Chapter Fourteen
812 Words
Ryan's POV
“She skipped lunch again.”
Ryan’s eyes snapped up from the file in his hands.
The voice on the other end of the phone crackled slightly, but the message was crystal clear.
He leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him overlooked the New York skyline, glowing in the late afternoon haze.
“Did she say anything to anyone?” he asked, voice sharp.
“No, sir. Just walked out of class quickly. Same as the morning. Avoided everyone. But the rumors… they’re spreading.”
Ryan’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t need to ask what rumors.
He already knew.
The moment he decided to have Aanya dropped to college in his car, he’d predicted there’d be whispers. But he hadn’t expected the situation to escalate this fast. She was being watched, judged, dissected by people who didn’t know a damn thing about her—or them.
Hell, not even he fully understood what they were yet.
But what he did know was that no one—not even the damn university he owned—had the right to make her feel unsafe.
“You’ll keep watching her,” Ryan said coldly. “Every day. Every class. Report everything. But stay out of her sight.”
“Yes, Mr. Williamson.”
Ryan ended the call and tossed the phone onto the desk.
He stood and walked to the window, dragging a hand through his already tousled hair.
She was struggling.
And it f**king killed him.
He could imagine it too well—Aanya’s big, expressive eyes downcast… her shoulders tense… her lips pressed in that way she did when she was holding back emotion.
All because of him.
And because of a kiss.
He exhaled slowly, trying to calm the tight pull in his chest.
That morning—her lips brushing his, the hesitation in her breath before she leaned in, the quiet hunger in that single kiss—he hadn’t been able to think straight since.
She didn’t plan it. That much he knew. Her reaction afterward had been all confusion and guilt and panic.
But he?
He had felt fire.
And all damn day, he’d been burning.
His day had passed like two separate lives stitched together—
Morning: Suits, meetings, mergers, polite smiles.
Night: Shadows, blood, weapons, whispered threats.
Ryan was used to it.
Balancing the empire he built by day and the syndicate he inherited by night.
The media saw a billionaire mogul. The underworld saw a king.
But in between those lives… was her.
Aanya.
The one person who had no idea what power he truly held. Who saw past the titles and into a part of him that even he had forgotten existed.
And now she was in pain. Because of him.
At 2:08 AM, Ryan finally returned home.
The penthouse was quiet. Gabe had already left after wrapping up the night’s dealings. The security system beeped softly as he keyed in the code.
Ryan shrugged out of his black coat, tossed it over the armchair, and made his way to the bedroom.
Everything felt hollow without her here.
He hated how much he noticed it.
The sheets still held the faintest trace of her perfume—floral, light, almost innocent. It was tormenting.
He lay on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling as his mind played the morning again like a damn loop.
Her kiss.
The softness of her lips.
The hesitation that turned into boldness.
And then the shock on her face after—like even she didn’t know why she did it.
God, she was dangerous.
Not in the way he was—no. Her danger came in the way she snuck into his thoughts, softened his rage, made him want things he’d buried long ago. A life. A future. Peace.
It scared him more than bullets ever could.
He turned on his side, arm resting behind his head.
Tomorrow, he’d see her again.
Another university board meeting—completely fabricated, of course. There was no emergency. No merger. No inspection. He just needed a reason to be there. To see her. To confirm with his own eyes that she was okay.
His surveillance team’s updates weren’t enough. He needed her.
That infuriating, smart-mouthed girl who threw tantrums about paying for a dress he bought.
Who looked like sin in his shirt but still blushed like an angel.
Who kissed him like she didn’t mean to—but had.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered to the darkness. “Just one more time.”
He told himself that every day.
Just one more look.
Just one more minute.
But it was never enough.
And he knew—sooner or later—he’d have to make a choice.
Protect her from his world.
Or pull her into it completely.
- Writer
