"I'm sorry I...I couldn't save you", I sob, kneeling beside the grave as I press my folded hands on my forehead. Tears streamed down my face, and my chest heaves with each shaky breath.
"Aww you didn't have to". His voice comes from behind me, it's soft lilt still tings with arrogance.
I freeze, my heart beating wildly. This can't be possible. As I turn my stomach drops at the familiar smirk.
"What are you not happy to see me?", he teases.
I stand up, frowning my eyes go hard and cold. "You're supposed to be dead".
"Sorry to disappoint, I suppose your charade of being sad for the benefit of any onlookers is over, by the way bullet proof jackets are in Vixy I think you should get one" he says blankly.
I roll my eyes. "Couldn't let anyone find out the truth, so I was being cautious. I'm quite a good actress, it's a disappointment to see you here and not 6ft feet under. You know a funeral costs a lot of money".
He smiles, stepping closer so there is hardly any space between us. I can feel his body heat and see the light of his eyes, he's very much alive.
"I almost thought you cared for me there. But then again how could you? You killed me after all...or tried to should I say". Carefully, he wiped away the tears on my cheeks with his thumbs before holding my face in his hands. Peering deep into my grey eyes, he furrows his eyebrows.
I can't move, guilt eats at me. I hate him but that familiar feeling is there and he knows it.
"Perhaps the two aren't mutually exclusive", he murmurs.
"They are", I say barely above a whisper looking at his eyes, his beautiful eyes.
Suddenly he smiles broadly and releases my face, stepping backwards. "For your sake, I hope so". Despite his tone dripping with veiled venom, he winks and leaves quickly as he came.
Ethan is crazy but Sasha, formerly known as Vixen is insane, Ethan comes from an asylum and Vixen comes from a rich family of murderers.
They're both at war with each other and they're hearts, and their minds.
A marriage neither wanted.
A hatred neither understands.
Two strangers tied by a past that stains everything between them.
He never wanted a wife.
Especially not her.
Cold, distant, and poisoned by assumptions, Amaan enters the forced marriage with one intention-
to keep his distance and keep his resentment alive.
Asmaira enters with something far heavier-
guilt.
Not to protect him.
Not to save him.
But because she knows the truth of what happened...
and she cannot bear to confess it.
They have never met.
But the moment they do, the air turns sharp-
full of tension, unspoken accusations, and the kind of hate that feels too much like longing.
He despises her for a sin she never committed.
She punishes herself for a sin she never confessed.
And marriage turns into a battleground where silence is a weapon...
and closeness is a threat.
In this house, love is impossible.
Trust is deadly.
But hatred?
Hatred is the only thing keeping them alive.