The chains of his darkness
The house was quiet. She lay asleep in her room, pale and weak, her breathing soft and steady. Her saree had slipped a little, showing the gentle curve of her waist. The door opened slowly—Abhay stepped inside. He locked it behind him, his eyes fixed on her like a predator that had finally caught its prey.
For years, he had hidden this fire beneath his pride and his silence. But tonight, there was no one to stop him. It was just her. And him.
His eyes trailed down her form, lingering on the bare skin of her waist where the saree had slipped. A storm raged in his chest.
How many nights had he imagined her in his bed, under his mercy? How many times had he cursed himself for leaving her that night at the altar, for letting her fall into someone else’s arms? He hated it—hated seeing her smile, seeing her happy with that fucking husband of hers.
Seeing her like this, so unaware, a dark hunger twisted inside him. He wanted her—wanted to take what had always been his. He ached to grip her waist, pull her close, press his lips to hers, and never let her go. The thought burned through him so fiercely that his hands shook.
She stirred, lashes fluttering, and then her eyes opened. Shock froze her face when she saw him looming over her. She wrapped her saree around herself, clutching it as if it could protect her, her fear hanging thick in the air.
Abhay’s lips curved into the faintest smile. He enjoyed it—her fear, her trembling, the way she shrank from him. To him, it was proof of his power… and his hunger.
Just then, her phone rang sharply on the bedside. She reached for it with a shaky hand. Abhay’s palm moved faster—snatching it from her grasp
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Arohi’s voice shook, almost breaking. “Please… don’t… don’t do this. Let me go!”
The words were meaningless noise to him. Abhay closed the distance between them in a single, predatory stride. His arm was a steel band around her, slamming her delicate waist against him. The air left her lungs in a sharp gasp. She could feel every hard line of his body pressed against her softness—a terrifying, intimate invasion. Her hands flew up, palms flat against his chest, but pushing him away was like trying to move a mountain.
A dark, cruel smirk flickered across his lips at her struggle. With ruthless control, he grabbed her wrists in one strong hand. His grip was unyielding. He twisted her arms behind her back, pulling her even closer, arching her body against his. She froze, trapped, completely at his mercy.
He leaned in, his mouth just inches from her ear. Heat radiated from him, and the sharp scent of his cologne mixed with something untamed and dangerous. His voice was low, venomous, crawling down her spine like fire.
“You think pushing me away will stop me? It only makes me want you more,” he whispered, each word dripping with menace.
He held her tight, his body pressing hard against hers, showing her the raw weight of his desire—and the danger he carried. She froze, trapped, a silent tear slipping down her cheek, powerless under him.
“Listen carefully,” he whispered, his lips barely brushing her ear. She shuddered, torn between disgust and a helpless, unwanted thrill.
“You have fifteen days. Fifteen days to look at me, to lie in this bed, to accept that I am your husband now. The only man who will ever touch you again.
He pulled back just enough to force her to meet his burning, possessive gaze.
"Accept me. Willingly. Let me hear you say my name without that fear in your eyes."
His free hand came up to trace the line of her jaw, his thumb brushing roughly over her bottom lip. "Or on the sixteenth day," he promised, his voice dropping to a gravelly, dark whisper, "I will take what has always been mine. I will not be gentle. I will not ask. And there will be no more choices. The only sound I want to hear is my name on your lips, crying out for me, even if it's mixed with your tears."
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