Prologue

Aarvika's POV

"How the hell did you get in here?"

I froze, heart slamming against my ribs.

"My room. My house."

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Just leaned against the doorframe like he owned it.

"I barged in, sweetheart," Aaryan Thaakur said, voice lazy and low.

"You never really locked the door to me."

"Don't come near me," I snapped.

He stepped closer.

And closer.

That scared me.

He was Aaryan Thaakur.

Not just some man who barged into my room —

He was Aaryan Thaakur.

My family’s biggest rival.

The man who knew my secret.

The one person who should've never seen me as Ash.

But he had.

And now he wouldn't stop looking.

He stopped in front of me — too close, too calm.

And then, with no warning, no permission—

he grabbed my wrist and pulled.

I gasped.

His hand was rough, but the way he yanked me forward?

It was like he was catching something that belonged to him.

And then—

His lips slammed into mine.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was punishment — for hiding, for running, for existing without him.

His mouth devoured mine, urgent and brutal.

Teeth scraping, lips crashing, breath stolen.

I shoved at his chest — out of hate. Or atleast that was what I convinced myself to think.

I was scared that I’d lose control.

He caught my wrists mid-push, gripping them tight.

And instead of letting go—

he pulled me closer.

Shielding me with his body like the world was a war zone and I was the target.

When he finally tore his lips from mine, I was gasping — panting like I’d drowned and he’d dragged me up for air.

"I don’t want to see you anywhere near Adin again."

His voice was sharp, jealousy dipped in control.

I blinked.

"Why would I listen to you?" Aarvika Arora only commands, she does not accept anyone's orders.

"You will, Miss Grace."

He smirked, stepping even closer.

"You always do."

I stumbled back, legs hitting the edge of the bed.

He followed.

Not like a man.

Like a storm.

And I ? I crawled back into the little space thinking it would bring any distance.

"Tomorrow," he said, voice suddenly soft, dangerous, "you’ll dress up like the perfect little bride and walk downstairs just like your family planned."

A pause. A smirk.

"And I’ll be waiting."

Waiting?

I narrowed my eyes.

He was up to something. Plotting. Twisting fates for fun.

I sat on the bed, hands balled into fists—

but he reached out, grabbed my waist, and pulled me into his lap like I weighed nothing.

I struggled, shoving against his chest — again.

He didn’t budge.

"Let me go."

Fury surged.

"I won't accept this absurdity of yours."

His smile turned wicked.

One hand slid above the sheer fabric of my nightgown — slowly, intentionally —

until his fingers brushed the cold silver of my navel piercing. The nightgown so thin, I almost felt his touch.

"Oh?" he murmured, gaze pinned to mine.

He circled it once. Light. Teasing. Possessive.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

"Mh."

A wicked sound escaped my throat. I hate it. I hate myself for this. For what his touch does to me.

"Already accepting my absurdity, Miss Grace."

"I am not," I snapped, voice trembling.

He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of my ear.

"So my touch doesn’t bother you?"

"No," I whispered.

Lying. Obviously lying.

But he heard the truth in my breath.

"Look at the mirror," he said, pointing toward the large dressing table behind me.

His voice wasn’t loud — it didn’t need to be.

It held enough command to make the air freeze.

"I shouldn’t see a flicker in your expression."

"Huh?" I frowned, caught off guard.

That’s when he moved.

Before I could process it, his hands slid down and sharply spread my knees apart.

The silk of my nightgown fell useless between us, moonlight carving silver shapes across my skin.

"What the hell are you doing—"

I turned toward him, breath caught halfway in panic and something far more dangerous.

"I SAID LOOK AT THE MIRROR AARVIKA."

His tone turned iron.

I know it's death when he calls me by my name — because it means he's done pretending

My heart thudded. His presence was everywhere — behind me, beside me, inside the silence.

Then I felt it — his fingers brushing the bare skin just above my inner thigh.

Not rushing. Not lingering.

Just knowing.

I gasped.

"Not a single change," he reminded softly.

"You’re Grace, aren’t you? Then act like it."

My lips trembled. I didn’t answer.

He leaned in on my womanhood, fingers tracing delicate, maddening patterns — almost reverent in their cruelty.

And when he finally looked up, his eyes met mine through the mirror.

Locked.

Unblinking.

Predatory.

"Does my touch affect you?" he asked, too calmly.

I forced my lips into a straight line.

"N-no."

He smiled. The kind that made fire feel cold.

"No?"

His slid one of his fingers inside me abruptly.

''Mh'' A strange, breathy sound slipped past my lips —

half a gasp, half a surrender.

I didn’t even recognize it as mine.

My breath hitched. I clutched the bedsheet for control.

"Yes," I whispered finally, shame and heat fighting for space.

"It does."

Because if I lie again, I am not sure what he will do next.

He slid out his finger casually, his expression still calm.

Just like that he stepped back like it was nothing — like he hadn’t just stolen my entire composure.

"Remember who you belong to, Miss Grace," he said, walking toward the door.

And just like that — he was gone.

Leaving me breathless.

Unraveled.

Still staring at the girl in the mirror who was no longer as untouchable as she pretended to be.

                    ✦ ───────── ✦

✨ Author’s Note ✨

Thank you so much for reading the prologue of When Grace Rides Dirty.

I know I took my time updating — life, overthinking, and a dash of perfectionism got in the way — but I truly hope the wait was worth it.

If the chaos, obsession, and tension gripped you even a little...

Then I promise, this is just the beginning.

It only gets wilder from here. 👀💥Your reads, votes, and comments mean the world — they’re the fuel behind every late-night writing sprint.

So if you’re here, silently or loudly, thank you. 💌

See you in the next chapter,

— Authored in Disguise