Her Nightmare

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P A R I N I D H I

"He'll kill me," I muttered under my breath, my legs trembling as I hurried toward the mansion.

My heart pounded violently against my ribs, and each step felt heavier than the last. My breaths came in short, labored gasps, and panic clawed at my chest.

The thought of being even a second late to face him was unbearable. The consequences would be devastating, and I knew it.

After what felt like an eternity, I reached the towering gates of the mansion.

Relief washed over me for a brief, fleeting moment. Wiping away the fear etched on my face, I forced myself to appear composed as I approached the main door.

Just as I stepped inside, his sharp voice cut through the air like a dagger.

"Well, it looks like my lovely wife has finally decided to grace us with her presence," Devansh sneered, his tone dripping with mockery.

My heart lurched in my chest, and I froze momentarily, fear rooting me to the spot.

A quick glance at the clock—4:59.

Relief surged within me, I wasn't late. But my reprieve was short-lived as his piercing gaze bore into me, scrutinizing every inch of my being.

"Next week, I'm hosting a party at home," he announced, his voice laced with barely restrained fury. "It's a celebration of our marriage."

He stepped closer, the heat of his anger radiating off him in waves.

Leaning down, his face inches from mine, his voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "If you even think of doing something to cast doubt on this marriage, if you cause even the smallest scene, you'll remember that day for the rest of your life. It'll haunt you like our wedding day."

My fists clenched tightly at my sides, and I fixed my gaze on the floor, swallowing back the surge of emotions threatening to escape.

How could I ever forget that day? I thought bitterly, tears threatening to spill as memories clawed their way to the surface.

I dug my nails into my palms to keep from crying, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing my pain.

"All my business partners will be here," he continued, his voice as cold as his eyes. "Behave yourself. If you embarrass me or ruin this in any way, you'll regret your very existence."

As if I don't already regret it, I thought, anger flickering within me. But I bit my tongue, knowing better than to speak.

Before I could recover, Devansh grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, and dragged me upstairs.

With a forceful shove, he pushed me to the floor. "Clean it," he ordered, his voice void of any emotion. Then, without sparing me another glance, he stormed off.

I knelt there, scrubbing the floor with trembling hands, seething internally.

I wish I were scrubbing his face instead, I thought, rubbing harder in frustration. The dark humor gave me a fleeting sense of satisfaction.

But my defiance was short-lived. Devansh reappeared moments later, his watch glinting under the light as he marched toward me with measured precision.

I braced myself, knowing his games too well. He never left without first finding a way to make me cry. My jaw tightened in anticipation of the pain I knew was coming.

He stopped beside me, his presence suffocating, and pressed his shoe firmly against my hand.

"I'm going to the hospital," he said coolly, adjusting his watch as if the weight of his shoe wasn't crushing my fingers. "If you want a shred of luck, stay out of my sight when I return."