"Playfully Ruined: Played by him, Ruined by her"
✦ A thrilling tale of ❖ obsession, ✹ dignity, ✦ dark romance, and ⟡ untold mysteries.
✧ Ambhreen Dashwant, a wealthy businessman, lives for control and manipulation.
✧ Indrani, a bold AI engineer, shi...
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They say power is an illusion, but I've never once been deceived.
Power isn't a mirage in the desert-it's the desert itself.
Power is actual Wealth.
Boundless, suffocating, swallowing men whole and spitting out their bones.
I was born into it. Shaped by it. Molded in its flames until my very existence burned anyone who dared to touch me.
My world doesn't run on conscience. It runs on currency and corpses. And I've never been short of either. Whatever I choose to believe , turns into reality.
Here I didn't only rule humans , I ruled The Very Essence of Reality.
Tonight is no different.
The metallic scent of blood lingers in the air like perfume, thick and intoxicating. The warehouse is dim, illuminated only by the flickering overhead lights, casting long, eerie shadows across the floor slick with crimson.
At my feet, a man writhes, coughing up the last remnants of his pathetic existence.
His cries have faded into whimpers now-a symphony I've conducted far too many times.
I squat beside him, twirling the butterfly knife between my fingers. The blade is still warm from its recent work, the steel glinting as I tilt my head.
"You were given a chance." My voice is almost gentle, a cruel mockery of comfort.
"But fear makes men stupid."
He tries to speak. Blood gurgles in his throat instead.
I sigh. "And stupidity gets men killed, and That's what Makes me more and more powerful."
With a flick of my wrist, the blade finds home in his throat, silencing him for good.
I stand, wiping my hands clean with a silk handkerchief-imported, of course.
Beneath my designer shoes, the ground is a graveyard of failed beings.
Betrayers. Rats. Their end was inevitable the moment they thought they could outplay me.
A slow clap echoes from the entrance.
"Poetic as always, Boss."
I turn, my gaze locking onto the one man in this world who doesn't flinch at the sight of my brutality.
Feroz.
Tall, dressed in black, and standing like he owns the fucking place.
My right-hand man-or at least that's what he wants the world to believe.
Iknow better. I always do.
"Did you enjoy the show?" I ask, my voice devoid of amusement.
Feroz chuckles, stepping over the corpse without so much as a glance downward.
