Zillat

Dilan Malik was the epitome of beauty and innocence. Pure, untainted, radiant-a fragile bloom in a world that often demanded thorns.

Rudra Sagar Rathore was the opposite: cunning, ruthless, a snake slithering through the corridors of power. Betrayal was his signature, and manipulation his art.

And now, he had set his eyes on her-not her, but the empire her name carried. The elections. The money. The power. That was his goal. Her body, her soul, her trust-they were just tools in his hands.

She didn't know the kind of storm that was coming. She only wanted one thing: someone to erase the weight she had been carrying alone, someone to lift her from the ruins of a family collapsing like an old, fragile vase.
.....

Rudra..." she breathed, her voice trembling with shame and longing.
"This is... wrong."

He lifted his head, eyes burning with something fierce.
"No," he whispered against her skin, "not when I've already chosen you as my wife."
His hand slid down her waist, possessive but tender.
"Not when I will stand with you in front of fire and vows."

Her heart stuttered painfully, her throat tightening with truth she could no longer deny.
"But... until then..."

He silenced her again with a kiss-this one deeper, intoxicating, leaving her breathless.

"Until then," he murmured against her lips, "let me love you."

She closed her eyes, her resistance dissolving like sugar in warmth.

And she let him.

Let the man who wasn't her husband...
but would be, soon...
show her what it meant to be wanted, cherished, worshipped.

Perhaps the biggest mistake of dilan Malik...

Is believing his love for her..

Oblivious that this very love and night will haunt her forever...
...