"Mine - even if I burn with you."
437 Words
The club throbbed with bass and sin.
Everyone was looking at her.
Anivika Rathore.
A black velvet dress clung to her like second skin — backless, slit high enough to drop hearts , and diamond anklet catching light with every step.
She didn't smile. She commanded.
At her side, Meera — bold, seductive, whispering in her ears with lips close enough to convince.
They looked untouchable. Dangerous Desired.
She didn't come for attention.
She came for a reminder: she's still untamed.
And then......
The air shifted.
He entered.
Veer Malhotra.
No announcement. No spotlight. Just a slow, chilling hush as people turned.
All black. No tie, just a scar beneath the collar that only she knew he was there.
His eyes locked on her.
He didn't blink. He didn't break.
She kept dancing like he was no one.
Laughed against Meera's neck, finger trailing down her arm.
Let the crowd believe the lie — She was too dangerous to be touched by any man.
Until-
He stepped into the VIP lounge like he owned it.
Not a word. Just a slow clap as his drink hot the table.
"Beautiful game you're playing, Dr
rathore"
She turned to face him.
Everyone fell silent.
"Not a game I ever lose," She replied,
chin high, voice colder than ice in his glass.
He walked closer, until the music vanished between them.
His words dropped like steel.
"That empire you built on ashes ?"
"It's impressive."
"But you forget one thing, princess-"
He stepped so close, his breath ghosted her skin.
"Even empires burn.... when their queen plays with the wrong king."
She didn't move.
But her eyes?
They blazed.
"And some king forget,"she
whispered, "that my crown was bathed in blood long before they existed."
The tension could snap bones.
He leaned in, nose brushing her cheek —
not in affection but claim.
And murmured only in her ear for only her:
"You can run, you can rule , you can
reign—
"But even If I destroy you, Anivika....
you'll still be mine"
She scoffed, stepping in close— eyes glowing with something holy and
violent.
"Bish, keep dreaming. The thrown and the legacy you want?"...
she held his chin, lifting his face close to hers— just inch away.
"It wasn't build with sweat and tears only.. it has been dropped , from heaven
to hell bathing in blood down to my heels."
He didn't step back.
He just smirked.
And the crowd whispered—
"She is the last Rathore."
"And he just declared war on a legacy made up of blood."
- Writer
