Mishti's POV
My mind drifted to memories of my childhood, my mother's beautiful face etched in my vision.
Her warm smile and gentle touch could soothe any sorrow. I remembered the tiny kitten I'd found on the street, its fragile body wriggling in my small hands. When it died, I cried until fever consumed me.
Maa's worried eyes and soft whispers still echoed in my mind. "Mishti, beta, don't cry. It's just a kitten. You'll find another." But I couldn't stop. My heart, even then, was fragile.
She'd cradle me in her lap, stroking my hair until my tears dried.
"You're so sensitive, my little one," she'd say, her voice filled with love. "But that's what makes you special."
The day arrived when my mother returned, wrapped in white.
I was too young to understand death's finality. I cried, clinging to her lifeless body, refusing to let go.
Father's tears fell alongside mine, but soon, he brought home a new mother.
Romila's eyes, cold and calculating, assessed me like a threat.
From the very first day, her gaze held hatred. She saw me as a reminder of my mother, a rival for Father's affection.
"Mishti is too spoiled," she'd say, her voice dripping venom. "She needs discipline."
Father, blinded by his new love, ignored my pleas. My stepmother's cruelty began subtly, escalating with each passing day.
She'd lock me in the pantry, forcing me to eat tissue paper to satiate my hunger.
The dry, bitter taste still lingers in my memory.
"Swallow it, Mishti," she'd hiss. "You're worthless, a burden on this family."
I'd cry, begging for food, but she'd just laugh, her eyes glinting with malice.
One day, she burned my favorite doll, watching as I sobbed uncontrollably.
"Your mother's gone," she sneered. "No one cares about you."
Father remained oblivious, or perhaps, indifferent. His love for Romila eclipsed his duty as a father.
Kiara's arrival brought temporary solace. My little sister's smile lit up the darkness, and for a brief moment, Romila's cruelty receded.
I winced, holding an ice pack against my bruised cheek.
Last night's blur of events replayed in my mind like a disturbing dream.
Sultan's angry, tortured expression haunted me, his lovemaking a distant, painful memory.
A gentle hand touched my head, and I flinched. His concerned eyes met mine, his fingers tracing the bruise.
I trembled, recalling the ferocity in his touch.
"Let me," he whispered, removing the ice pack to apply lotion to the burning skin.
His tender care contradicted the turmoil of the previous night.
I hissed, pain shooting through my cheek. His eyes welled up with tears, his face etched with despair.
"Why,jan?" he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Why aren't you reacting? Why are you behaving like this? Why are you bullying me?"
His words cut deep, but I couldn't afford to weaken. I ripped my hand from his grasp, attempting to flee.
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Sultan:Her Wanted Husband (18+)✓
Romance"Don't be so rough," she begged, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Sultan's tongue plunged into her folds, savagely tasting her innocence. She cried out, her body writhing beneath him. His fingers joined the assault, mercilessly fucking her tight ent...
