The calm before the shot

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🖤 The Price of Protection

Chapter 5 – The Calm Before the Shot

(Aryan & Khushi – Dual POV, Full Scene Expansion)

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🎭 Singhania Palace – Rooftop Balcony, 10:26 PM

The party roared behind them—laughter, camera flashes, deals made behind fake smiles.

But out here, where the air was cooler and the stars were distant, Khushi Singhania found herself standing beside a man she didn't know... and yet couldn’t look away from.

> And Aryan Rathore had never been this close to anything that felt pure in years.

He could smell lavender and rose on her skin—subtle, soft, the kind of scent no woman in his world ever wore.

She wasn’t trying to impress.

She wasn’t pretending.

And that made her dangerous.

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👁 Khushi’s POV

He hadn’t left her side.

Even when she hadn’t said a word for nearly a minute.

He just stood there—still, composed, patient in a way no man in her life ever was.

Her heart was thudding hard behind her ribs, but her face was calm. Barely.

> “Do you always speak to strangers like this?” she asked\, breaking the silence.

He didn’t look away from her.

> “Only to the ones who wear their pain so quietly\, even their own family doesn’t hear it.”

She froze.

Her breath caught.

> How does he know?

> “I wasn’t in pain\,” she lied. Softly. Weakly.

> “You were\,” he replied\, without apology. “When your mother called you fat\, you shrunk like someone had slapped you.”

Her fingers tightened around the railing.

> “And when she told you to smile properly\,” he added\, stepping closer\, “you bit your lip. Not because you were angry. But because you’ve been trained not to talk back.”

> “Stop\,” she whispered\, voice shaking. “You don’t know me

> “No\,” he murmured. “But I see you.”

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🧔 Aryan’s POV

He shouldn’t be saying any of this.

He shouldn’t be here.

He’d come to this gala to close a deal.

Instead, he was falling into a stranger’s pain like it was his own.

Khushi.

Eighteen. Beautiful. Wounded in ways she didn't even recognize.

He wanted to wrap his jacket around her shoulders.

He wanted to silence her mother with a single bullet.

He wanted to take her away—far from this glittering circus.

> And that terrified him.

Because Aryan Rathore didn’t want. He took.

He never asked. He claimed.

But with her… he wanted to be soft.

And that was dangerous.

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👩 Khushi’s POV (continued)

He stepped closer. Not touching her. But close enough that she could feel the heat of his body.

> “What’s your name?” she asked suddenly.

A pause.

He looked down at her—intense, unreadable.

> “Aryan.”

No last name. No title. Just that.

> “Are you someone I should be afraid of?” she asked\, trying to smile.

His answer was a breath against her ear.

> “Only if you plan on leaving.”

She shivered.

Not from fear.

From something else.

Something far worse.

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💬 Dialogue Intensifies

> “You’re... strange\,” she said quietly.

> “You’re brave\,” he answered. “Even when you don’t realize it.”

> “You speak like you know me.”

> “I will\,” he said\, watching her mouth like it was the only color left in the world.

“Soon.”

> “Why?” she asked.

> “Because you looked at me like I wasn’t a monster.”

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🔥

Their eyes locked.

Everything around them disappeared—music, lights, people.

Time folded.

> She saw something in his gaze. Something violent\, but lonely.

Like a man drowning who just saw land for the first time.

And Aryan—he saw something that broke his rules completely.

Innocence. Not weakness. But light.

And he’d been in the dark too long.

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🕯

He didn’t kiss her.

Didn’t touch her.

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He was watching her.

Their gaze locked, and time stilled.

Aryan's dark eyes didn’t waver. His stare burned with something raw, something possessive. Not admiration — claiming.

His jaw clenched slightly, the scar above his eyebrow twitching as he dragged his gaze down her body, slowly, deliberately.

She stood in red — the saree hugging her in all the places that made his throat tighten.

Khushi wasn’t slim like the women who usually hovered around him.

No — she was soft. Real. Her body was full of contradictions she hated and he couldn’t stop staring at.

Her waist curved gently, not flat, not narrow — but the kind of curve that would fit perfectly in his large palm, grounding him.

Her belly had a little pouch, the one she always tried to hide with her pallu. He had noticed her fidgeting, tugging it higher whenever someone looked too long.

She was insecure about it.

But Aryan thought it was the most beautiful thing about her — something so unprotected, so honest, in a world full of plastic perfection.

Her hips were wide, shaping the fabric into dangerous poetry.

Her cheeks were flushed, not just from the warmth of the room — but from the heat of his stare.

Her thin lips quivered, and her almond eyes widened slightly, as if she could feel everything he wasn’t saying.

She tried to look away.

She didn’t.

And neither did he.

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