THe LoVe TraP (Completed)

THe LoVe TraP (Completed)

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WpMetadataReadComplete Thu, Aug 10, 20235h 53m
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Fanfic
Barrister Babu
Anirudh : "No one, I repeat no one has the right to touch what's mine.. " His dark voice had the capacity to shook the earth Bondita : "I don't dream of Prince Charming... And for my lover he will be a normal human only.. but a little different from others.. " her melodious voise can make the world bloom Maya : "I pity the little girl, Rudh suddenly is obsessed with.. " her seductive appearance have men's around her finger Kartik : "Hey, don't call me Nerd!!!.. I am the Handsome hunk... " his playful nature makes everyone laugh . ........................................................................... Welcome to the world of secrets and obsession.. Some secrets will come out and some will be kept hidden forever.. When Dark meets Light it makes grey.. How Will Be This Grey Shaded Love then? OR Will it be a Hate? Non hindi readers are welcome too..
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#146
aurrisht
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πŸ”žπŸ”ž Tropes:--- β€’Aniruddh x Bondita β€’Age Gap 29 x 19 β€’Dhusht Danav Roy Choudhary x Biwi Roy Choudhary β€’1900s β€’She falls First (But he falls harder) β€’For a 1920s Bengali Historical Romance The dim light of the haveli's room barely cut through the shadows, creating a suffocating, almost sepulchral atmosphere. A single oil lamp cast a faint, flickering glow, but its warmth was swallowed by the cold, heavy air. In the center of the room, two figures stood locked in a tableau of cruelty. Bondita, a vision of bridal beauty, was adorned in a resplendent red and gold Bengali saree, its intricate work a stark, tragic contrast to her terrified posture. A heavy veil, meant to be a symbol of modesty, clung to her head, concealing her face and making her seem like a faceless victim. Behind her, like a dark, looming shadow, Aniruddh stood in a golden kurta, his face turned away from the light. The gold, a symbol of divine blessing, looked like a mockery in his form. His hand was a vise on Bondita's shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh, his knuckles white with suppressed rage. His other hand was at her neck, his thumb pressing cruelly into her windpipe. He was not embracing her; he was imprisoning her. The golden kurta seemed to glow with a false, sinister light, illuminating the stark contrast between the beauty of the bride and the darkness of her groom.

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