𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐟𝐞 || @𝘼𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙨||

.Chapter-33.She was vulnerable.

2400+ words

Tere bina adhoori hai meri har khushi,
tere bina adhoori hai meri zindagi,
tu mil jaaye toh poori ho jaaye zindagi,
bas itna hi pyaar hai teri dosti.

Author's pov:

Vikram's grin widened into a sinister smirk as he watched Anshika drift into a troubled sleep. The dim lighting of the room cast eerie shadows across her face, accentuating the lines of worry etched into her features. In that moment, she appeared vulnerable, defenseless against the turmoil raging within her.

With a calculated move, Vikram reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone. The device illuminated his face in an eerie glow as he unlocked it with practiced ease. He navigated to the camera app, the anticipation of what was to come sending a shiver of excitement down his spine.

Positioning the camera for the perfect angle, Vikram's fingers hovered over the record button, his heart pounding with anticipation. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the culmination of weeks of meticulous planning and manipulation. With a sense of grim satisfaction, he pressed the button, and the recording began.

As the video rolled, Vikram's demeanor underwent a chilling transformation. Gone was the facade of charm and charisma, replaced by a cold, calculating intensity. He leaned in closer to Anshika, his gaze predatory as he surveyed her unconscious form.

"You thought you could escape me, didn't you?" he hissed, his voice a menacing whisper. "But you're mine now, Anshika. All mine." His words dripped with malice, each syllable laced with venomous intent.

With deliberate movements, Vikram reached out to touch Anshika's face, his touch possessive and invasive. He traced the curve of her cheek with his fingers, a sickening smirk playing at the corners of his lips. To him, she was nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game of revenge.

"You're nothing without me," he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. "You belong to me, body and soul." The words hung in the air like a dark cloud, suffocating in their cruelty.

As the recording continued, Vikram's actions grew increasingly aggressive, his hands roaming over Anshika's unconscious form with a disturbing sense of entitlement. He laughed triumphantly, reveling in the power he held over her, knowing that he could manipulate her at will.

But even as he reveled in his depravity, a part of Vikram knew that his actions were unforgivable. Deep down, he understood the gravity of what he was doing, but his thirst for revenge and power overruled any semblance of decency or morality.

With one final, contemptuous glance at Anshika's prone figure, Vikram ended the recording and pocketed his phone. As he left the room, a chilling smile played across his lips, his mind already racing with plans for the chaos he had unleashed.

Ashwin's pov:

The ding of my phone jolted me from my thoughts, and I instinctively reached for it, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread. But as the screen lit up, the sight that greeted me turned my blood to ice.

Images flashed before my eyes, each one more damning than the last. Anshika, my Anshika, wrapped in the arms of another man, her laughter ringing hollow in the air. Anger surged through me, hot and fierce, as the implications of what I was seeing sank in.

But as I looked closer, a sickening realization washed over me. Anshika was drunk, her movements unsteady, her words slurred. She was vulnerable, defenseless against whoever was behind the camera, whoever was orchestrating this sick charade.