TARA: CORRUPT ME

Prologe

Story begins.........

The door slammed shut with a thunderous bang that echoed through every corner of the room, and the moment it did—I knew.

I was trapped again.

He stood there like a storm with no mercy. His black shirt unbuttoned at the top, clinging to his chest, slightly damp from the rain he'd stormed in through. His hair was wild, like the mess he kept inside himself. Eyes red—not from tears, no—Zade Rahim didn't cry.

His eyes burned from rage. From possession. From something darker.

And I was his target.

"You let him touch you... He touched you!" His voice ripped through the silence as he marched toward me, each step louder than the last.

I backed up instinctively, my breath hitching in my throat. My back hit the wall—and I knew what was next.

"Zade, h-he was just—"

"JUST WHAT, TARA?!" he roared, slamming his fist into the door right next to my head. The wood cracked from the impact, the sound snapping through the air like lightning. I jumped, hands trembling against the silk of my lehenga.

"Why the hell did you let him touch you?" he growled, voice lower now, more dangerous. Almost calm. And that was worse.

I tried to look anywhere but his eyes. Because his eyes... they made me forget how to breathe. They made me question if I was even allowed to.

"I-It wasn't what you think..."

He stepped closer, dragging his body until there wasn't even an inch of air between us. I was caged between the door and his wrath, and I could smell him now. Expensive cologne and raw fury. A scent I'd come to fear and crave at the same time.

His hand snaked around my bare waist, and I gasped as he yanked me forward—my body colliding with his, my heart slamming against my chest like it wanted to run. But there was no escape.

Not from him.

Not ever.

"This..." he whispered darkly, his fingers trailing possessively over my waistline, "...belongs to me. Only me."

My breath caught.

He tilted his head, jaw tightening, lips barely brushing against my ear. "I won't ask again, Tara. What did he do? Did he touch what's mine?"

I swallowed hard. "He—he just offered to help when I tripped, that's all."

But that didn't soothe him.

His grip tightened, just enough to remind me that he could crush me if he wanted. "Do you think I give a fuck what his intention was? No man touches you. No man gets that close to what I own."

I hated him.

I hated how much power he had over me.

How he spoke about me like I was a possession. Like I was nothing more than something he had bought, broken, and now refused to return.

And still...

Still, my body betrayed me. Goosebumps erupted along my arms. My knees weakened under his touch. My breath hitched every time his lips came close to mine but didn't touch.

"I..."

He smirked.

That goddamn smirk—the one he wore when he knew I was falling, drowning in him, and he was the one holding the rope...and cutting it at the same time.