☆Clash of Souls: Reunited Book one of Twisted Souls series ☆( part-1)
This book is divided into two parts
And this one is part -1
𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈 𝐁𝐇𝐀𝐓 × 𝐕𝐘𝐀𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐇𝐑𝐀
What if childhood friends, now bitter rivals, are forced into an arranged...
This chapter is longer than usual, so make sure to read it all the way through to catch the spoiler for the next chapter.
And please note that ,as I mentioned before, my book is intended for legally-aged readers.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆
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Driti:
I'm lying on my bed, legs crossed, my right foot resting on my left knee, scrolling through Pinterest without caring about the world. The comfort of the soft blankets almost makes me forget what’s looming. Almost.
Oh Right. Vyaan told me to be ready. No, wait—he ordered. As if he could. I scoff, feeling that familiar fire rise in my chest.
Does he still think I'm the same girl who used to hang on his every word, waiting, desperate to please him? Pathetic.
A laugh escapes my lips, bitter and amused. I didn’t even bother opening the bag he sent over. He can wait. Or better yet, he can stew in whatever delusions he has of the old me.
I toss my phone to the side, still not bothering to move. A smirk tugs at my lips as I imagine his frustration. It’s almost too sweet, this rebellion against his expectations.
The thought of him pacing, checking the time, maybe even clenching his jaw in that annoyingly controlled way he does, makes me smirk. Good. Let him feel the burn of his own impatience.
He thinks he can command me?
I won’t be the girl who bends to his will anymore. I won’t slip into whatever role he’s carved out for me. That version of me is gone—buried under years of disappointment and betrayal. Now? Now, I make the rules.
I stretch lazily, letting the silence settle in, not even a flicker of guilt stirring inside me. If he wants a show, he’ll have to wait.
Because this time, I’m the one pulling the strings.
I push myself up from the bed, my movements slow, deliberate. My fingers toy with the hem of my shirt, the fabric soft between my fingers as I let the anticipation build.
There’s a sick satisfaction in knowing that he’s probably waiting, expecting me to be ready. Like a obedient.
But I’ve changed. We’ve changed. And he hasn’t figured it out yet.
Good.
Let him wonder where that girl went. Let him search for her in the woman I’ve become. He won’t find her. Not now. Not ever.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the cold floor. The chill sends a shiver up my spine, but I ignore it, standing tall. I could get dressed, sure.
