Heat rushed to her face, then lower, and Saanjh hated that even his anger made her want him more.

"I'm not a whore," she said, and her voice only cracked once. "I'm in lust with you. I've been listening to those ridiculous stories for two years, and I touch myself every night thinking about you, and I know I'm not your usual type, but it's one week. One week, and then I'm gone and you never have to see me again."

The confession poured out of her, and by the end, she couldn't lift her eyes from the floor. Her aunt would be proud, she thought. Then she thought about her aunt hearing about this, and her stomach clenched.

But she didn't take it back.

His fingers under her chin. That simple gesture, and her whole body went still. He tilted her face up, and she had no choice but to look at him. The anger had ebbed, replaced by a look that made her nipples tighten. Assessment. Calculation. Possibility.

"What if you fall in love with me, Saanjh? All girls eventually do."

She laughed, and the sound was surprising—a little too loud, a little too raw. "Boys like you don't fall for girls like me, and I'm not built for falling."

His thumb moved across her jaw, just once, and her breath caught. "We live in different worlds. I'm not staying. I'm leaving for a job, a career, a life that doesn't include flings with neighbors. This is temporary, Vikram. A week. That's all."

He released her chin and stepped back, dropping onto the sofa with the casual grace of a man who knew exactly how much space he occupied. His legs spread, his arms draped over the armrest, and he looked up at her through those thick black lashes.

"My partners are experienced, Saanjh." His voice had gone lower, rougher, like he was testing each word before letting it go. "I'm rough. Ruthless. I like control—absolute control. If you're mine for a week, you're mine. I will use you in ways that would make your family lock you in the pantry for months."

Her thighs pressed together, invisible to him, and the pressure sent a familiar throb through her core.

"What are your conditions?" she asked.

His smile arrived slowly, a tilt at the corner of his mouth that made the serpent on his chest seem to coil.

"For seven days, you come when I call. Even if you're in the middle of something. Even if it's three in the morning. You are available to me." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and pinned her with that gaze. "I like complete submission, Saanjh. Obedience. Can you give me that?"

The air between them crackled, and she could smell him now—sweat and sun and that undertone of sandalwood that made her mouth water.

"Yes," she said, and for the first time since she walked into his garden, his eyes widened a fraction.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I can give you that."

He stood, and this time he didn't stop at the edge of her personal space. He moved into it, his chest inches from hers, his shadow falling over her like a promise. One hand rose and traced the bare skin of her shoulder, where the black top had slipped, and she quivered.

"Then we have a deal, Saanjh." His fingers curled around the back of her neck, warm and firm, tilting her head back. "But I need to know one thing before we start."

"What?" The word was barely audible.

He lowered his mouth to her ear, and his breath was a hot whisper that sent a violent shiver down her spine.

"When I'm inside you—when I'm fucking you until you can't remember your own name—what do you want me to call you?"

Her lips parted. The answer arrived before her brain could catch up, spilling from her like a confession she'd been holding for years.

"I want you to call me yours."

He folded his arms across his bare tattooed  chest, muscles shifting beneath sun-kissed skin. His gaze traveled over her—slowly. Not with the careless once-over she'd grown used to from men who never truly saw her, but with quiet, deliberate attention.

It was as if he were trying to memorize her.

The loose strands of hair escaping her braid. The nervous way her fingers clutched the edge of her top. The gentle curves hidden beneath her simple clothes.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She wasn't used to being looked at like this. Not with hunger. Not with pity. But with genuine curiosity.

"Saanjh, what if your parents find out?" His voice was softer than before, but no less intense. "You look like a very good academic student. I still wonder why you are doing this."

The question hung between them. She could have lied. Could have offered him the rehearsed speech about rebellion and freedom. But something about the way he watched her made her want to give him the truth.

"My parents are out of station for a week. My aunt just comes late at night to accompany me. You know I'm fed up of everyone telling me how I should be or should not be. I have heard all my parents telling me I should stay away from men like you." She paused, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "But you know what? For once in my life, I want to experience how it feels to be sinful. Wicked. I'm not going to get a chance later on to do something outrageous."

Vikram's eyebrow arched. A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She pressed on, the words tumbling faster now. "You are the perfect candidate for me. You would be a better person to show me pleasures of life."

The confession burned in her chest. Years of watching him from across the library, across the quad. Years of cataloging the way his hair fell over his forehead, the way his laugh rumbled low in his throat. Years of being invisible.

"I know I'm asking you directly when you didn't know about me a few moments ago. You take some time, and you can later tell me, but we have just one week." The last word came out almost pleading. She drew a shaky breath. "I should probably—"

She turned toward the door, her fingers tightening on the handle. The old Saanjh would have fled. The good student, the dutiful daughter, the girl nobody looked at twice. But her feet wouldn't move.

"I'm ready," Vikram said.

The words hit her spine like a volt. She turned back, and he was closer now. Just a few feet away. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell that cologne more clearly. It stirred something low in her belly.

"One more thing." He stepped closer still, closing the distance until she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. "It's just between you and me. I don't want anyone else to know I'm fucking you. Do you get it, Saanjh?"

His words should have stung. Should have made her feel cheap. But they didn't. They made her feel chosen. Secret. Dangerous.

"Yes, I agree, Vikram."

His hand came up. Not fast. Not grabbing. His knuckles brushed the line of her jaw, and Saanjh's breath stopped somewhere in her throat. The touch was barely there, a whisper of skin against skin, but it sent a tremor down her arms.

"Good," he said.

Then his fingers slid back, into her hair. He didn't pull. Not yet. Just let them rest there, cradling the base of her skull, his thumb pressing lightly into the spot behind her ear. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Tell me something." His voice had dropped to a register that made her stomach tighten. "Has anyone ever touched you like this?"

She shook her head. The motion made his fingers tighten a little in her hair.

"I didn't think so." He said it like he was pleased. Like she had just given him something valuable without knowing it.

Saanjh's lips parted. She could taste the air between them, warm and scented with him. Her own pulse hammered at her wrists, her throat, the inside of her thighs. Every part of her aware of how close he was.

"Vikram—"

"Shh." His thumb moved, tracing the shell of her ear. "Don't talk now. You've said enough."

He took a step back and began circling her slowly, his dark eyes roaming over her with quiet, unsettling concentration.

His footsteps barely whispered against the tile, yet each one landed somewhere deep in her chest, a dull thud that echoed through her ribs. He was taller than she remembered from across the lecture hall, broader in the shoulders, and the way he tilted his head as he studied her made her feel like a specimen pinned under glass.

“Saanjh, you’re deliciously plump, I must say.” His voice came from behind her now, close enough that his breath stirred the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. “I have never tried a curvaceous girl like you. This is going to be my first time.”

The words settled into her skin like heat. A first time for him too. She wasn’t just another body on a long list—she was uncharted territory. The thought sent a strange, electric thrill down her spine, and she hated how much she liked it.

“Strip now.”

The command hit her solar plexus and exploded outward. Her hands went cold. Her feet rooted themselves to the floor. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice whispered that she could still walk away, that this was the last exit before the road narrowed to a single lane.

But her body didn’t move.

“Saanjh.” His voice changed. Deeper. Harder. A command wrapped in velvet. “I won’t repeat again. Take off your damn clothes.”

The words vibrated through her. Her fingers twitched at her sides. This was the moment. The point of no return. She thought of her mother’s voice on the phone this morning, reminding her to eat well and study hard. She thought of the man she had crushed over for years, the one who never learned her name.

“When I came here for the bargain, I didn’t know we were going to start the very instant,” she heard herself say, and her voice sounded braver than she felt. She looked into his eyes. Dark. Unreadable. Boring into hers with an intensity that made her knees feel like wet sand.

“What are you frightened now?” he asked slowly, and there was no cruelty in it. Just a question. “We can forget this and you can go home.”

Home. The word felt like a cage. A comfortable cage with familiar bars and predictable meals, but a cage nonetheless. She thought about the week stretching ahead. Seven days of loneliness and obligation. Seven days of being the good daughter, the diligent student, the invisible girl. Seven days of wondering what might have been.

And then she thought about his hands. The way they had looked folded across his chest when she’d first walked in. The way they might feel on her bare skin. The way he had said deliciously plump like it was a compliment, not a consolation prize.

This was a rare opportunity. A door that had swung open unexpectedly. If she let this moment pass, she would never be this bold again. Once she experienced this, she would go back to being the same old boring plus size Saanjh Gupta, the one everyone ignores.

But for one week—one glorious, secret week—she could be someone else. Someone wanted. Someone wicked.

“I’m ready,” she said, looking straight into his eyes.

Vikram’s lips curved. Not quite a smile. More like satisfaction settling into place.

“Then show me.”