𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐊𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐫 𝐎𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢 (𝟏𝟖+) ✅

𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥

"C'mon Aisha time to go back to reality, your fun is over, you have to go back and work your ass off to your Dadi's place and then find a job. To pay off the loan." I said muttering to myself and as soon as I entered the washroom, my jaw dropped in sheer amazement. It was like walking into a lavish spa straight out of a magazine cover. Everything exuded elegance and opulence that left me stunned.

The first thing that caught my eye was the glistening marble flooring, cool to the touch and impeccably laid out. The walls were adorned with intricate gold-trimmed mirrors and beautiful floral paintings that added a touch of sophistication to the space.

A crystal chandelier hung gracefully from the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. It illuminated the centrepiece of the washroom-a massive, freestanding bathtub that seemed fit for royalty. Its polished surface gleamed under the soft light, beckoning for a luxurious soak.

The sinks were crafted from sleek marble with gleaming gold faucets, emitting a sense of luxury in every detail. A row of fluffy, snow-white towels was neatly arranged on a polished gold rack, inviting me to indulge in their softness.

The fragrance of scented candles lingered in the air, adding a sense of tranquillity to the ambience. The room was adorned with fresh flowers in exquisite vases, their fragrance subtly infusing the space.

And oh, the vanity! A grand, ornate mirror framed in gold stood tall, accompanied by an array of high-end skincare and beauty products neatly arranged on a marble countertop.

He Bhagwan ye banda hai ya kahin ka maharaj?

(Oh God, is this person a businessman or some kind of King?)

Out of the VIP Room

I straightened my outfit and headed for the door, ready to leave the club. Just then, a man in a crisp black tuxedo, looking every bit the imposing guard, stopped me.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, gesturing towards a different direction. "This way, please."

He ushered me out of a side door, revealing a stunning sight: a sleek black Ford Mustang parked right in front. Even with my limited car knowledge, I recognized this iconic beauty. The guard, impeccable in his attire compared to my slightly rumpled graduation dress, opened the passenger door for me.

"Your ride awaits," he said smoothly.

I hesitated. A free ride in a Mustang? It was tempting, but something felt off. "Thank you," I replied, "but I'd prefer a cab."

Flustered, I reached for my phone to book a ride, only to realize I'd left it back in the VIP room with my purse. "Excuse me," I said to the guard and went back to get my phone but he called me, "Ma'am, wait for a second,"

He disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with a small bag. Inside, nestled amongst my necklace and earrings, were all my belongings - except for my star-moon bracelet. A knot formed in my stomach. I must have lost it somewhere in the club.

To top it all off, when I checked my phone, the screen remained stubbornly dark.

"Sorry, ma'am," the guard apologized, his voice firm. "Strict instructions. Sir wants us to get you home safely. Let us do our job."

Defeated, I slumped into the plush leather interior. The cabin was a masterpiece - premium leather, contrasting stitching, and carbon fibre accents everywhere, bathed in a cool, ambient glow. Modern displays seemed to mock my ignorance. Frantic thoughts swirled.

Who did I even sleep with?

"Excuse me," I ventured, clearing my throat. This had to stop. "I need to know. Who is this Sir?"

He responded in a monotone, "Yes, ma'am. But I can't disclose that information."

"Why not?" My frustration bubbled up.

He remained silent, an immovable object.

Panic gnawed at me. "I want to talk to him. Now. Call him." The idea of being whisked away by a stranger was terrifying.

"We're not authorized," he replied simply.

"Then what can you do? Because if you don't let me talk to him, I'm getting out of this car." My voice trembled, a poor attempt at bravado. Normally, confrontation wasn't my style, but curiosity, they say, killed the cat. And right now, I was definitely the cat.

A flicker of hope sparked in my eyes. "Wait, ma'am," the guard finally conceded, pulling out a sleek phone and dialling a number. A victory smile stretched across my face. Maybe I could finally get some answers.

After a brief conversation, he spoke again, his voice devoid of its earlier rigidity. "Sure, Sir. Yes, sir. I'll give the phone to ma'am." He held out the phone to me, his gaze unreadable.

With a mix of trepidation and newfound resolve, I took the phone. "Hello..." I started, my voice barely a whisper.

A familiar yet unwelcome voice filled my ear. "Yes, baby, are you already missing me?" it purred.

"Hume jan-na hai aap kaun hai?" I said gripping the phone.

(I want to know who are you?)

"Kyu? Bataya to tha tumhe tum vishwas hi nahi kar rahi ho,"

("Why? I told you, you don't believe me.")

"Aap sach bataye na please, ye sab kya hai, itni fancy car and house? And these guard type people,"

("Please tell me the truth, what is all this? Such a fancy car and house? And these guard-like people?")

"Sach bataye?" he said and I smiled, finally! Finally, I'll know who he is.

(Tell you the truth?)

"Tumhare hone wale Pati," he said, and the world tilted on its axis. My cheeks burned. He was calling again, but I could barely breathe, let alone answer. I shoved the phone back at the guard, my mind reeling.

(Your soon-to-be husband)

He listened to the instructions on the other end, then drove me home in a tense silence. Stepping out of the car, I felt a strange sense of relief mixed with apprehension. Home. Safe. But for how long? This whole night was a whirlwind, and the biggest question remained unanswered.