✧･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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"What are we?"
The three words hung in the air, heavy and sharp, slicing through the tension that Shanaya had introduced and that Vidyut's silence had amplified. I wasn't yelling; my voice was quiet, dangerously calm. I looked at the man standing before me, the CEO who commanded markets and feared no assassin, yet who was utterly paralyzed by a simple question about the state of our shared existence.
He wasn't expecting this question—I knew that. I knew he was used to strategy, to quantifiable risks, to everything being either black or white. But love, or whatever this fierce, complicated thing between us was, operated in shades of gray.
He stood silent, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark, averted—a profound statement of avoidance. He saw me as a friend, perhaps a fiercely protected asset, but I didn't. I was his fiancée, his soon-to-be wife, the woman he had asked to spend the rest of his life with. I had every right to know what was going on, to define the unspoken rules he kept imposing.
"Vidyut," I took a definitive step forward, forcing him to meet the challenge of my proximity, "What are we?"
Still silent. The person from whom every single person was scared was frozen, immobile.
What if I wanted us to be more than his definition of 'friend'? What if I wanted a future that didn't involve him sleeping in a separate wing of the penthouse, constantly justifying the distance as 'security'? Would he refuse me, saying I was not his type? I knew about his past; I had accepted it. But just the thought of him still emotionally tethered to someone else—someone like Shanaya—ached in my heart with a raw, ugly pain.
"What? What happened?" I pressed, the desperation starting to override my composure. Please, Vidyut, reply to me; your silence is hurting me more than her words ever could. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, not of sadness, but of pure, burning frustration, and his continued silence only added fuel to the fire.
The evening was supposed to be simple—a brief, tactical meeting with a known enemy. Instead, it had left a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth, one I couldn't shake, a taste of something far heavier and unsaid between us.
