Chapter:3 The kiss

Suddenly, the doorbell rings, sending a chill down my spine. My heart pounds as countless thoughts race through my mind—who could be standing at the door?

After battling with my inner turmoil, I finally take a deep breath and open it.

And there he is.

Viraj Khanna

The hero of the story. The boyfriend of the previous owner of this body.

True to the novel, he looks devilishly handsome—wearing a crisp white shirt paired with black pants, his coat casually draped over his shoulder. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, as if he has run his hands through it multiple times in frustration. Seeing him in person, I can finally understand why the villainess was so madly in love with him.

I stand frozen, not saying a word or even moving from the doorway, instinctively blocking his way inside. I can feel his eyes on me—intense and unwavering. Hesitantly, I look up and meet his gaze.

And in that moment, everything else seems to stop.

There is something in his eyes—an emotion I can’t quite decipher. I find myself lost in them, unable to tear my gaze away.

I’m so caught up that I don’t even notice him moving closer. By the time I snap back to my senses, it’s too late. His hand has already wrapped tightly around my wrist, and with one swift motion, he pulls me aside and steps inside.

Before I can react, he shuts the door behind him with a loud thud.

I flinch at the sound.

He doesn’t speak, and I’m too afraid to break the silence. I have no idea what to say to him.

I’ve practiced this moment a thousand times in my head, rehearsing the words, the gestures, even the way I would stand. But now that it’s happening, I’m frozen.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to take a shaky breath.

"Viraj... I—I think we should break up," I whisper, my voice barely audible. The moment the words leave my mouth, I feel an icy chill run through me.

But instead of reacting, he closes the distance between us. He tilts my chin gently, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

"Is this what you want?" His voice is calm but there’s an unmistakable edge to it. The warning in his tone sends a shiver down my spine, but I refuse to let my fear show.

"Yes," I reply firmly, my voice betraying none of the doubt that swirls inside me.

Without another word, he releases me and walks toward the sofa, sitting down without looking back. I stand there, feeling the weight of his silence pressing on me, unsure of what to do next.

I need to say something. Anything.

I take a deep breath and start to speak

"Your grandfather wants you to marry her, and honestly, I think he’s right," I continue, my voice gaining strength. "We don’t have a future, and we both know you don’t have a choice but to go through with it. I’ve met her—she’s a good, kind girl, and I believe she’ll be the right choice for you. So.......let’s end this relationship now, so you can move on with her and find your happiness."

I keep my gaze fixed on him as he sits motionless on the sofa, with his back towards me. I can’t see his expression, and the silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. He hasn’t interrupted me, and in my heart, I hope that maybe—just maybe—he agrees.

But then, just as I’m about to speak again, I hear it.

A sudden, sharp sound—glass shattering.

I don’t know what happens, but I find myself running toward him, panic rising in my chest. That’s when I see it—he has shattered a glass in his hand, and blood is dripping from his palm.

Without thinking, I rush to my room and grab the first aid kit from the last drawer. I can feel my heart racing, the fear clawing at me.

When I return, he hasn’t moved. He sits there, his face unreadable, his hand still bleeding freely. He doesn’t make any effort to stop it, and that expressionless look on his face frightens me more than anything.

I can’t understand what’s happening.

With trembling hands, I gently take his palm in mine, trying to remove the shard of glass embedded in his skin. My hands are shaking uncontrollably, but I push forward. I wrap the bandage around his hand, my eyes welling up with tears I hadn’t even realized were there.

It isn’t until I feel the warmth of his touch that I realize I’m crying.

He cups my face gently, wiping away the tears with his thumb. The sensation is almost tender, but the silence between us is suffocating.

"Please... l-let’s break up," I whisper again, feeling my resolve slipping away with every second. His hand remains on my face, his thumb tracing my cheek, but he still doesn’t say anything.

I close my eyes, trying to hold onto the warmth of his touch, the steady rhythm of his thumb. But then, I feel him move closer. I can feel his breath on my lips, his presence overwhelming.

His lips hover just above mine, and for a moment, neither of us moves. The tension is unbearable, and I want nothing more than to close the distance.

I can’t help myself. I place my hands on his neck and lean in, pressing my lips against his.

At first, he doesn’t respond. But after a moment, I feel his lips move against mine, and a rush of heat floods through me. The kiss is sweet at first, almost hesitant, but soon it becomes more desperate, more consuming.

I try to pull away, but before I can, he pulls me closer, his arms wrapping around me. What started as a tender kiss quickly turns into something far more intense—he isn’t just kissing me anymore, he’s claiming my lips.

I lose track of time. Minutes? Hours? It doesn’t matter. The world outside doesn’t exist. All that matters is the taste of his lips, the feeling of him pulling me in closer.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he pulls away. His lips leave mine, and without another word, he stands up and walks to the door.

The sound of the door closing behind him hits me like a punch to the gut.

I stand there, my breath shaky, my heart pounding in my chest. I close my eyes and pray that he won’t come back.