Obsession

Title — Goddess and Devil
Scene: The Study of Obsession

Aatharv's POV

The rain hadn’t stopped.

It battered the glass windows of his penthouse like it wanted in — like it wanted to remind him of her.

Aatharv Pratap Rajvardhan stood in his study. Still in the same soaked shirt from hours ago.
Hair still damp.
Gun still on the floor beside him.
Hands shoved into his pockets not for control — but to stop them from trembling. Not in fear.
In need.

His mahogany desk was littered with files.
And at the center of it all—
Her.

“Aahana Desai.”

The name had weight now.
It tasted like defiance.
It echoed like thunder behind his ribcage.

Her file was thin — insultingly thin.

Orphan.
No family. No attachments. No weakness.
Final year student. 22.
Top of her class. Scholarship. Academic perfection.

No disciplinary action.

No fights.
No flirting.
No drama.

No one.

“No boyfriend.”

That line made him pause. He read it again.

Not once. Not once in 22 years had anyone tried to claim her.
Not a fling.
Not a proposal.
Not even a whisper of interest.

Because she was untouchable.
Not in the pretty, porcelain sense.

No — in the way blades are.

Brilliant. Sharp. Cold. Beautiful.
And entirely, entirely hers.

She hadn’t needed to study for that maths exam. He could tell.

She said it because she was bored with him.
Because the very idea of him — a man who ruled industries, destroyed empires, moved economies — had become just another wasted hour in her night.

He let out a slow breath.

She held his life in her hands and yawned.

Who the fuck does that?

She wasn’t fearless. No — it was something more violent.
She was emptied.
No fear because she had nothing left to fear losing.

He pressed a finger to the photo paper. Her college ID.
Bare-faced. Hair in a loose ponytail. Eyes half-lidded like she was already over whoever was taking the photo.

Even her image looked unimpressed.

He stared at it.

Long.

Hard.

Still wasn’t enough.

“She didn’t just walk away,” he murmured under his breath, voice low, hoarse.

“She chose to.”

And that—

That ruined him.

Because for the first time, it wasn’t rejection he tasted.

It was something more agonizing.

He had no power over her.

Not wealth.
Not charm.
Not threat.
Not even death.

She danced with his death like it was foreplay, then left him standing in puddles — untouched.

No woman had ever dared to leave a mark on him.

And she didn’t just mark him.

She branded herself into his bones.

Firsts.
He hated firsts.
Because they lingered.

And Aahana Desai?

She was the first woman who didn’t flinch.

The first who didn’t beg.

The first who didn’t want anything from him.

And that made her the only one he’d ever want everything from.

He didn’t realize he was still staring at her photo.

Didn’t realize his fingers had curled around it like a relic.

The rain kept whispering behind him.

And Aatharv?
He stood in a fortress of glass and steel—

But all he could think about was a girl with pearls on her heels and a bullet’s accuracy in her breath.

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