chapter3(KNOCK AT THE DOOR)
943 Words
Alexander’s POV
The sunlight poured through the massive glass windows of his private study, casting golden streaks across the sleek mahogany desk. But Alexander’s world remained untouched by light. The files were spread out before him. Raichal’s life laid bare in black and white—college transcripts, her daily schedule, family details, even the bank statements of her father’s struggling business.
They were in debt. Quietly drowning.
Perfect.
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.
She was too perfect to exist in such an imperfect world. That laugh. That red saree. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. She didn’t belong in the chaos she was born into.
She belonged to him.
And if her family was sinking—he would be the lifeboat. But not out of kindness. No.
Out of strategy.
He didn’t believe in love. Love made men soft.
But this wasn’t love.
It was claiming.
“Make the call,” he told his cousin without looking up. “Tell them a friend from the wedding wants to meet. Say I’ve taken interest in helping their business.”
“Her father won’t say no,” he said coldly.
His cousin across the desk raised a brow. “You’re going to offer money… for her?”
“I’m going to offer salvation,” Alexander replied with a wicked smirk. “And in return, take what’s already mine.”
He closed the folder, already rising.
“Tell them I’m coming. And make sure they know I’m not just another man with flowers.”
Raichal’s POV
It was Saturday. No classes. No chaos.The Morning Before the Storm
The air smelled like summer—sun-warmed grass, fresh earth, and the sweet scent of mangoes from the tree out front.
She was in her favorite oversized tee and cotton shorts, hair messy, skin dewy from the sun as she ran around the front yard with her golden retriever, Simba. His tail wagged like a drumbeat against the quiet.
She laughed freely, grabbing his face and kissing the top of his head.
Her dad’s voice called from inside the house. “Raichal! Someone’s here!”
“Who?” she shouted back.
“Looks… important!”
She frowned, brushing her hair back and jogging barefoot toward the gate.
Then she stopped.
Dead.
A luxury black car had just rolled into the driveway like it owned the street. Doors creaked open like something out of a dream—or a nightmare.The sound of the engine purred low and powerful.
And then he stepped out.
Her breath hitched.
Black suit. Open collar. Hair perfectly styled. Sunglasses hiding the eyes she couldn’t forget.
Him.
The man from the wedding.
The man from the garden.
The stranger who knew her name.
Alexander.
Only this time, he wasn’t in shadows.
And now… he stood in her driveway like he owned it.
He was in a tailored black suit, shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the smooth lines of his collarbone. His sunglasses reflected the sunlight, but she could feel his eyes crawling across her exposed legs. Her thighs. Her bare feet.
She swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of skin.
He looked like sin in silk. And the way he looked at her? Her skin burned beneath his gaze, which dragged down her legs with no attempt at subtlety.
His lips curled slightly—not in a smile, but in that dangerous half-smirk that made her knees go weak.
Like a storm waiting to be invited in.
She crossed her arms, flustered. “YOU?”
He took off his glasses, slow, smooth.
“I told you we’d meet again.”
Her heart dropped to her stomach.
“What are you doing here?”
He tilted his head, eyes dark and magnetic.
“I came to speak to your father,” he said, voice dark and velvet. “About something… important.”
“But—how do you know my—?”
“Does it matter?” he cut in, eyes trailing down her frame unapologetically.
Her cheeks flushed with heat—part embarrassment, part something she didn’t want to admit.
“Maybe you should change,” he added softly. “We wouldn’t want your parents to think I came here for the wrong reasons.”
But he had.
She stepped back, heart hammering.
Her father appeared beside her, cheerful and clueless. “Ah, Mr. Alexander! Please, come in, come in. We were honored to meet you at the wedding!”
Raichal’s eyes widened.
They knew him?
She looked between the two men—her father, smiling proudly…
And Alexander, staring at her like he’d already taken her name and carved it into his soul.
As he stepped past her, he leaned in just slightly and murmured so only she could hear:
“You should’ve worn that red saree again.”
Her entire body stiffened.
Alexander smiled at her father like a saint.
But his eyes—his eyes stayed locked on her like a curse.
Alexander’s POV
She looked like a dream stitched in skin.
Long legs. Bare arms. That innocent confusion on her face like she still didn’t realize she’d been chosen.
Claimed.
The way her lips parted slightly in shock. The way her chest rose and fell like a nervous flutter of wings.
He wanted to press pause on the moment. Bottle it. Frame it. Or maybe—
Destroy it.
Because no one had ever made him want like this. Not desire. Not lust.
Possession.
And now, with her family desperate for a way out…
All he had to do was say the right words.
And she’d be his.
- Writer
