The night was cold, biting into the edges of my jacket as I stepped out of the car. I didn't come here to babysit anyone, least of all her, but there she was—sitting on the concrete ledge behind the store, lit faintly by the flickering overhead light.

At first glance, I almost ignored her. Mukti Roy wasn't exactly someone who caught my attention. Not like this, anyway. But the glint of metal near her feet pulled me back. Beer cans. One crushed in her hand, the rest strewn around like she was hosting a party of one.

What the hell was she doing out here?

I lit a cigarette and walked closer, my boots crunching against the gravel. Her face was tipped downward, her hair falling in loose strands that framed her pale profile. She looked small, fragile even. But I knew better than to mistake her for something weak.

"A drinker," I muttered, the words slipping out with the curl of smoke from my lips.

She didn't flinch, didn't move. Just sat there, staring ahead like I didn't exist.

I stopped behind her, towering over her frame. She'd have to look up to see me, and when she finally did—slow, reluctant—I felt the shift. The dynamic was clear, stark even: me, standing above her, and her, sitting below. That subtle tilt of power seeped into my chest like warm blood.

"You're going to freeze to death out here," I said, taking another drag from the cigarette.

Her lips twitched into something resembling a smirk. "I'm fine."

She wasn't. Not with the way her fingers trembled against the beer can or the faint redness creeping into her cheeks from the cold—or maybe the alcohol.

The scene should have annoyed me. It should have made me turn around and leave her to her poor life choices. Instead, I found myself watching her, studying the way her knees pulled closer to her chest, the way her chin tucked in like she was trying to make herself smaller. Vulnerability radiated off of her, so blatant it was almost obscene.

And I hated how much it drew me in.

A car screeched into the parking lot, loud music spilling out as a group of drunk men piled out, laughing and swaying. My attention shifted briefly to them, and when I turned back to her, irritation flared.

"Get up," I snapped.

She didn't move, just shook her head like a stubborn child.

"Mukti, get up."

Something in my voice must've cut through her drunken haze because she obeyed, slow and unsteady. The act itself—her compliance—sent a thrill surging through me. It was primal, raw, and entirely unwelcome.

I bent down, grabbed the scattered beer cans, and hauled her up by the arm. Her skin was warm beneath my grip, and the contact made my fingers itch to tighten, to hold her still, to keep her from slipping away.

"Let go," she protested, weakly pulling against me.

"Where's your dorm?"

"Rudra, I—"

I stopped abruptly, turning to face her. My voice dropped, cold and commanding. "Do as you're told."

Her mouth snapped shut. The fight drained out of her like a dam breaking, and she muttered the address under her breath, barely audible.

Good.

I shoved her into the passenger seat of my car and slammed the door shut. Sliding into the driver's seat, I started the engine and turned on the heater, stealing a glance at her. She was trembling, fidgeting with the hem of her coat. The alcohol was wearing off, leaving behind unease and nerves.

"Why were you drinking alone?" I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.

"Does it matter?" she mumbled, staring out the window.

"It does if you're sitting outside like a stray dog, surrounded by drunk idiots."

Her silence was deafening.

The drive to her dorm felt longer than it was, the tension coiling thick between us. By the time I pulled up, she was practically vibrating with discomfort. She stumbled as she got out, her legs barely cooperating, and I was out of the car in an instant, catching her before she hit the ground.

"You can't even walk straight," I muttered, my hands gripping her arms as I steadied her.

She let out a bitter laugh, sharp and jagged. "People get cheated on all the time, your highness. No need to pity me."

Pity? She thought this was pity?

I stared at her, my jaw tightening. Her words were slurred, but they still hit like a brick. She didn't even realize what she was doing—how she was handing me power without meaning to. Her vulnerability, her defiance, her fragility—it was all so maddeningly intoxicating.

And then, as she fumbled with her keys, my gaze drifted lower. Her lips, slightly parted, soft and pink from the cold. My mind betrayed me, conjuring images I shouldn't be thinking about. I imagined those lips trembling, parting further, gasping my name. I imagined her spread out beneath me, those wide, innocent eyes pleading even as her body yielded, completely at my mercy.

I shouldn't have been thinking about this. Not here. Not now.

"Do as you please," I growled, the words spilling out like a curse as I yanked her upright.

She froze, her wide eyes snapping to mine, and for a moment, I saw it—that submission again. That quiet, unspoken surrender that made my blood burn.

I couldn't trust myself any longer. My grip loosened, and I shoved the keys back into her trembling hands before turning on my heel.

Sliding back into my car, I revved the engine and peeled away from her dorm without a backward glance. The image of her stayed, though—her small frame, her trembling lips, her eyes, wide and submissive.

And I hated how much I wanted to go back.

I pressed the gas harder than I needed to, the sound of the engine slicing through the stillness of the night. Mukti Roy. Her name repeated itself in my head, uninvited and unwelcome. She was quiet, soft-spoken in class, always keeping to herself. Never in a million years would I have imagined finding her like that—tipsy, freezing, and with a defiant tilt to her chin that almost dared me to leave her behind.

And yet, I hadn't.

As I sped down the winding mountain road, I couldn't shake the image of her trembling lips, her wide eyes looking up at me like she wasn't sure whether to fight me or obey me. Her boyfriend had to be an idiot. Who cheats on someone like that? Quiet. Unproblematic. Hot as hell, too—soft curves in all the right places.

The thought hit me like a slap.

What the hell was I doing, thinking about her like that? Her life wasn't my business. Her boyfriend's choices weren't my problem. I had no reason to sit here, passing judgment on people's personal dynamics.

But then there was the other part. The part of me that couldn't stop imagining her at my mercy, those submissive eyes staring up at me, lips parted as she begged for something she didn't yet understand.

Goddamn it.

I shook the thought off as I neared the campus, where the thump of bass from the party was already loud enough to be heard over the engine. Pulling into the lot, I parked, stepped out, and rolled my shoulders, ready to burn off this irritation the way I always did: drinking, partying, and doing what I wanted with whoever threw themselves at me.

The whole team was here. I found them near the bar setup, half-drunk and rowdy as usual. They cheered when they saw me, lifting their glasses in mock salute.

"Finally! His Majesty graces us with his presence," Ayaan called out, tossing me a beer.

I caught it mid-air and cracked it open, downing half in one go. "Somebody's got to make sure you idiots don't embarrass the school," I said, smirking as they booed me.

The night blurred into its usual chaos—shots, games, and an endless stream of people coming up to me, pretending they cared about anything more than my last game stats or my family name. I'd perfected the art of smiling and nodding, but tonight it grated on me more than usual.

By the time the crowd started thinning out, I was tipsy, but not drunk enough to forget the way Mukti had looked tonight.

I found myself at the bar again, nursing another drink when Mysha appeared out of nowhere. She was one of those girls who'd been hovering around the team for years, always finding excuses to talk to me. Her family knew mine, and she clearly had a thing for me.

"Rudra," she said, her voice soft and honeyed as she slipped onto the stool next to me.

"Mysha." I acknowledged her with a nod, taking another sip of my drink.

"You disappeared for half the party," she teased, leaning a little too close. "Busy with something more interesting?"

"Not really," I said, setting the glass down and meeting her gaze.

She smiled, trying to hold my attention, and I let her talk. She wasn't offensive—yet—and I didn't see any harm in indulging her for a while. But as she went on, her laughter too loud and her hand brushing mine too often, I realized something.

Her eyes.

They were bright, playful, and entirely self-assured. There wasn't a shred of the vulnerability I'd seen in Mukti's. No hesitation, no quiet surrender. Just someone who knew what she wanted and expected to get it.

And for the first time in years, that didn't appeal to me.

I stared at Mysha, but all I could see was the memory of Mukti sitting outside that store, her fingers trembling against a beer can. Her lips parting as she looked up at me, the tension in her body radiating an unspoken yes even as she resisted me.

Mysha kept talking, but I wasn't listening anymore. My thoughts were back in the car, back to the way Mukti had folded under my command. Back to the way my pulse had thundered when I'd imagined what it would be like to take her, to break past that quiet defiance and leave her utterly undone beneath me.

"Rudra?" Mysha's voice snapped me back to the present.

"What?" I said, sharper than I intended.

She blinked, thrown off by my tone. "I was just asking if you wanted another drink."

"No," I said, standing abruptly. "I'm done for the night."

Her face fell, but I didn't care. My mind was already somewhere else. Somewhere it shouldn't be.

I left the party, the noise and lights fading behind me as I made my way to the car. The air was crisp, cold against my skin, but my blood was still hot, simmering with thoughts I didn't want to have.

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The last class of the day. Political Science. I strolled in, late as usual, and caught the faint rustle of notebooks as people adjusted in their seats. The air smelled faintly of cheap coffee and exhaustion. Most of the class was already checked out, except for her.

Mukti Roy sat near the window, her head propped on one hand, staring at her open notebook. She wasn't writing. Her pen hovered, motionless. She looked pale, even in the soft glow of the winter sun streaming through the glass.

I slowed my steps, my gaze lingering on her longer than it should. Her lips pressed together tightly, and a faint crease marked her forehead. She was deep in thought, as if the entire world didn't exist around her.

Then, as if sensing my eyes on her, she looked up.

Our eyes met.

She froze. For a second, her fingers trembled against the notebook before she looked away, her gaze dropping to the desk.

I smirked. She always did that—folded like a bad poker hand the moment I entered the picture. It was fascinating. Predictable, but fascinating.

Before I could dwell on it further, Professor Shetty swept into the room, his balding head gleaming under the fluorescent lights. "Settle down," he barked, and the murmurs faded instantly.

"Good news for all of you," Shetty said, adjusting his glasses with the enthusiasm of a man about to ruin someone's day. "Your next assignment will be a group project."

The class groaned in unison, a symphony of dread and annoyance.

"Don't look so miserable," he said, clearly enjoying himself. "The groups will be announced tomorrow. But for now..." He paused dramatically, pulling a stack of papers from his bag. "A little surprise."

I leaned back in my chair, lazily spinning my pen between my fingers.

"Mock test," Shetty declared.

The class erupted again, louder this time.

"You have 15 minutes," he said, ignoring the protests as he began handing out the test sheets.

I glanced at the questions. Politics, governance, policy-making—basic stuff. This was easy. Growing up surrounded by lawyers, policymakers, and enough debates to last a lifetime had its perks. I breezed through it, jotting down answers without a second thought.

Across the aisle, Mukti barely touched her paper. Her hand trembled as she scribbled something, then crossed it out. She was struggling.

For some reason, that annoyed me. She was smarter than most people gave her credit for—quiet, but not stupid. So why was she fumbling over something this simple?

The 15 minutes passed quickly. Shetty collected the sheets and began flipping through them, muttering to himself as he graded. The room buzzed with whispers until the sharp clang of the period bell silenced them.

"Class dismissed," Shetty said, setting down the stack of papers.

The room erupted in noise as everyone began packing up, eager to leave. I slung my bag over my shoulder, ready to join them, when Shetty's voice cut through the chaos.

"Mukti Roy. Rudra Pratap Rajvardhan."

I stopped mid-step.

"See me tomorrow morning, first thing," he said, not looking up from his desk.

The chatter in the room dimmed for a moment as curious glances flicked between Mukti and me.

"What for?" I asked, leaning against the edge of my desk.

"Just be there," Shetty replied curtly.

I shrugged, unbothered, but when I glanced at Mukti, she looked like she'd just been told the world was ending. Her eyes were wide, her face pale as a ghost. She clutched her notebook to her chest, frozen in her seat.

I bit back a laugh. She looked absolutely terrified, like a deer caught in headlights.

Whatever Shetty wanted, tomorrow was going to be interesting.