Sacred Games Of Twisted Fate {18+}

* did i do that? *

***AUTHOR'S POV***

The next morning, Aayara woke to find Arjun nestled in her embrace, his features softened in the gentle light of dawn. A rare, peaceful expression graced his face, a contrast to the intense and guarded man he usually was. She couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto her lips as she gazed at him.

Carefully, she shifted, making sure not to wake him as she slipped out of bed. She took a last glance at his sleeping form before heading to the bathroom to freshen up. The warmth from the night lingered in her heart as she stepped into the shower, the memory of his vulnerability stirring something new within her.

After her shower, Aayara stepped out in a bathrobe, drying her hair with a towel. Her eyes fell on the couch, where a beautiful, classic red saree with yellow pleats lay elegantly folded. A warm smile touched her lips as she imagined Arjun picking it out for her, his thoughtful gesture tugging at her heart.

Without a second thought, she reached for the saree, running her fingers over the soft fabric before draping it carefully around herself. As she adjusted the pleats, she felt a renewed confidence and warmth, appreciating the unexpected gift from the man who rarely showed softness. The saree felt like a symbol, a quiet reassurance that he cared in his own way.

As Aayara admired herself in the mirror, adjusting the drape of the saree, she felt a sense of pride and happiness. Just then, Arjun stirred awake, stretching his arms before his gaze landed on her. The sight jolted him fully awake, his eyes darkening instantly. A wave of emotions—surprise, anger, and something deeper—washed over his face as he processed the saree she was wearing.

It was his mother’s saree.

An intense look overtook him, his jaw tightening as he rose from the bed. He clenched his fists, struggling to hold back his irritation, and muttered, almost under his breath but loud enough for her to hear, “Why the hell are you wearing that saree?” His tone was sharp, filled with a rawness that made Aayara's heart skip a beat.

Aayara’s smile faded, and she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I... I thought you brought it for me,” she said, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes as she glanced at him. “I just assumed...”

Arjun’s eyes darkened further, his jaw tightening as he suppressed his growing rage. Without another word, he stepped closer and grasped the edge of the saree resting on her shoulder, yanking it sharply. The fabric slipped from her shoulder, his touch rough, and Aayara gasped, startled by the intensity of his reaction.

“You thought this was for you?” he said, his voice cold and laced with bitterness. “Do you think everything in this house is just another thing for you to take?”

Aayara’s eyes filled with regret, and she looked down, struggling to find her voice. “I...I’m sorry, Arjun. I just thought—”

He let out a harsh scoff, cutting her off. “That saree is not yours to wear. It was my mother’s, and you had no right to touch it.”

Aayara swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his anger, her heart aching at the misunderstanding.

He pulled the saare more making her spin surprisingly.. as he looked at her back which had few nail marks .. he stopped...

Arjun’s grip on the saree loosened as his gaze fell on the faint marks on her back, remnants of his own intensity. His expression softened for a moment, a flicker of regret and conflict flashing in his dark eyes. He hadn’t noticed these marks before, and seeing them now made something tighten in his chest.

His fingers hesitated, hovering over the delicate lines, as a mixture of anger, guilt, and something unfamiliar washed over him. The rage he had felt moments ago began to wane, replaced by a sudden realization of how fragile she looked before him.

He exhaled slowly, releasing the fabric and stepping back, clenching his fists as he struggled to find his usual stoic demeanor. But the sight of her vulnerability stayed with him, haunting his thoughts.

Arjun’s voice came out in a harsh, almost breathless whisper, his stoic mask slipping as he asked, "Did... did I do that last night?" His voice held an unfamiliar tremor, a rare crack in his usual controlled tone.

For the first time, he looked shaken, his gaze fixated on the marks that traced faint reminders of the previous night. He clenched his fists as he realized the depth of his own actions, a ripple of guilt flickering across his face.

Aayara, taken aback by his uncharacteristic reaction, stood silent, unsure how to respond. She had never seen him so vulnerable, his usual cold confidence stripped away, leaving a man grappling with emotions he was unaccustomed to facing.