who commanded power. He exuded an aura of danger wrapped in control. But I didn't flinch. I clutched my small travel bag, holding it like a ticket into his world.
"And why is that?" he asked, crossing his arms. His sharp eyes scanned me, not with desire, but with calculation-cold and piercing. "You have your own car. Your own driver. In fact, there are ten drivers in the Mehrotra mansion. You could pick any of them. So why me?"
I swallowed, then offered the first excuse that came to mind. "Anvi di told me you were heading out to pick up her favorite kimchi from that Korean place she loves. I thought..." I hesitated, hating myself for the lame explanation. "I thought it would be better if you dropped me while you were already going out."
What the hell was I saying? Really, Maya? Kimchi? That's the best you could come up with?
Utsav's jaw flexed as he processed my words. His eyes narrowed slightly. "First of all," he said icily, "don't make the mistake of forming personal relationships with my family by calling Anvi your 'di.' That's not your place. Second, it's my concern to bring my sister whatever she wants. You don't get to interfere."
His voice wasn't raised, but it hit like a slap. Firm, final, and razor-sharp. Still, I wasn't backing down.
"Come on, Mr. Mehrotra," I said, smiling sweetly, injecting just enough charm to balance my persistence. "It's just an hour's drive. I promise I won't talk. Please."
There was a long pause. His eyes locked onto mine. His expression didn't soften, but I saw it-the sigh. He exhaled through his nose, short and sharp, before jerking his head toward the driveway.
"Fine. In the car. Now," he grunted.
He didn't have to say it twice.
I hurried to the passenger seat before he could change his mind, practically bouncing in place as I fastened the seatbelt. I wasn't going to waste a single second of this unexpected opportunity.
He slid into the driver's seat with the same predatory grace he did everything-controlled, powerful, emotionless. His gaze didn't flicker toward me even once. Not even a glance.
Which was a damn shame, because I looked hot.
I had carefully chosen a fitted, royal blue full-neck top that hugged my curves without being too obvious. I paired it with a navy blue skirt that clung to my waist and tights that showcased my legs. Light makeup, matte brown lipstick, and my hair cascading in soft waves down my back-I looked like a walking fantasy. Confident. Sexy. Classy.
But to him? I could've been wearing a bedsheet. Nothing about his expression changed. Not a twitch of interest. Not even a flicker of recognition. He simply shifted the gear and drove off as if I didn't exist.
And yet, I didn't care. I was this close to him. I could smell his cologne-clean, musky, and masculine. The heat that radiated from his body, the way his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, the occasional brush of his hand against the gear stick-it was all enough to undo every ounce of control I pretended to have.
If any woman with half a brain knew the truth about Utsav Mehrotra, she would have run ten thousand miles in the opposite direction and never looked back.
But I wasn't just any woman.
I was Maya.
And I didn't want to run. I wanted to be caught. I wanted him to hunt me, claim me, shatter me, and make me his. I wanted him to set fire to my soul and then stand there as I burned-willingly, beautifully, recklessly.
I shifted in my seat, pressing my thighs together, trying to ignore the intense arousal pooling between my legs. Thank God for padded bras-my nipples were hard enough to cut glass. But he didn't notice. Or maybe he did and chose to ignore me. The silence between us stretched, thick and heavy, but I savored every second.
And then, suddenly, the car jolted to a halt.
"What the hell-?" Utsav muttered, glancing at the dashboard.
We had stopped in the middle of a deserted road. The area was eerily quiet, surrounded by barren fields on either side. No other cars in sight. Just us. His fingers flew to his phone.
"No network," he hissed under his breath. "Of course."
He stepped out to check the engine briefly before getting back in, slamming the door harder than necessary. The doors auto-locked. We were officially stuck. Together.
"Now what?" I asked, barely able to keep the excitement out of my voice. I tried to look concerned, but inside, I was dancing.
"We wait," he said curtly, pulling out his phone again. Still no signal. "Until someone finds us or the network returns."
I nodded, taking out my water bottle to sip, trying to appear casual. Inside, my heart was pounding. This was a dream come true.
Trapped in a car with Utsav Mehrotra, no signal, no interruptions.
Fate had handed me an open door.
And I had every intention of walking through it.
"Breathe, Maya... Breathe... It's okay."
My mind spun like a carousel out of control. My little chest heaved, searching for air that didn't exist. My small, clammy hands clutched at the car seat, trying to hold on to something, anything, as the walls began to close in. The space inside the vehicle felt like a box shrinking second by second.
"Breathe, baccha. I've got you, I'm not going anywhere," Dad's voice whispered into my ear, his arms wrapping around me tightly, anchoring me like a lifeline.
But the noise outside was unbearable.
Screams. Lights. Horns. Angry fists pounding on the windows.
"Kill them! Kill them!!"
Their voices felt like daggers, each syllable slicing into my skin, each word echoing in my ears louder than the last. I wanted to run. I needed to run.
But I couldn't even stand.
My legs-my small, feather-like legs-wouldn't obey me. My body was drenched in sweat, my heart pounded in my ears louder than the outside commotion. The world was spinning. The air was vanishing.
I was eight years old.
And I was trapped.
Inside a car.
Inside my fear.
Inside a moment that would never leave me.
A sudden, stern noise yanked me back to the present-out of that nightmare, out of that memory I had fought so hard to bury. My eyes blinked rapidly, trying to ground myself, to separate the past from the now. Utsav was pressing the horn, his expression impassive as always, likely testing if the system still worked.
The car was silent again. But not my mind.
My fingers trembled as I clutched the water bottle tighter, the plastic crinkling under my grip. My throat burned, my chest tightened. The suffocating sense of entrapment began to swirl again, uninvited.
The car was too small.
Too small. Too closed. Too quiet.
The air around me felt heavy, like it had weight, pressing into my lungs, making each breath shallower than the last. I could feel the heat rising to my skin, beads of sweat gathering at the nape of my neck. My heart thudded against my ribs like a drum of war-warning me that the walls were coming closer again.
I was losing control.
But I couldn't break.
Not here. Not now. Not in front of him.
I took another small sip of water, trying to push down the panic that clawed its way up my throat like acid. My fingers trembled slightly, just enough for him to notice.
Utsav's sharp eyes flicked toward me.
"Any problem?" he asked, his voice calm, but edged with curiosity. His tone didn't betray concern-he was a man who didn't do emotions-but there was something in his gaze, something piercing. Something that made it impossible to lie convincingly.
I held his gaze for a second too long before shaking my head, the corners of my lips curving into a forced, fleeting smile.
"No," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "Just tired."
His eyes lingered on me for a moment, longer than necessary. And then he looked away, his expression unreadable once more.
I turned toward the window, desperate for distraction. For space. For oxygen.
But my reflection in the glass didn't lie. I could see the sheen of sweat on my forehead, the paleness of my lips, the subtle shiver in my shoulders.
I was unraveling. Quietly. Invisibly.
And I couldn't even explain why.
Because how do you tell a man like Utsav Mehrotra that you're afraid of small spaces? That ever since you were a little girl trapped in a car surrounded by hate-filled mobs, every enclosed space feels like a tomb?
You don't.
You don't tell him that your biggest fear isn't the dark or death or loneliness.
It's stillness. It's silence. It's the feeling of being trapped.
You don't tell him that your mind sometimes takes you back to that day no matter how far you run from it. That even after all these years, you still wake up gasping for air.
Because people like him... they don't understand fragility. They don't hold space for brokenness.
They conquer it.
So I stayed silent.
Because if I told him the truth-if I told him that my hands were trembling not from cold but from trauma, that my heart was aching not from love but from memories-I would lose the last bit of control I had over myself.
And Maya doesn't do that.
Maya doesn't break.
Even if her body screams, even if her mind spins, even if the walls close in-she smiles. She endures.
But somewhere deep down, hidden beneath all the boldness and the smirks and the tight blue tops and matte brown lipstick, there's a little girl still trapped in a car, clutching her father's shirt and praying for the world to go quiet.
And no matter how far I go...
She's still inside me.
Waiting to breathe
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"Do let me know your thoughts about this chapter in the comments section. If you liked it, please don't forget to vote. Your single vote is enough to give me the courage to keep writing more.
And please, don't judge the characters solely based on the starting chapters. There's so much yet to unfold. Especially Utsav - I know his personality might seem negative at times, but trust me, he's about to go through a powerful journey of transformation.
Let the story breathe a little before forming opinions. Big twists are coming."
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