The headlines hit the city like wildfire:

"Mystery Woman Seen with Riaz Malhotra at Exclusive Gala."

Paparazzi photos showed just enough—a silhouette of Aashika wrapped in crimson silk, the unmistakable frame of Riaz's hand resting possessively at her lower back. No faces. But the internet didn't need confirmation. It only needed the tension.

Inside R Enterprises, whispers swirled like perfume.

In the center of it all, Aashika kept her head high.

He sent the dress three nights ago.

A blood-red saree, silk so smooth it slipped through her fingers like water. The blouse? Custom—low-necked, sleeveless, daring. Wrapped inside was a handwritten note:

"I want them to look. I want you to shine. – R."

She stared at the note for a full hour before folding it and placing it under her pillow. When the night of the gala arrived, she wore the saree without hesitation.

Because when it came to him, she was done hiding.

Riaz picked her up in a black Aston Martin, stepping out in a tailored suit darker than night, a blood-red pocket square matching her saree exactly. His eyes lingered on her as she stepped out of the house.

"Say something," she teased, unsure under the weight of his gaze.

"If you weren't already mine, I'd kill to make you mine tonight."

He offered his hand.

She took it.

The gala was a swirl of lights, violins, champagne, and judgmental eyes. CEOs, heirs, and wives of powerful men all watched her like a new scandal waiting to bloom.

She stood tall.

Riaz never left her side. His fingers brushed the small of her back, whispered possessiveness. He whispered in her ear, things that made her cheeks flush and her knees weaken.

At one point, a slick-haired heir to a shipping fortune slid too close. Riaz didn't even look at him. Just curled his fingers around Aashika's waist and pulled her flush to his side.

"Try it again," he said softly, without turning, "and I'll make your company disappear."

The man paled. Disappeared into the crowd.

Aashika didn't speak until they were alone on the balcony, stars glittering above them.

"That was... intense," she said, sipping champagne.

"He looked at what's mine."

She turned. "You can't keep saying that. I'm not something to be owned."

He placed his glass down and cornered her gently against the railing.

"You're not something. You're everything."

Her heart raced.

"Then prove it, Riaz. Not just with threats. With trust."

He took her hand, pulled her fingers to his chest, over his heart. "This beats because of you. I trust no one. But I believe in you. That's rarer."

Their lips met again.

Not wild like before. Not claiming.

This was reverent. Slow.

She melted into him, silk brushing against his tailored suit, the night folding around them like a secret.

And somewhere far above, the stars bore witness to the man who ruled the underworld and the girl who ruled his heart.