[FEATURED IN WATTPAD INDIA PROFILE]
❝Pioneering the art of constructing love, my Kanmani.❞
Xavier teased her skin, slowly caressing her cheeks and her lips trembled.
❝You don't dare!❞
And he kissed her.
------
When he had compromised his dreams and...
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"Satya, what the hell!" he roared.
He had believed Satya was trying to move on. After her outburst, she'd shown no signs of grief, no visible cracks in her composure. But fuck, he was wrong. So fucking wrong.
Selvi had called, her voice frantic, telling him Satya had been drowning herself in alcohol all day. The moment he hung up, his foot slammed the gas pedal, and he tore through the streets to her house. What he saw when he got there hit him like a freight train.
Satya Devi, the woman who could make any room stop breathing, was sprawled across the cold, unforgiving marble floor of her lounge, her once-pristine saree stained with her own puke. Her face was smeared with smeared lipstick and mascara that had run like black rivers down her cheeks. Scattered shards of glass glistened around her like broken promises, some pieces lodged deep in her arms, bleeding her out like a fucking animal.
Without thinking, he rushed to her, his rage bubbling over as he barked at the servants who were frozen in shock, "What the hell are you standing there for? Get the fucking doctor!"
Selvi cried, "I've already called, Anna."
"How long?" He kneeled beside her, his hand snapping to her face, slapping her lightly, trying to bring her back to him.
"She fell unconscious just before you entered," Selvi sobbed heavily. "Whenever we tried to stop her or went near her, she threw glasses and knives at us. She could have hurt herself. I had no other choice but to call you."
He looked around the room—it was a goddamn disaster. Broken glass. Alcohol bottles. Her. Anger shot through him, hot and venomous.
Fucking hell.
He hoisted her up, carrying her to the bathroom like she weighed nothing, his heart pounding in his chest. "Get her a fucking dress," he snapped. His hand stung as a piece of glass cut into his arm, the blood mixing with her vomit-slicked saree. "Is she on something? Did she smoke anything?"
"Yes," Selvi answered, her voice barely above a whisper as she ran to grab clothes.
He kicked open the bathroom door, fury still coursing through him, and gently lowered her onto a chair. "Satya, what the fuck are you doing to yourself?" he muttered, more to himself than her, as he yanked shards of glass out of her arms, feeling the pieces slice through her skin. He washed his hands in the sink, grabbed a towel, and wet it with cold water, his hands working quickly as he cleaned the mess off her face and arms.
