The wedding season brought gatherings again. At one family function, a cousin took too many liberties around Gunnu—teasing, pulling her hand for dances, whispering jokes in her ear. Gunnu, in her innocence, laughed it off.
But Abhinav? His jaw clenched dangerously.
Later, when Gunnu found him leaning against a pillar, silent and brooding, she poked him. “What’s with that scary face? I was just dancing.”
His eyes burned into hers. “You let him touch you so freely.”
She blinked, startled. “He’s a cousin—”
“I don’t care.” His voice was low, icy with possession. “No one touches you like that. No one.”
She should have protested more, teased him, mocked his jealousy. But for some reason, her breath hitched instead. His protectiveness, his intensity—it shook her. She whispered, “You’re… jealous.”
“Deeply,” he admitted without shame. “Because you are mine.”
And though her cheeks flamed, a secret thrill swept through her.
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