"Here, let me help you—"
Before I could finish the sentence, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His grip was firm, almost bruising, as he pulled me toward him.
Then he spun me around and pushed me back against the wall. Not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force to trap me there.
His hands came up on either side of my head, caging me in. His body was so close I could feel the heat radiating from him. Could smell the whiskey on his breath mixed with his cologne.
His eyes dropped to my lips.
My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. The air between us felt electric, charged with something dangerous and thrilling.
He leaned down, his face coming closer to mine. His intention was clear.
He was going to kiss me.
Part of me wanted it desperately. Wanted to feel his lips on mine, wanted to finally close this distance that had been torturing us both.
But he was drunk. He was not in his right mind.
I turned my face to the side at the last second, his lips grazing my cheek instead.
"Armaan, stop. You are not in your senses right now."
He pulled back just enough to look at me, and there was something dark and bitter in his expression. A cruel smile curved his lips.
"Is that the reason?" His voice was low and rough, edged with something that sounded like pain. "Or is it something else?"
I did not understand what he meant.
"What are you talking about?"
His smile widened, but there was no humor in it.
"Do you want somebody else to kiss you? Is that it?"
The words hit me like a slap. I pushed against his chest, trying to create space between us.
"You are talking nonsense. You need to sleep this off."
I tried to move away, to escape from the cage of his arms, but he was faster. His arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. One hand came up to rest against my throat, not squeezing, just holding. The other arm banded around my waist, keeping me locked in place.
I felt his face bury into the curve of my neck. He inhaled deeply, as though he was trying to memorize my scent.
"Did you like it?" His voice was muffled against my skin, dark and possessive. "Did you like it when he touched you?"
"What? Who?" I was genuinely confused now. My heart was racing, but no longer from excitement. There was something in his tone that frightened me. Something raw and barely controlled.
"Don't play innocent with me, Viya." His lips brushed against my neck as he spoke, sending involuntary shivers down my spine. "I saw everything. I saw how you were enjoying that other man's attention. How you smiled at him. Laughed with him. Danced with him."
Understanding crashed over me. He was talking about Puneet.
"He is just a friend, Armaan. You know that."
"Just a friend," he repeated mockingly. His grip tightened slightly. "Just a friend who gets to touch you. Who gets to make you smile. Who gets to be near you while your husband has to watch from across the room like a stranger."
"That is not fair—"
"Fair?" His laugh was bitter and harsh. "You want to talk about fair? When your husband is touching you, you run away. But when some other man puts his hands on you, you let him. You stand there and let him."
