The Love is The Pretence.•|Novel 02 Of Dea's Love Series•|🎀

Chapter : 03

Hey Dea Readers🎀:

Vote☆(2000+words

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Vansh's POV :

As I stormed out of the building, I made a beeline for my car and promptly opened the door.

Instructing my chauffeur to take the other car home, I was taken aback when I saw someone had already taken the passenger seat - none other than her.

"Who gave you permission to sit here, Ms. Singhaniya?"

I questioned. She remained silent, but grasped my hand and gazed into my eyes, whispering, "I'm sorry, Ansh," tears welling up in her eyes.

Ms. Singhaniya its Mr. Khurrana for you ! I informed her loudly while settling at the driving seat.

"Apna ye rona dhona band kero or meri Gaadi se utro!!" almost shouted making her sobbed more.

(Cease this crying of yours and get out of my car.)

She declared, wiping away her tears, that she would not budge from this spot until you grant me forgiveness.

I started the engine, remarking, "I hope you come to regret your choice, as you won't find sympathy from me!"

She confidently stated, "I am not afraid. I know you have the power to do anything, but you cannot harm me."

"Ms. Singhaniya you seem to be quite delusional!"

I couldn't help but smirk at my own words.

I accelerated the car quickly to 200, only to discover that she became anxious after 5 minutes.

A quick smile formed on my lips after feeling fear in her eyes,
Maine pehle hi bola tha sunti ho tum?

"Vansh please no Don't do this!".

"I can't breath please stop the car".

Only to give few more horses to the car, tbh internally I am enjoying but my heart was not feeling well.

She held on her dupatta and fisting it she was murmuring something I looked at her with my side eyes.

I quickly came where the diversion starts of mountain roads it's under construction but who cares.

I sped it off ! only to find her hand holding mine to make me stop .

Vansh please don't accident ho jayega ruk jao she shouted.

" I'm aware that I hurt you, but can you please stop? "

Her plead reached my ears, which only made me angrier. The sound of her voice, filled with pain and desperation, grated against my already frayed nerves.

Yet, instead of evoking remorse or empathy within me, her pleas only fueled the fire of my anger.

They served as a bitter reminder of my own shortcomings, my own inability to control the destructive impulses that resided within me.

The more she begged for mercy, the more my rage intensified, consuming me from within.

At that moment, I felt a twisted satisfaction in her suffering. It was as if her pain somehow justified my own as if her tears were a necessary consequence of my actions. T

he darkness within me revelled in her vulnerability, relishing in the power I held over her emotions.

"Who asked you to sit in my car when you even don't trust me."