Chapter 1
Hate Me Until Midnight
Chapter 1: Before the Clock Struck Twelve
Rain fell like the sky had finally decided to break.
Mira Varma stood outside the black iron gates of Rathore Mansion with soaked hair, trembling fingers, and a letter pressed against her chest like it was the only thing keeping her alive.
Behind her, the road was empty.
Ahead of her, the mansion looked like a nightmare built in marble and darkness.
Tall pillars. Black windows. No warmth.
The kind of place where secrets did not die.
They waited.
Mira’s bare feet ached against the wet stone. Her breath came in broken pieces, and every time thunder cracked above her, her body flinched.
She had run for almost twenty minutes.
From the men chasing her.
From the car that had followed her after midnight.
From the last message her father had sent before disappearing.
If anything happens to me, go to Ayaan Rathore. Trust no one else.
Mira almost laughed when she read it.
Ayaan Rathore?
The man her father feared?
The man whose name people spoke like a warning?
The man who had once looked at her across a courtroom and said, with eyes colder than death—
“One day, your family will pay.”
And now she was standing at his gate, begging the devil to open the door.
A guard stepped out from the security cabin, gun in hand.
“Who are you?”
Mira swallowed. Her voice came out weak.
“Mira Varma.”
The guard’s expression changed.
Not surprise.
Fear.
Within seconds, two more guards appeared. Then three. The gates remained closed, but every weapon was pointed at her.
Mira’s heart slammed against her ribs.
“I need to see Ayaan Rathore,” she said.
The first guard looked at her like she had asked to walk into fire.
“Mr. Rathore doesn’t meet anyone at this hour.”
She lifted the letter with shaking fingers.
“He will meet me.”
Thunder growled above the mansion.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then the security cabin phone rang.
The guard answered, listened, and slowly turned his eyes back to her.
His face had gone pale.
The gates opened.
Not fully.
Just enough for her to enter.
Mira stepped inside.
And somehow, the moment she crossed that gate, she felt like she had not entered safety.
She had entered ownership.
The driveway stretched long and dark, lined with trees that bent under the rain. At the end of it, the mansion doors opened before she reached them.
Warm yellow light spilled out.
And there he stood.
Ayaan Rathore.
Black shirt. Rolled sleeves. Wet hair falling over his forehead as if he had just stepped out of another storm. His face was sharp, unreadable, carved with a kind of beauty that did not comfort.
It warned.
Mira stopped walking.
For one second, the world went silent.
Then his eyes found hers.
Dark.
Cruel.
Remembering.
“Mira Varma,” he said.
Her name in his mouth sounded like a crime.
She tightened her grip on the letter.
“My father told me to come to you.”
Ayaan’s jaw hardened.
“Your father has always had a talent for ruining my nights.”
Mira’s throat burned.
“He’s missing.”
“I know.”
The answer hit her like ice.
“You know?”
Ayaan stepped down from the entrance, rain touching his shoulders, his gaze never leaving her face.
“I know many things, Mira. Most of them are reasons I should leave you outside this gate.”
Her lips trembled.
“Then why did you open it?”
His eyes dropped to the letter in her hand.
“Because your father stole something that belongs to me.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“No.” His voice lowered. “You never know anything, do you?”
The words cut deeper than they should have.
Mira looked away, blinking fast. She had promised herself she would not cry in front of him. Not in front of a man who already hated her enough to enjoy it.
But she was cold.
Scared.
Alone.
And the last person her father had sent her to was looking at her like she deserved every second of it.
Ayaan moved closer.
Mira immediately stepped back.
His eyes noticed.
Something dark flickered across his face.
“Afraid?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
For some reason, honesty made his expression harder.
“Good.”
Mira lifted her chin even though her body was shaking.
“If you’re going to throw me out, do it. But don’t stand here and enjoy watching me beg.”
For the first time, Ayaan’s eyes changed.
Not softer.
Never softer.
But sharper. Interested.
“You still have that tongue.”
“And you still have that hatred.”
A slow, humorless smile touched his mouth.
“Hatred?” He leaned closer, close enough for her to smell rain, smoke, and something dangerously expensive on him. “You have no idea what I feel for your family.”
Mira’s breath caught.
The guards behind them lowered their eyes.
Even they knew not to witness too much.
Ayaan’s gaze moved over her soaked clothes, her bruised wrist, the cut near her ankle, the way she was trying not to collapse.
His hand reached out.
Mira froze.
He did not touch her face.
He took the letter.
Their fingers brushed.
Barely.
But the contact sent a strange heat through her cold skin.
Ayaan opened the letter and read it in silence.
Mira watched his face.
At first, nothing changed.
Then his eyes stopped on one line.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
“What does it say?” she asked.
He folded the letter.
“You don’t get to ask questions in my house.”
“Your house?” she repeated, anger rising through fear. “I came here because my father said—”
“Your father,” Ayaan cut in, voice suddenly dangerous, “is the reason my brother was buried at twenty-seven.”
Mira went still.
Rain slid down her neck. Her heartbeat slowed into something heavy and painful.
“I didn’t know.”
His eyes burned into hers.
“That is the problem with innocent faces. They always arrive late to the truth.”
Mira’s eyes filled.
“I am not my father.”
“No,” he said. “You are worse.”
She flinched.
Ayaan saw it.
For one second, regret almost touched his face.
Almost.
Then the sound of the grandfather clock echoed from inside the mansion.
One.
Two.
Three.
Mira turned toward the sound.
The clock kept ringing.
Ayaan’s entire body went still.
Four.
Five.
Six.
The rain seemed to quiet around them.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Mira looked back at him.
His expression had changed.
The cruelty was still there, but something else had slipped through it.
Pain.
Old, violent pain.
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve.
Midnight.
The last chime faded into the mansion walls.
Ayaan looked at Mira again.
And this time, his eyes did not feel like hate.
They felt like hunger buried under years of control.
Mira’s breath hitched.
He stepped closer.
She should have moved back.
She didn’t.
His voice came low, rough, almost too quiet.
“Listen carefully, Mira Varma.”
Her fingers curled against her wet saree.
“Until midnight, I hate you.”
His gaze dropped to her lips for half a second before returning to her eyes.
“But after midnight…”
He paused.
The air between them turned warm despite the rain.
“After midnight, I stop pretending I don’t want to protect what I should destroy.”
Mira’s pulse jumped.
Ayaan reached for her wrist.
This time, he touched her.
Not harshly.
Not gently either.
Possessively.
His thumb brushed over the bruise there, and his jaw tightened like the mark offended him.
“Who did this?”
Mira looked down at his hand around her wrist.
The same man who had just wounded her with words was now holding her like the bruise belonged to his anger.
“Nobody,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened.
“Don’t lie to me after midnight.”
The sentence moved through her like a warning and a promise.
“I don’t know who they were,” she said. “They followed me after I left home.”
Ayaan turned his head slightly.
“Find them,” he ordered the guards.
The men moved immediately.
Mira stared at him.
“You said you hated me.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you helping me?”
Ayaan’s grip tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her she was no longer standing alone in the rain.
“Because no one touches what is under my roof.”
“I am not yours.”
His eyes returned to her face.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
The words stole the breath from her lungs.
Ayaan looked toward the open doors.
“Bring her inside.”
Mira did not move.
He noticed.
“What now?”
“If I enter,” she whispered, “will you let me leave?”
Ayaan looked at her for a long moment.
Then he smiled.
And it was the most terrifying thing she had seen all night.
“No.”
Her heart dropped.
He stepped closer, bending slightly so only she could hear him.
“You came to me for protection, Mira. Protection has a price.”
“What price?”
His eyes moved over her face like he was memorizing a weakness.
“Truth.”
“I told you, I don’t know anything.”
“Then we will find out how much your silence costs.”
Mira pulled her wrist from his hand.
Or tried to.
Ayaan let her go before she could struggle.
That irritated her more than if he had held on.
“You can’t keep me here.”
“I can.”
“I’ll call the police.”
“They drink tea in my office.”
“I’ll scream.”
“This mansion has heard worse.”
Mira stared at him, horrified.
Ayaan’s expression did not change.
But his voice lowered.
“You are safer with the monster in front of you than the men waiting outside.”
She hated that he was right.
She hated the way her body still remembered the headlights chasing her.
The footsteps.
The hand that had grabbed her wrist.
The fear.
Ayaan turned and walked inside, as if the decision was already made.
Mira stood in the rain for three more seconds.
Then she followed him.
The mansion swallowed her whole.
Inside, everything smelled of sandalwood, leather, and expensive silence. The marble floor reflected the chandelier light like cold water. Portraits lined the walls, faces of dead Rathores watching her enter like an unwanted secret.
Ayaan did not look back.
“Your room is upstairs.”
“My room?”
“You expected a dungeon?”
“I don’t know what to expect from you.”
He stopped at the staircase and turned.
His gaze moved slowly over her face.
“Expect hatred before midnight.”
Mira’s stomach tightened.
“And after?”
For a moment, neither of them breathed.
Then Ayaan climbed one step closer to her.
His voice dropped.
“After midnight, expect me to lose the battle I fight all day.”
Mira’s lips parted.
She hated the heat that rose to her cheeks.
She hated that fear and something else were twisting together inside her.
Something darker.
Something she did not want to name.
Ayaan noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His eyes sharpened with cruel satisfaction.
“Careful, Mira.”
She swallowed.
“With what?”
“With looking at me like that.”
“I’m not looking at you like anything.”
“Liar.”
The word was soft.
Too soft.
It touched places his hands had not.
Mira looked away first.
Ayaan continued up the stairs.
She followed, hating every step, every heartbeat, every part of herself that felt safer behind him than away from him.
At the end of the hallway, he opened a door.
The room inside was beautiful.
Dark curtains. Wide bed. A fireplace burning low. A balcony facing the storm.
It looked like a room made for queens.
Or prisoners.
Ayaan stood beside the door.
“You’ll stay here.”
“Where will you stay?”
His eyes met hers.
“Far enough to remember why I hate you.”
Mira should have felt relieved.
Instead, the answer made something strange ache in her chest.
He turned to leave.
“Ayaan.”
He stopped.
It was the first time she had said his name.
The sound of it seemed to move through him.
Slowly, he looked back.
“If you hate me so much,” she asked, voice barely steady, “why did you look at me differently when the clock struck twelve?”
Ayaan’s face went unreadable.
Then he stepped back into the room.
The door remained open behind him, but the space suddenly felt smaller.
He walked toward her.
Mira backed away until her legs touched the edge of the bed.
Ayaan stopped before her.
Close.
Too close.
His eyes were no longer cold.
They were dark with something far more dangerous.
“Because midnight is when I remember everything I lost.”
His gaze lowered to her mouth.
“And everything I still want to ruin.”
Mira’s breath trembled.
“You’re cruel.”
“Yes.”
“You’re sick.”
“Maybe.”
“You hate me.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
“I hate what your name did to me.”
“And me?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Ayaan stared at her.
For the first time, he did not answer immediately.
Then his hand rose.
Mira froze as his fingers touched the wet strand of hair stuck to her cheek.
He moved it away.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like he was touching something forbidden.
“You,” he said, voice rough, “are the punishment I did not expect to want.”
Mira’s heart slammed.
Ayaan stepped back suddenly, like he had crossed a line inside himself.
His face hardened again.
“Lock the door.”
Mira blinked.
“What?”
“Lock it after I leave.”
“Why?”
His eyes moved toward the dark hallway.
“Because after midnight, I don’t trust my enemies.”
Then he looked at her.
“And I trust myself even less.”
He left.
The door closed.
Mira stood frozen in the center of the room, her skin still burning where his fingers had touched her cheek.
Outside, thunder rolled across the sky.
Inside, the clock continued ticking.
And Mira finally understood the danger of Rathore Mansion.
It was not the guards.
Not the locked gates.
Not even Ayaan’s hatred.
It was the way midnight changed him.
And the terrifying truth that some part of her…
wanted to know what would happen if he stopped fighting it.
End of Chapter 1
