The next day... his birthday.

My heart has been racing since morning, wild and untamed. I'll see him today. I'll stand before him, close enough for his eyes to notice me... to remember me.

But what if he doesn't?

What if his gaze passes over me like I'm nothing more than a shadow in the crowd?

Damn it. I don't even know what he likes. What he hates. What makes his heartbeat stutter. Yet none of that matters. Because tonight-he has to notice me. He must.

I stood before the mirror, pulling out dresses one by one, slipping them on, discarding them, draping fabric against my skin, staring at my reflection like the answer to my obsession lived in glass. Which dress would make me unforgettable tonight? Which one would sear my presence into his mind?

I didn't need to be flawless.

No. I needed to be dangerous.

And then I found it. My weapon.

A crimson one-piece, tight against my body like sin stitched into fabric. The slit ran high from my knee to my ankle, daring but not vulgar. A whisper of skin, a suggestion of more. My chest wasn't on display, but the curve of me teased with promises of what could be seen if I leaned forward.

Perfect.

I began my transformation. Foundation smoothing my skin, eyeliner drawn sharp as a dagger, shadows smoky and dark. Finally, the slow drag of crimson lipstick over my lips-red to match the dress, red to match desire, red to mark tonight as mine. My earrings sparkled in the light, stones glittering like embers at my ears.

I leaned into the mirror, tilting my face, my smirk curling upward.

"Yes," I whispered, blowing a kiss at my reflection. "Irresistible."

I was never the "good girl" type. My mother's endless lectures proved that. She hated the way I dressed, the way I spoke, the way my confidence rattled her old, conservative beliefs. But my father? My father adored me. He gave me freedom, wings, fire. Every ounce of rebellion in me was born from his love. He was my shield, my anchor, my favorite person.

So I never cared for my mother's disapproving glares. I loved my reflection. And tonight, so would Adrit Sengupta.

He will.

Men had always looked at me. Women whispered, envied, judged. None of it mattered. None of them mattered. Once, back in class seven, I tried love. A fragile, childish relationship that fell apart in months. Since then, I never cared. Boys were too ordinary, too breakable, too easy.

I wanted more.

I wanted a man who could both protect and destroy me. Who could devour me whole and still keep me safe.

I almost gave up on that dream.

Until he arrived.

Adrit.

My new neighbor. My obsession.

Twenty-four, yet carrying the weight of something older, deeper. His body carved like temptation itself, his face sharper than any blade, his presence magnetic. And his aura-God, his aura. Dark, consuming, dangerous. Like fire that draws the moth in only to burn it alive.

Ufff...

"Ritika! Come here!" my father's voice ripped me from my fantasy.

I smirked one last time at the girl in the mirror. "Perfect."

Downstairs, my parents were waiting. My father smiled proudly. My mother's eyes scanned me with silent disapproval. I ignored her.

"Let's go," my father said.

The party was close, a two-minute walk. By the time we arrived, it was exactly 8 p.m.

And there it was-his house. Bigger than ours, glowing under neon lights, music thrumming like a heartbeat. Balloons hung everywhere, laughter spilled across the hall. And at the center of it all, on the stage, was him.

Adrit.

In a white shirt stretched across his chest with a black suit, black trousers were sharp and commanding. His hair shifted in the mild wind, thick and dark, begging to be touched. My lips parted unconsciously.

And then... her.

A girl stood beside him. Too close. Her body angled toward his, her smile dripping sweetness, her hand brushing against his as if she had a claim.

The sight slammed into me like a blade.

Who the hell was she?

A cousin? A neighbor? ...A girlfriend?

No. No, it couldn't be. He just moved here last week. How could he already have friends-her-so close? And yet... the way she leaned in, the way he didn't pull away-my stomach twisted.

My obsession. My Adrit. With her.

The word burned my tongue like venom: sautan.

I would not accept it.

"Let's wish Adrit," my father said cheerfully.

I forced my legs to move though my fury boiled beneath my skin.

"Hey, young man! Wishing you the happiest birthday ever!" My father shook his hand.

"Thank you, uncle," he said warmly.

My mother followed, polite but distant.

Then my turn.

My heart thundered as I stepped forward, lips curling into a smile sharper than it looked.

"Hey," I said softly, waving.

He looked at me. He looked at me.

And time froze. His eyes locked on mine, dark, steady, slicing right through me.

"Hello," he said, his voice deep, low.

I almost forgot to breathe.

"Happy Birthday," I whispered, extending my hand.

And then-contact.

His hand slid into mine, firm, warm, commanding. Sparks tore through me, racing down my veins. His gaze pierced deeper, pulling me apart. I wanted to drown in him, lose myself in his heat.

The world blurred. The music dulled. For a heartbeat, it was only us.

His scent hit me-intoxicating, dangerous. I wanted to inhale until I choked on him.

Ritika, stop, my brain hissed. People were watching.

Reluctantly, I let go. He released me, his expression calm, unreadable. Gentlemanly. Controlled.

But inside me? Chaos.

The cake was cut, voices rose, laughter and cheers filling the room. He smiled at his parents, his friends. And her.

That girl.

She was still at his side. Clinging. Laughing too loudly at his words, leaning too close, fingers brushing his arm as though she had the right. She even fed him a bite of cake, her lips curving in satisfaction when he accepted.

My nails dug into my palm.

Didn't he see me? Didn't he feel me? I had dressed for him, bled for him, burned for him-yet his attention was on her. As though I was just another face in the crowd.

My blood simmered. My skin itched. Every touch she gave him was an insult carved into me.

She laughed again, and rage coiled in my chest.

Too close. Too familiar. Who the fuck are you to touch him like that?

For a moment, I imagined dragging her away, imagined her shocked eyes as I whispered, He's mine.

But not yet.

I schooled my face into a smile, hiding the fury behind my eyes. My heart vowed what my lips could not:

One day, he will crave me.

One day, his obsession will match mine.

One day, he will burn for me as I burn for him.

Adrit Sengupta-you will be mine.

After dinner, I returned home. My parents disappeared to their rooms, but I couldn't. My chest was heavy, restless. I stepped onto my balcony, the night air biting my skin. The stars glittered above, cold and mocking, as though they knew my hunger and laughed at it.

I closed my eyes, breathing deep, letting the dark wrap around me.

Tonight, he ignored me. Tonight, her hand was in his.

But this story wasn't ending here.

This was only the beginning.

My lips curved into a smile that held no softness, only promise.

"Goodnight, Ritika," I whispered to myself. "Tomorrow... we play differently."

"What she once vowed became her destiny... and what he ignored became his sin."