Chapter Ten
1236 Words
Aanya's POV
The first thing she noticed was the faint scent of him.
Masculine. Clean. A little wild.
It clung to the soft cotton that enveloped her, flooding her senses the moment her lashes fluttered open. She blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling above her, wide windows letting in the gentle morning sun. The sheets beneath her were soft—too soft to be her own. The room was too large. Too... luxurious.
And then it hit her.
Ryan Williamson.
The club. The rooftop. That stranger. The way Ryan had punched him without hesitation. The sharp command in his voice when he told his friend—Gabe, right?—to take her friends home. The car ride. The building.
The fact that he carried her up like she weighed nothing.
Aanya sat up slowly, her head throbbing but not unbearable. She looked down at herself.
Ryan’s shirt.
She had fallen asleep in Ryan Williamson’s shirt.
A slow heat crept into her cheeks. She could pretend it was just a necessity, but the truth was, it felt... nice. Like a hug. Like warmth she didn’t want to leave. Her fingers curled around the hem absentmindedly.
No, she wouldn’t admit that.
Not even to herself.
Still wearing the shirt, she slipped out of bed and padded into the bathroom. The mirror reflected a mess—her hair tousled, eyes still sleepy, skin flushed. Yet beneath all that, there was a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in a while.
Peace.
She brushed her hair, washed her face, and stared at her reflection one last time before walking out. With every step toward the stairs, her pulse quickened. She didn’t know what she'd find.
And when she turned the corner into the open living space, her breath caught in her throat.
Ryan was in the kitchen.
Shirtless.
Completely.
He stood by the stove, muscles flexing with every movement, back turned to her. His torso was cut with sharp, clean lines—scars scattered across his skin like forgotten stories, faded yet bold. The sunlight kissed his skin, casting him in golden warmth, like something out of a dream.
Or a sin.
She blinked hard, trying to look anywhere else, but her traitorous eyes kept returning.
Focus, Aanya. For God’s sake, focus.
He hadn’t noticed her yet, and she took a small moment—just one—to admire the way his jeans clung low on his hips, the strength in his arms, the quiet calm in his stance.
Then, as if he sensed her, Ryan turned.
A slow smirk curved on his lips. “Good morning.”
Her face burned. “Uh... hi. I—I didn’t mean to stare.”
He arched a brow, unbothered. “But you did.”
Aanya looked down, hiding her smile as she walked over hesitantly, still hugging the shirt around her. “You’re cooking?”
“I do that sometimes,” he replied casually, turning back to the stove. “Especially when someone drinks four tequila shots and forgets to eat dinner.”
“You counted?”
“Always.”
Her heart did an odd little flip. She watched as he ladled something into a bowl and placed it gently on the counter. Beside it, toast. Fresh-cut strawberries. The presentation was surprisingly sweet for someone with such a lethal aura.
“You made this for me?”
Ryan turned and leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her.
“I did.”
Her stomach fluttered, but she narrowed her eyes playfully. “I don’t usually accept breakfast from mafia bosses.”
He chuckled—a low, rich sound that rolled through the room. “And yet, here you are. In my shirt. In my house. Smelling like me.”
Aanya’s jaw dropped at his bluntness.
“I—”
“I’m just stating facts.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again. “Do you always win arguments with... facts?”
“I usually don’t need to argue,” he said, shrugging. “People just listen.”
Aanya scoffed but found herself smiling. “Well, I’m not most people.”
“Believe me,” he said, his voice softening, “I’m painfully aware.”
That did it.
The nervous tension between them broke like glass in sunlight. Aanya slid onto the stool in front of the food and picked up the spoon.
“Just so you know,” she muttered, “I’m only eating this because I’m starving.”
“Of course,” he replied, amused.
But after the first spoonful, her expression shifted completely.
“Oh my God... this is amazing.”
“Told you.”
“No, seriously—this is better than anything I’ve had in weeks.”
Ryan leaned forward slightly, the corners of his lips lifting. “So you’re saying you’d come back... just for my soup?”
Aanya laughed, biting into a piece of toast. “Maybe.”
They talked over breakfast. Really talked. About random things—music, books, food, the city. She found herself laughing more than expected, and even forgetting for a moment that this man owned not only the university she studied in... but also had blood on his hands.
And yet, there was nothing dangerous about him right now.
He was just a man.
A dangerously attractive, surprisingly gentle man making her breakfast.
Then the door opened.
Aanya stiffened, turning to see a tall, broad-shouldered man step in, holding something draped over his arm. Gabe.
Her heart skipped.
She was in Ryan’s shirt.
Her eyes widened as panic rushed in. She instinctively stepped back—right into Ryan’s chest. He caught her, steadying her gently with one arm, then shifted slightly, shielding her from view.
“You’re fine,” he murmured low into her ear.
She nodded, cheeks burning, trying not to look mortified.
Gabe, ever the professional, didn’t react. “As you asked, boss. The dress.”
Ryan took it and nodded. “Thanks.”
Once Gabe left, Aanya peeked out from behind Ryan, still half-buried in embarrassment. “You—you got me a dress?”
“You needed something to wear,” he said simply. “I figured you wouldn’t want to go back to your apartment in last night’s dress... or mine.”
She reached for the fabric—it was soft, a delicate shade of lavender with a cinched waist and elegant neckline. Classy. Subtle. Beautiful.
“You really didn’t have to,” she whispered.
“I wanted to.”
“Okay, but I’ll pay you for it.”
Ryan’s gaze turned sharp.
Aanya stilled.
That stare.
The one that made people obey. That made her spine straighten and her lips shut.
Just one look, and her argument withered on her tongue.
She huffed, annoyed at herself—and him—for how easily she caved.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered.
Ryan smirked. “You’ve mentioned that before.”
After showering, she emerged wearing the dress, and even Ryan—unshakable, unreadable Ryan—paused when he saw her.
His eyes roamed slowly, from her bare feet to the curve of her shoulders.
“Beautiful,” he said quietly.
Her heart twisted.
There was something dangerous about the way he looked at her. Like he was deciding whether to kiss her or break the world to protect her.
And for the first time in a long time... she didn’t want to run.
She wanted to stay.
- Writer
