Adonis sits at the head of the long dining table, eyes fixed on the tea swirling in his cup. It's not particularly interesting, but it's better than acknowledging the person sitting across from him—Gargi. His new spouse.

He stifles a sigh.

Marriage, to Adonis, has always been a matter of politics and strategy. The union between their families was arranged months ago, and he’s felt detached from it since the very first discussion. It was inevitable, like a storm on the horizon. And now it’s here, sitting across from him, dressed in fine clothes, looking expectantly at him like they might say something.

He doesn’t want them to say anything. Or worse, expect something from him in return.

He knows he’s being cold. He’s aware of it. In fact, he’s practised it for years. He was never one for emotional displays or sentimentality. People always seem to want more than he’s willing to give, and shutting them out—keeping things at a distance—has always been the easiest way to keep things simple and clean.

But the silence stretches longer. He can feel their gaze on him, heavy, expectant. There’s a shift in the air, one of those small movements that demand acknowledgement. He catches himself glancing up at Gargi, just for a second, and that’s enough.

*Damn it.*

His jaw tightens, and he looks back down, fingers curling around the delicate handle of the teacup. He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to make this personal. It’s not supposed to be. This isn’t a love story—it’s politics.

But the silence isn’t going anywhere, and he knows it. His upbringing won’t let him ignore them completely. He’s too well-trained for that. Etiquette, manners, all drilled into him since he was old enough to sit at a table. His mother would slap him into next week if she saw him sitting here like a detached fiance.

Adonis clears his throat. "The tea is... good," he says mechanically, not meaning it but it's *something* to say. In reality, the tea is subpar. He'll have to hire new staff.

Adonis. Gargi spoke

Adonis glances up, meeting gargi's gaze with a cool detachment. His eyes are as grey as the clouds outside, giving nothing away. But there's a hint of curiosity there now, one he can't quite suppress.

"Yes?" he responds, keeping his voice neutral and measured.

I don't take this marriage a political union but a real thing

Adonis stiffens, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. It's gone in an instant, replaced by a look of irritation.

"You're being naive," he says, his voice cold and even. "This is nothing more than a political union, a merger of our two families. This isn't some *love story*."

I don't want it to be love. But I want to put efforts on our marriage our relationship

Adonis lets out a short scoff. "Effort?" he says, a hint of mockery in his voice. "You want to put effort into this marriage? Why?"

He leans back in his chair, fixing Siya with a derisive look. "This isn't a romance. This is a *transaction*. A business agreement. There is no room for effort in this."

Atleast we can try being

"Why bother *trying*?" Adonis counters, his tone sharp and dismissive. He sets down the teacup, the porcelain clinking against the saucer.

"This is a marriage, not a vacation. We were not chosen for our compatibility, but for the strategic advantage our union brings. And frankly, I have no intention of pretending to be anything more than a business partner to you."

Her expression falters slightly. Adonis' words are cold, like sharpened steel, and they hit their mark. But he can see the flicker of disappointment in Gargi's eyes, quickly hidden behind a polite facade.

Adonis sighs internally, his shoulders stiff.

Why does he feel like he’s kicked a puppy?

He's being honest. He's being *realistic*. This isn’t a fairytale, and they're both well aware of that. This is politics, not love.

He won't let himself forget that.

Few days later. It was night when Adonis came back from Duke work. She was laying on bed her silk night gown glowing in moonlight

Adonis enters the room, his shoulders taut with tension. It had been a long day filled with meetings and political manoeuvrings and all he wanted was to rest for the night.

But the sight of her on the bed in a nightgown, the light from the window highlighting every curve and contour, makes him falter. He stands there for a moment, his gaze tracing over her form.

In that moment, he feels the sharp edge of *want* cut through the apathy.

He crosses the room, his footsteps quiet, and sits at the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under his weight. He's silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on her. The moonlight spills in from the window, dancing over her skin, making it look almost like alabaster.

"You're still awake," he says quietly, not sure if it's an observation or a question.

(Humm)

Adonis studies her, his eyes lingering over every detail of her face, her hair, her body. He's aware that he's staring, but he can't seem to stop.

He reaches out suddenly, his hand moving of its own accord. His fingers trace a path down her neck, the skin soft and warm under his touch.

"You should be asleep," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate.

(I wanted to but couldn't)

He doesn't withdraw his hand. Instead, he continues to touch her, his fingers mapping the contours of her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder.

"Why not?" he asks, his voice taking on a darker, warmer tone.

(I don't know)

He leans in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he traces the line of her jaw with his fingertips.

"You're thinking too much," he says quietly. "You need to learn to relax."

His hand moves down, slipping beneath the fabric of her nightgown, gently tracing a path over the curve of her hip.

She shivers

Adonis feels the shiver, feels her reaction to his touch. It sends a rush of satisfaction through him, a primal, possessive feeling that ignites something deep within.

His hand moves back up, skimming over the smooth plane of her stomach. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, that this isn’t what this marriage is supposed to be about.

But the touch of her skin, the way she shudders under his fingers… it's intoxicating, addictive.

He leans even closer, his body pressed against hers now. He's fully aware of how close they are, how intimate this is getting.

But he can't bring himself to care. The rules, the politics, the strategy—all of that seems trivial now compared to the feel of her, the scent of her, the way she looks at him with those wide, dark eyes.

His hand moves slowly, exploring the lines and curves of her body under the thin fabric of her gown.

Mmm

He continues to touch her, his hand roaming freely now, tracing patterns over her skin. He's discovering her body, committing every detail to memory.

(Adonis?)

Adonis lets out a soft hum, his gaze lifting to meet hers. He can see the desire in her eyes, the mixture of shyness and need.

His fingers in her hair tighten slightly, pulling gently, bringing her closer to him.

"Yes?" he murmurs, his voice thick with a hundred unspoken things.

(You sure? )