Aahana’s POV: The Bitter Taste of Freedom

The luxury car sliced through the heart of the British countryside before settling into the winding, ancient streets of a different city within London's orbit. The architecture was a stunning contrast to the sterile modernity I was used to—old stone buildings stood shoulder-to-shoulder with vibrant markets and bustling cafes, all framed by the crisp, cool air of the afternoon. This was a beautiful place, and the sensation of moving through it, of being a fleeting part of its life, was almost intoxicating. Wow.

For the first time in my life, I felt like I was truly travelling. Not in a silk dress to a cold boardroom, but as a person with a destination of her own choosing. I had been caged in the house for years, suffocated by the heavy silence of Arhan’s world. Now, as the fading sun cast long shadows, I could feel the freedom I had always wished for coursing through my veins. It was raw, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once.

"Where are we going to now?" I asked Karan, my voice barely hiding the excitement.

He glanced over, a smirk stretching across his face. "Surprise," he replied, and something in the way he lingered on the word brought the sharp, cold taste of caution to my mouth.

Today, his behaviour was a little different. His usual composed calmness was overlayed with an almost manic energy, a tension that made the air in the car thick and heavy. I didn't know why, but a wave of profound unease washed over me. My instincts, long dulled by years of submission, were screaming, making my chest tighten with anxiety.

I tried to rationalize it away, clinging desperately to the one comforting thought: Huh, finally relief. After all the fear, the running, the terror, I truly believed that Arhan can never find me here. I whispered the mantra to myself: I'm free.

The journey had consumed the entire day. We had left sharply in the morning at 7 am, and now, the clock on the dashboard read 3 pm. The distance we'd covered felt enormous, a vast buffer between me and the monster I had fled. Arhan can never find me here, I repeated, the phrase a shield against the persistent dread.

But the shield wasn't flawless. A deep, persistent ache surfaced: But what about our marriage? The cold contract, the wedding vows, the legal ties binding me to a man I barely knew, a man who viewed me as property. Was a piece of paper enough to drag me back?

It was then that Karan delivered another jarring change of plan. "We're not staying at a hotel tonight," he announced, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

I frowned, my relief evaporating. "What? But you said—"

"I changed my mind. We are staying at his house which he bought here," he finished, cutting me off with a casual wave of his hand. "It's secluded, unregistered, and absolutely private. Arhan can never find us there, not even with all his power."

I nodded slowly, my mind racing. Karan is a nice man, he risked everything to get me out, but I can't truly trust him. This sudden, unilateral decision felt too controlling. I've been controlled by one man; I won't allow it from another.

The memory of the drive flared, amplifying my suspicion. Sometimes, I really felt like something different was going on in his mind. During the ride, he had been inching closer, his arm brushing mine, his presence suddenly suffocating. It felt predatory. I had felt so much uncomfortable, shrinking into the corner of the seat, wishing the ride would end.

I finalized my decision in that moment, the iron resolve returning. The moment we reach his place, I'll thank him profusely for his help. I will tell him I have to go, and I’ll search for the job immediately. It's not like I'm not thankful to him, I truly am. But I need space, I need my own life, and I will pay all the amount he spent on me, no matter how long it takes. I wouldn't trade Arhan's gilded cage for Karan's glass one. My dignity required a clean break.

Arhan’s POV: The Lion Awakens

I woke up today with a predator’s instinct. The clock read 5 am, hours before my usual routine, yet my mind was already sharp, focused only on one objective: retrieval. The absence of Aahana was not a space of peace; it was a screaming void that demanded to be filled. I dressed swiftly in a custom-tailored dark suit, the fabric feeling like a second skin—precise, cold, and ready for action.

I walked into my study, the headquarters of my operation. The massive wall of screens glowed in the pre-dawn darkness, displaying maps, flight plans, and the final, grainy surveillance footage from Karan’s car.

“Raj,” I commanded into my headset, my voice a low, dangerous rumble, already tasting the victory. “Ready the private jet. I expect to be airborne before 6 am. We’ll have a cup of coffee with my wifyyy soon enough.” The phrase, delivered with a mischievous smile, was a chilling promise of what awaited her.

My eyes locked onto the screen. There she was. Aahana. She was sitting peacefully, smiling—a genuine, unguarded smile—at the man next to her. That simple, beautiful curve of her lips, that brief flash of happiness that I had never truly earned, was directed at him.

A bolt of pure, icy rage shot through me, turning my blood to molten iron. How dare she? How dare she find joy, find comfort, find peace with another man after escaping my grasp? She was my responsibility, my contract, my property. That laughter belonged to me, those moments of peace were owed to me. The betrayal wasn’t just the escape; it was the happiness she dared to feel in her perceived freedom.

I leaned in, my knuckles white as I gripped the edge of my desk, my reflection in the dark screen a study in cold, absolute fury. Be ready, my little wife, for our meeting. I watched the final movement of her head as she leaned closer to Karan, completely unaware of the chaos I was unleashing on her behalf. Her slow, tranquil movements were an insult to my power, a challenge I would not ignore.

The sound of the jet's engine being prepped was a low, satisfying vibration in my headset. It was the sound of destiny accelerating. I stood, dismissing the last shred of rational thought. I didn’t care about Karan's motives or the details of her escape. I only cared that she was gone, and that I was bringing her back.

“Run... run all you want, Aahana, but in the end you have to return to where you belong... to me.” The words were a silent, terrifying vow whispered into the empty room, a final, definitive declaration of my absolute possession. The chase was over. The reclaiming was about to begin.

Author’s POV: The Unstoppable Force

The dawn broke over the sprawling estate, but Arhan did not see the gentle light; he only saw the closing distance between himself and his escaped wife. Having concluded his chilling, 5 AM war room session, he strode with lethal purpose toward his garage. His car, a custom Porsche 918 Spyder—a silent predator of a machine, carbon black with crimson interior stitching—waited for him. It was a tangible symbol of his power: fast, flawless, and utterly unforgiving.

As Arhan settled into the driver's seat, the engine humming a low, powerful growl that vibrated through the high-grade leather, he maintained continuous contact with Rajesh and his global security team. The instructions flowed like a river of cold steel, each command meticulously calculated to ensure total control upon Aahana's retrieval.

"The Maldives villa must be secured. Every item she requires—clothing, toiletries, specific tea brands—must be in place by the time the advance team arrives. I want the air sterilized, the staff vetted, and a doctor on standby. I don't want her asking for anything," he dictated, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "The chopper must be fuelled and ready to leave  the moment we secure her."

The planning was not just an exercise in logistics; it was a ritual of possession. He didn't just want Aahana back; he wanted her returned to a state of perfect, inescapable dependency.

As the Porsche ate up the miles toward the private airfield, the final element of his plan was put into motion. "The second private jet in London—the Gulfstream G650—must be prepped. One more private jet is needed to ensure zero delay if the first experiences any fault. I need everything to be perfect." The word 'perfect' was his absolute standard; anything less was a catastrophic failure.

His entry into the airport was a seamless demonstration of unchecked global influence. Without a single check-in, without pausing for customs or security—processes that would immobilize ordinary travelers for hours—Arhan moved through a network of private lounges and fast-track security that his corporate structure had painstakingly arranged. CEOs & Business Tycoons like him didn't wait; the world waited for them. He bypassed the entire civilian infrastructure, walking directly onto the tarmac and up the gleaming steps of his own plane.

The private jet—a custom-built Boeing Business Jet—was a reflection of his own towering ambition. It was not just luxurious; it was a sanctuary of power. The vast space was partitioned into distinct zones:

The Command Suite: An office with a monolithic desk carved from Italian walnut, flanked by three high-definition, anti-glare screens displaying secure, encrypted global news and real-time security tracking.

The Media Lounge: A sound-proofed chamber featuring a massive, curved TV screen, surround sound, and a custom gaming console—a space designed for decompression he rarely used, but demanded be available.

The Master Quarters: A room containing a full-sized, custom-made bed draped in Egyptian cotton, a walk-in wardrobe, and a marble-clad ensuite bathroom with a rainfall shower. This was the ultimate space for him, and soon, for Aahana.

The Guest Suite: Another spacious bedroom, ready for immediate use.

The Dining Gallery: A sophisticated area with a crystal chandelier and seating for eight, served by a fully operational galley and an executive chef.

The entire plane was interconnected by a state-of-the-art satellite network, providing faster Wi-Fi than most city offices. It was a self-contained world designed to move its owner across continents while never disconnecting him from the seat of his power.

The flight lasted a grueling straight 9 to 10 hours. For any other man, this journey would be exhausting, but for Arhan, it was a period of intense, focused planning. During the long hours, his men provided all small information about her—from the car model she was in to the direction they were traveling. The details were constant, a steady drip-feed of control.

However, the final hour brought the unsettling break in the pattern.

Upon landing in London, the second phase of his ground operation commenced immediately. He transferred from his private jet into a waiting Rolls-Royce Phantom, a quiet, imposing beast that blended into the London elite landscape with menacing ease.

The initial reports were still flowing—the city they had arrived in, the road they had taken, the approximate location. But then, the data dried up. The signal was dead.

"Report," Arhan demanded, his voice dangerously low as the Rolls-Royce glided silently through the streets.

Rajesh's voice crackled over the secure line, laced with thinly veiled panic. "Sir, we have lost all telemetry. We confirmed their entry into a private residence—Karan's house—but after Karan entered her room, the whole grid went dark. No Wi-Fi, no new burner activity. Nothing. The residence is a known black spot for signals."

Arhan’s hand, resting on the rich wood paneling of the car door, flexed slowly. The absolute certainty of his world had been disrupted. Aahana was isolated, shielded not by her own choice, but by the cunning of Karan.

No information from her side. Is everything okay?

The unspoken implication—that she might be in danger, or worse, willingly cutting off contact—ignited a terrifying inferno in his chest. His meticulous plan, his perfect fortress, was 15 minutes away from a situation that was anything but perfect. The thought of Karan near her, holding her, talking to her, made the blood roar in his ears.

He was just 15 minutes away from Aahana. Every second felt like an hour. The Rolls-Royce moved too slowly, its silent efficiency now a source of unbearable frustration. The final fifteen minutes were a pure, agonizing countdown to the moment he would breach that house and reclaim his possession, putting an end to this infuriating display of her short-lived freedom.

The hunt was nearly over. And the penalty for fleeing Arhan's grasp was about to be paid.