❝𝐀 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.❞
~•~
Obsession is a dangerous game, but for him, it's the only game worth playing. Abhiman Singh Rathore, a ruthless underworld king with the face of a savior and the heart of a devil...
Why does his rage hold me so tight, when he swears I'm the torment in his mind? Why does he claim me in the dead of night and whisper words so cold, so blind?
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Disgust.
I opened the door, and there she was, looking at me with disgust so sharp, it was almost tangible. Her eyes traced over me from head to toe, her gaze filled with raw, unfiltered contempt. My aunt.
For a brief moment, I thought it was him, thought I might see the man who could pull me back into a world of calm I so desperately needed.
But it was her instead. Her gaze cuts through me with such viciousness, slicing open wounds I'd tried to close, and everything inside me shudders, recoiling from the hatred in her eyes. It's a hatred that leaves me gutted, hollow, and painfully aware of my place.
I felt my shoulders sink, the familiar guilt coiling around me, gnawing mercilessly, digging deep. Guilt for lying. Guilt for simply existing. It wraps around me like a suffocating blanket, a reminder of everything I've been told I am. I shrink under her glare, trying to make myself disappear, to become invisible, but her eyes are like knives, pinning me in place.
"You're just like your mother," she sneers, her voice as sharp and cold as steel. "A whore."
The word cuts through me, each letter a shard of glass. I flinch, the impact reverberating through my bones. My mind barely has time to process it before she clamps her hand around my wrist, her grip cold and unrelenting. She drags me down the hall, her fingers digging into my skin as if she's holding onto something filthy, something she can't wait to be rid of. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall, but I swallow them down. She said that about Mom. That word-she threw it at me like poison, laced with hatred so deep it burns.
Don't cry, I tell myself. Not now. He's here somewhere, and he can't see me break. Not like this.
But that word... the way she said it. It's as if she's branded me, like she's carved it into my skin, a scar I'll carry forever. Whore.
I can feel the ache spreading through me, familiar and relentless, dragging shadows from the darkest corners of my mind. The world around me began to blur, the familiar walls of the house fading as my mind pulled me into shadows, as old memories clawed their way back from the dark recesses where I had buried them. They pressed in, overwhelming me, threatening to shatter the fragile walls I had built to keep them locked away.
No, not now. Please... not now. I begged silently, desperately fighting to keep those memories from surfacing, from destroying me. But my pleas fell into a silence as heavy as lead, swallowed by the darkness.
