What had I done?
Rajveer Pratap Ranawat was a crime lord, king of the fucking underworld and I was here, in his den with nothing but a notepad and a pen.
His presence was suffocating, bone chilling.
"You think you can uncover my secrets, Miss Sharma?" His voice was a low, dangerous rumble, sending a shiver down my spine. "You're playing a dangerous game."
I squared my shoulders, trying to muster the same bravado that had carried me into this lion's den. "I'm not playing," I retorted, my voice betraying a hint of defiance laced with unease. "I'm here for the truth, no matter how deep it runs."
A predatory smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his dark eyes gleaming with something that sent a chill through me. "Oh, I know your kind," he murmured, taking a slow step closer until his presence enveloped me. "Bold on the surface, trembling underneath."
"I'm not afraid of you," I insisted, though the way his fingers brushed against my arm sent a jolt of electricity through me.
His expression hardened, his grip tightening just enough to convey his power. "You should be," he whispered, his breath hot against my cheek. "In my world, fear is survival."
His eyes bore into mine with a primal intensity, a challenge and a warning wrapped into one. "You are already in deeper than you realize," he murmured, his voice softening imperceptibly. "And now that you are in, there is no turning back."
The room seemed to close in around us and then is when I realised that I had stepped into a dangerous game-one where the lines between adversary and attraction blurred dangerously, threatening to consume me in ways I never imagined possible.
"And you, my Dove," Rajveer's voice cut through the thick silence like a blade, chilling me to the core. His tone held a possessive edge, cold and commanding. "look like you are meant to be mine. And what is mine," he paused, his dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine, "stays with me."
#84 - Adult content | 02-11-2024
***
A loud crack of thunder shattered the silence.
"Bade rishte aa rahe hain tumhare liye." His voice was cold, laced with menace, as he traced the barrel of his gun from my forehead to my jaw, the metal chilling my skin. (Many good marriage proposals are coming for you.)
I fought against his hold, desperate to break free, but it was futile. My hands were tightly bound behind my back with my dupatta, leaving me powerless, perched on his lap in nothing but my nightclothes.
"Reject the proposal," he commanded, dragging the gun slowly from my neck to my chest, making my body arch in response to the icy threat.
I inhaled shakily, my breath catching as his mouth latched onto my chest through the fabric, his teeth sinking in with brutal force, each bite sending searing pain through me.
"I'm giving you a choice," he growled, his voice dark and possessive. "Either become my wife, or be my mistress. Because no one else will ever touch what belongs to me."
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I stared at him-my stalker, a man who claimed it was love. But I knew better. This wasn't love. It was pure, dangerous obsession.
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Jasmin Javed was a college student at one of the most prestigious institutions in Mumbai. Her beauty was captivating, leaving people unable to look away once they saw her. Though she had many admirers, she always ignored their advances.
That was until a mysterious, tall, and wealthy man intruded into her life. He was her stalker, always lurking in the shadows, never revealing his face as he wore a mask whenever he appeared before her. He claimed it was love, but Jasmin wasn't easily deceived-she knew it wasn't love, but obsession.