"Do you have any idea what will I do to that smart mouth or yours, darling?"
"What are saying?"
"Oh my innocent babygirl, you didn't understand, did you? Ok let me explain"
He caged her between him and the glass door behind him and said in a very d...
In the dim haze of a fevered morning, when Aswi stirred from her troubled slumber she felt a gentle hand caressed her face.
Opening her bleary eyes, she met the concerned gaze of Nitya.
For a moment, Aswi was disoriented, her mind fogged by the relentless grip of her fever. But as Nitya tenderly offered her a cool compress, the realization dawned upon her.
"Nitya..." Aswi whispered, her voice weak and fragile.
Nitya's eyes filled with a mix of worry and reproach. "Aswi, I thought you considered me as your friend, but I was wrong. You didn't even tell me you were sick."
"I'm so sorry," she stammered. "I didn't even realize I was so sick."
Nitya's expression softened, understanding the distress that Aswi must have been in. "It's okay," she said gently. "You can call me Nitya. We are friends, remember?"
Aswi nodded weakly, a small smile crossing her lips. "Thank you, Nitya"
As Aswi's fever gradually subsided, Nitya's presence became a source of immense comfort and support. They talked for hours, sharing stories and laughter, and forging a connection that had been absent in their brief encounters before.
"Once you are feeling better, we will go to a club," Nitya promised with a playful grin. "We can dance and have some fun. It will be a great way to celebrate your recovery."
On the other side,
In the eerie twilight that cast long, menacing shadows upon the dilapidated facade of 'Satanic Villa', a sinister torment unfolded.
Belts snapped through the air, their sharp edges leaving crimson welts upon Vedansh's trembling body
"Didn't I tell you not to hurt her?" Ansh roared, "Now look what you have done! Because of you, she is sick, you bastard!"
Vedansh, his body broken and bruised, remained silent. His lips were sealed, but a defiant smirk played across his battered face. Even in his torment, a perverse pleasure glimmered in his eyes.
"This is just starting," Vedansh whispered, his voice barely audible. "More pain is waiting for her... but that pain will be sweet."
Ansh's heart skipped a beat. "No, Vedansh," he pleaded, but his words fell on deaf ears. Vedansh had vanished into the darkness of the haunted villa, his laughter echoing through the empty halls.
Aswi was much better than morning and as Nitya had told her that she will take her to a club, she did.
In the club,
As the vibrant lights of the club illuminated the night, Aswi and Nitya stepped into a realm of pulsating music and uninhibited energy. Aswi's apprehension dissipated as her eyes feasted upon the throng of revelers, each lost in their own world of dance and laughter.
Dressed in a tantalizing dress that showcased her alluring curves, Aswi felt a surge of both excitement and trepidation.
As they approached the bar, Nitya glanced around, her eyes searching for familiar faces. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized the absence of the men who usually shadowed her every move. A flicker of hope ignited within her.
'Perhaps they have finally decided to let loose and have some fun,' she thought to herself with a mischievous grin.
Meanwhile, Aswi's gaze wandered over the crowd, taking in the kaleidoscopic blur of dancing bodies and flashing lights.
Suddenly, a hand touched her shoulder. A man, a stranger, was smiling at her with a charm that seemed genuine. "Excuse me," he said, "May I have the pleasure of accompanying this beautiful lady?"
Aswi froze, her voice caught in her throat. Nitya, her eyes gleaming with mischief, intervened. "Yes, yes, go right ahead. She is all yours." Without giving Aswi a chance to protest, Nitya gently pushed her into the stranger's arms.
The man's hand found hers, his touch surprisingly gentle. He led her towards the center of the dance floor
As they started dancing his touch became bolder which made her feel uncomfortable.
In the meantime,
In the dimly lit, secluded corner of that club, a lone figure sat, eyes fixed upon the dance floor where Aswi and her companion swayed together. Beneath the concealing guise of a mask, his piercing gaze burned with an intensity that belied the revelry surrounding him.
His hands tightened around his glass, the veins in his neck throbbing with suppressed fury. The mask hid his expression, but the crimson hue of his eyes betrayed the turmoil within. With a single swift gulp, he drained the contents of the glass, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space as he made his way towards the oblivious couple.
Aswi's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm against the forced smile plastered on her face. The music throbbed, a relentless beat that did little to mask the unease gnawing at her.
his touch lingering too long, his eyes too knowing. He was a predator, and she, a trapped bird, forced to dance in his web. She prayed in her mind for someone to come and free her from his hold.
Then, a sudden collision. Aswi's body jolted, the man's grip loosening momentarily. He snarled, turning to unleash his anger, "Hey you, don't you have eyes?"
Aswi tried to see who had bumped into them, but her vision was clouded by a wave of relief. Her heart echoed the man's fury, hoping this was her chance to flee.
Before she could react, a hand clamped onto hers, pulling her away from the man. It was a strong hand, sure and decisive, and Aswi felt the anchor of safety in its grip. She was being dragged away from the man's reach.
The man, his anger fuming, lunged, only to be met by a swift, brutal punch that sent him crashing to the floor, unconscious.
Aswi was led through the throng of dancers, the music a distant hum, her focus solely on the hand that held her, the man who had saved her. They reached the ladies' washroom, a silent sanctuary. He pushed her against the wall, his shadow engulfing her. The door slammed shut, trapping them in a confined space of fear and confusion.
"I told you leave my house, not to whore around..." his words were a viper's venom, sharp and piercing, tearing through her defenses.
She knew what 'whore' meant, the word echoing in the space between them, a venomous accusation. "I... I am not..." she tried to refute, but his hand silenced her. The fingers were firm, the touch gentle, yet she felt the weight of his accusation, the harsh judgment, crushing her spirit.
There was something in his eyes which stopped her from protesting.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
