Ruin In Royals (Royal #1: Book 2) | ✔

30

-• flipped •-

I was frozen as glaciers.

Icy, cold, unfeeling. Then she came, blazing, fierce as flames, melting me, and now I'm roars of waves, chaotic, disproportionate, destructive, crossing my banks to chase a fire that's bound to cease me.

I can't give up on Taranya.

I can't. I can't. I can't.

I tried.

When she walked out of the room, without so much as a glance back at me, I had decided to stop going after a woman who thinks too highly of herself.

But now as I watch her under the coruscating neons, the blues, reds, and whites flashing her, she evokes an unquenched thirst in me.

She makes me forget the rest of the world. She makes me forget every fucking thing. The moment I see her, that's it, everything else burns down to ashes, and she rises through them like the beaming sun of the first morning.

I need to have her.

Not just because she's a Chauhan, but because there's no other way to stop me anymore. I want her as bad as I want the world, the power, the money. God, I can't stop on just earning this woman, I have to own her, brand her, mark her.

She dances like a nymph. Not too wild, neither a professional. Her body doesn't simply move, it beats, in sync with the music, changing along the highs and lows. The usually guarded woman transforms once she's on stage, her sensuality bursts through vibrantly, grace lacing every movement, her short red dress barely leaving anything to imagination.

I reach out to lift the glass of my whiskey, my ring clinks. I bring the rim to my mouth. She rakes a hand through her hair, tosses them to one side. Her skin glistens with the sweat, it makes me lick the corner of my lips. Then, unexpectedly, she looks up. A pause, a blink, the rapid rise and sink of her marvellous breasts more than just exhaustion. It's for me. That reaction, despite blatant rejection, cold dismissal, is because of me.

I tilt the glass and take a long, dragged sip, lowering the glass from my mouth. My tongue darts out to lick the amber soaked lips. She quickly looks away.

I smirk and put the glass aside.

"Do you need a refill, sir?" The club manager asks me.

"I'll go get it." I dismiss his offer.

Grabbing the empty glass from the tray, I tear my gaze off the stage on the ground floor, shove a hand in my trouser pockets and stride out of the office.

The club is owned by Rajawats. We host a chain of pubs and clubs all over the world. It's a part of the business, more so to connect with powerful people than solely for profit. But recently, it has become a hit among the youngsters. Owning an entry pass to our club is a trend in the current generation. It swept over like a revolutionary wave that changed the outlook of Rajawat clubs all over the world after I recommended major changes two years ago.

It didn't sit well with me that our clubs only catered to upper middle class elites. From the drinks, to food, to the setting of the club, everything targeted people who are well settled, ranged from ages 30-50, and only come for a span of an hour or two. You can't attract busy crowds to busy places. It needs both, the ones who dream about future, and the ones who build it.