My breath caught. I remembered that night with painful clarity. The way he had pushed me against the wall. The possessive way he had held me. The things he had said. The way his lips had felt against my neck.
"I remember," I whispered.
His eyes searched mine.
"You said something to me. Do you remember what you said?"
I swallowed hard. Of course I remembered. The words were burned into my memory.
"I said you had every right on me. But not like that. Not when you were drunk and not thinking clearly."
He took a step closer. Then another. Until he was standing right in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
"I am not drunk today, Viya."
The way he said my name sent shivers down my spine. It had been so long since I had heard him say it. A whole month of silence, and now here he was, saying my name like a prayer and a promise all at once.
"I know," I said softly.
"Were you serious that day? About what you said?"
My heart was racing so fast I felt dizzy. Heat was rising in my cheeks, and I knew I must be turning red. But I held his gaze and nodded.
"Yes. I was serious."
"Say it," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "I need to hear you say it."
I took a shaky breath.
"You have every right on me, Armaan. Every single one."
Something flashed in his eyes. Something hot and intense that made my knees weak.
"If I am serious about taking the next step," he said slowly, deliberately, "about making this marriage real in every way, are you ready for that?"
Oh. Oh.
This was not just about a kiss or an embrace. This was about everything. Something permanent. Something that could not be undone.
And he was asking for my consent. Not telling me what he wanted. Not assuming he had the right just because we were married on paper.
He was asking.
The realization made my chest tighten with emotion.
I did not even hesitate. Did not need to think about it. The answer had been living in my heart for weeks now, maybe longer.
"Yes," I said, my voice steady and clear despite the way my entire body was trembling. "I am ready."
The effect of that single word was immediate.
The careful control he had been maintaining shattered. He took my wrist in his other hand, his fingers wrapping around it gently but firmly. The touch sent electricity shooting up my arm.
"Come with me," he said.
He led me through the suite, past the living area with its panoramic windows overlooking the Tokyo skyline. Past the elegant furniture and expensive decor that I barely registered.
To the bedroom.
