✧･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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"Do you want me to recreate the scene where the Male lead tied the girl with the seat belt?"
My breath hitched. My eyes were already wide, and they somehow managed to stretch further, nearly popping out of my skull. I snapped my head towards him, the adrenaline from the tape and tie still buzzing under my skin, and glared. But the fierce, protective bubble of rage I usually relied on deflated instantly. Unknowingly, a scorching blush spread across my cheeks, heating my skin beneath his intense, amused gaze.
The scene flashed in front of me—the close confines, the dominant control, the raw, demanding energy. Oh, God. I regretted seeing that movie yesterday. I promised myself, then and there, I would never watch 365 Days ever again, nor would I let Shivangi touch the remote control unsupervised.
I needed a comeback, a weapon to break the agonizing silence and stop him from teasing me into complete, mortifying surrender.
"Huh, as if I'm dying to recreate things with you," I bit out, pushing a wall of defiance into my voice. I didn't know where that bold, stupid lie came from, but it was out there. I immediately looked away, seeking anything else to focus on. My gaze landed on the air hostess, who was now glaring daggers at me. The fact that he was leaning close to me, even to tease, was clearly an insult to her.
"Look at that girl," I hissed, tilting my head towards the hostess. He followed my gaze with a bored flick of his eyes. "Go and recreate that scene with her. She will enjoy that, trust me. I'm busy." I pulled my body back slightly, claiming the three-inch gap between us as my personal space.
The plane was now airborne, the roaring engines a comforting sound of escape, or maybe just a distraction. There was nothing to fear now that we were off the ground. I finally let go of the tension in my hands and closed my eyes, feeling the urge to complete my aborted sleep. My skin needs beauty sleep, and my brain needs to forget the visual of Vidyut Agarwal in a tailored suit recreating a Mafia romance movie scene. I hate dark circles. I have clear skin, touchwood!
He didn't say anything immediately, which was a victory, but the silence was brief. He called the head hostess over again.
"I don't want that girl to be around us," I heard him say, his voice dangerously low, stripped of all emotion. "And please train your staff on how to behave. I don't want them gawking at the passengers. And finally, ask her to apologize to my fiancée. I saw the way she was looking at her."
