Nandini Verma was 18 when she penned her first story, a tale of passion, betrayal, and revenge. It was a masterpiece, poised for publication. But on the night she was to share her brilliance with the world, tragedy struck. Her abusive father, a figu...
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I sat on the couch, the manuscript spread open in front of me, the pages well-worn from being read and reread. My fingers traced the edges of the paper, the words that described Yashwardhan's powers, his strengths, his unrelenting control. But there was nothing-nothing about any weakness, nothing about a shield or protection.
Frustration bubbled up inside me, my mind racing as I flipped through the pages again, desperately searching for anything-any way to stop him from overwhelming me like he had the night before. Last night, he'd left me raw, desperate, and aching with need. I hated how easily he could do that to me, how he had the power to strip me of my control with just a look, a touch.
My heart hammered in my chest as I stared at the words on the page. Nothing. There was nothing I could use against him. No shield, no defense. My anger flared at the thought of him coming again tonight, expecting to break me, to make me lose control all over again.
But not this time. No, tonight would be different. If he thought he could play games, then fine-I'd play too. And this time, I wouldn't be the one losing control.
I stood up, the frustration twisting into something else-something bold, determined. He wanted me desperate for him? He wanted to make me weak? Well, let's see how he handled it when the tables were turned.
"Alright, Mr. Yashwardhan Singhania, or should I say... Asura," I muttered under my breath, pacing the room. "Let's see what your 'author sahiba' can do."
An idea began to form in my mind, a plan that would turn the game around on him. He wasn't the only one who could provoke, who could push boundaries. Tonight, I'd give him a taste of his own medicine. A slow smirk crept across my face as I headed to my closet, already knowing what I needed to do.
The nightdress I pulled out was something I'd barely worn before-deep red velvet, soft against my skin, clinging to my curves in a way that left little to the imagination. The neckline plunged, revealing just enough to tempt, but it wasn't just about the dress. No, it was about how I'd use it.
I glanced at myself in the mirror, my wet hair dripping down my back, the nightdress hugging every inch of me. I looked dangerous. Tempting. Ready.
As I slipped the chain with his locket around my neck . He had wanted to play with fire, to make me burn, but now... he'd have to deal with the flames. The author's mind think like that ---
The night had fallen, and I knew he would be here any moment. My heart raced with anticipation, but it wasn't fear this time. I was excited-eager to see his reaction, to watch him squirm under the weight of his own desire. I could already hear the faint sound of the balcony lock clicking open. He was here.
The sound of his blazer hitting the couch, the way he lazily settled himself on the bed-I knew exactly what he was doing.Watching. Waiting. And I'd make him wait a little longer.
