✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
[ 𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 1 ]
Because this is where love fades and hate resides and intensifies, broken hearts produce the most tragic stories.
Their treachery is told through their bleeding hearts: their unrequited love was never reciprocated. The...
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"Tell me what I need to destroy?" I had asked, and her response was the deepest cut.
Ada looked at me, and in the depths of her gaze, I saw the reflection of the hot iron, the decades of humiliation, and the man who held the whip. She was trying to offer herself up as the last thing to be sacrificed, the final piece of evidence of her father's cruelty.
"Me," she whispered.
The sheer tragedy of that single syllable was a blinding rage.
I wrapped my palm around the nape of her neck, the delicate curve of her spine sending a bolt of electricity through my arm. It wasn't a gesture of aggression; it was a profound, possessive anchor. I pulled her towards me, closing the agonizing gap between our faces. My eyes locked onto hers, burning away the doubt.
"I will destroy you for sure," I growled, the possessiveness raw in my tone. "But that destruction is a feeling you will crave me to give you every night, Ada. The kind of destruction where I break down every single lie that bastard ever told you about yourself."
Her throat moved as she swallowed hard, her eyes darkening as she comprehended the double meaning, the promise of both protection and intimate possession.
"I will make that bastard suffer," I continued, the cold steel of my intent replacing the earlier tenderness. My voice was low, lethal, a vow forged in fire. "He will beg on his knees for death, but he will not get it. He will apologize in front of you, on his knees, for everything. I will expose him. I will tear down everything he has built, piece by agonizing piece, until his name is synonymous with the dirt beneath his feet. And you, Ada, will be the one holding the torch."
The promise was an absolute truth, a decree of fate. The moment the word father was linked to the hot iron, Vijay Sharma's expiration date was sealed. But his death wouldn't be a swift bullet. It would be a slow, excruciating process of public and personal ruin, orchestrated for Ada's sole benefit, for her catharsis.
Within a second, the intellectual promise shattered, replaced by an urgent, physical need to reaffirm her reality. I pulled on her waist, hoisting her abruptly and pulling her flush against my body with a sudden force that stole her breath. Her bikini-clad body was a jolt of warm, intoxicating reality against my skin. Before she could fully register the change, I took her lower lip in my mouth, nibbling, sucking, claiming it hard, desperate to erase the phantom of pain and replace it with the immediate, consuming truth of me.
