✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
[ 𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 1 ]
Because this is where love fades and hate resides and intensifies, broken hearts produce the most tragic stories.
Their treachery is told through their bleeding hearts: their unrequited love was never reciprocated. The...
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Everything that happened yesterday was unexpected. That woman, him, his words, her words, everything is confusing. Was she right? Does he? No, Ada doesn't think like that. Remember, only he can save you from here. But what if the woman was saying the right thing? Who is she?
Suddenly, the scent of expensive whiskey and stale cigar smoke was a familiar, suffocating presence in the grand drawing-room. It clung to the heavy velvet curtains and the gilded frames, a constant reminder of the man who owned this house, who owned me. Vijay Sharma sat opposite me, his face a mask of false piety as he discussed his political agenda. His voice was a low, smooth rumble, a sound the world believed to be the voice of a leader, a man of the people. But I, his daughter, heard only the hiss of a snake.
I had come to him with a simple request, a formality I had to endure before I left for my meeting with Vidyut. According to him, I should do everything to keep Vidyut Agarwal satisfied and happy. Why? Where is my happiness? He is marrying me off for his own benefit, but for the very first time, he is doing something good. For the very first time, I am feeling happy for being a girl. I will be able to fly away from his prison - forever. But my blood was running hot. I had just finished a sixteen-hour shift at the hospital, and the sheer arrogance of his control, the way he treated me like an object to be displayed, a pawn to be moved, was a fresh wound.
"Baba," I said, my voice as cold as the ice in his glass. "I don't need a new phone, neither those uncomfortable dresses. Mine works just fine."
He stopped mid-sentence, the smile vanishing from his face as if it had never existed. His eyes, cold and dark, narrowed into slits. "Ada," he said, the name a warning, a dismissal. "Do not argue with me. You will get a new phone, you will wear those dresses, you will smile for the cameras, and you will do exactly as I say. Do you understand?"
The familiar threat, the usual playbook. But something snapped inside me. The exhaustion, the rage, the years of silent suffering—it all boiled over. My hands, which had so meticulously stitched together human brains today, clenched into fists. I looked at him, at the monster who had laughed while my mother burned, and I felt a surge of defiance so pure and so hot it almost felt like an exorcism. I was not a child anymore. I was a doctor. A surgeon. I was a woman who had seen the worst of humanity and had chosen to fight for the best. I was a woman who knew what he was.
