𝘖𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 [𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗘𝗗 ]
𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.
"Please," I whisper. His touch becomes rougher, and my moans turn more wanton. He makes me unable to recognize myself as he pushes me over the edge.
"Arush" I moan...
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Arush's POV:
The tension in the room becomes unbearable as Sara walks in and settles on the couch. My dad stands up, his face stern, and delivers his words with the authority that makes the room feel smaller.
"I have an announcement to make," he says, and the silence is deafening. I can feel Sara's tension, as palpable as my own.
Then, the hammer drops.
"Arush, your engagement has been decided."
My heart sinks. I don’t need him to say anything more, but he does.
I feel a burning gaze on me—Sara’s. She stares at me wide-eyed, and for a brief second, I swear I see agony flash across her face, but it's gone before I can be sure. My chest tightens painfully as I try to keep it together.
"Who is it?" I ask, trying to sound indifferent. But inside, I'm already unraveling.
"Sonia Agarwal, daughter of Nareen Agarwal and heiress to the Agarwal empire."
I feel like the ground beneath me just shifted. "Sonia Agarwal?" I repeat, my head snapping up, disbelief surging through me.
"The socialite? She's a spoiled, materialistic airhead."
Dad's glare cuts through me, sharp and unyielding. "She's your soon-to-be fiancée. She's a sweet girl. You’ll see."
Sweet? Sweet like poison, maybe. I don’t even care who she is. She isn’t Sara.
I stare at my dad, my heart heavy, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. There’s no way I’m letting this happen.
"No, I’m not going to marry her," I say firmly. "I’m not going to marry anyone but Sara." The words hang in the air, unspoken but damn clear in my mind.
I glance at Sara again, and it tears me apart. For weeks, I’ve been desperate for her—craving her presence, her voice, her everything. I’ve spent every damn day watching her through the glass wall of my office, trying to think of some way—any way—to talk to her, to fix this mess.
But right now, I can’t even bear to be around her. Not because I don’t want her, but because being near her and not being able to have her is a different kind of hell.
I look up at her, taking in every perfect detail of her face. Her lips, her eyes, that quiet fire I love. The lips I’ll never taste again. My chest burns with the regret I can’t even begin to analyze. She’s mine. And I’m hers.
But she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t show anger, doesn’t lash out like I need her to. She just sits there, giving me that fake smile that drives me crazy. It’s worse than her being mad. I want her to be furious. I want her to be jealous, to scream at me, to push me so I can pull her close and feel that spark again. I want her to fight for us.
