ArHit
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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing1h 48m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, May 24, 2026
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Fiction
Romance
"You can't just break into my room. If my father finds out, your family won't even have a body to bury. He will tear you apart," she growled, watching him lounge in her chair, casually leafing through one of her books. "Does your father know what kind of... guilty pleasures his innocent daughter keeps?" he asked, tracing a finger over a specific paragraph. She shook with rage, the mockery in his voice like a blade. He rose, crossing the room with the predatory grace of a demon closing in on his next meal. She held her ground, glaring daggers. "I will never give you what you want," she hissed. "My little cobra, trust me-if I don't have you, no one will." He leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "You started this game of seduction without realizing what kind of fire you were lighting. Now, you'll burn in it." He gripped her jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. "You thought you were the hunter, Arshia. Now you'll learn how it feels to be the prey." 🔶 Arshia Khurana- The woman who never learnt to bow in front of anyone taking up on his father never learnt to forgive her enemies. She is spending her days in the shadow of the stalker she knows nothing about, her every step observed and recorded. She was known not only for her beauty but her sharp tongue and actions. Dakshit Duhan does not merely rule; he dictates the very gravity of his world. Where others scream for authority, Dakshit commands it with a silence so heavy it suffocates. He is the master of an empire built on the bones of his enemies, governed by a hatred so ancient and profound that it has replaced his soul, becoming his only absolute truth. When she saw him first, she knew her doom was near, for she wasn't able to look away again. Not knowing the danger she was willing to come across to when she crossed Dakshit Duhan who didn't just marked but consumed her very existence. 'She played with fire. He became the flame!'
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They were close. Not inappropriate. Not scandalous. Just... close. And Seraphina noticed. She didn't knock on Dominic's office door. She hadn't in years. She was halfway inside when she stopped, seeing her husband standing with Natalia, his assistant. Dominic had his jacket off, his sleeves pushed back. Natalia stood close, laughing with him in a way that felt nothing like their usual professional conversations. Then her hand rose to his collar. Her fingers lingered, and Dominic didn't step away. "You don't have to pretend with me," Natalia said softly. Pretend. Seraphina felt something inside her give way. "I know," Dominic answered. That was all it took. Natalia moved closer, and Dominic's hand settled on her waist. He didn't stop her. Their lips met in a slow, certain kiss. But the kiss wasn't what broke Seraphina. It was the moment before it, when Dominic could have stepped back and chose not to. His hand had tightened around Natalia's waist, as though letting her go had never crossed his mind. He pulled away only when he saw Seraphina standing silently in the doorway. The color drained from his face. But it was already too late. Seraphina didn't scream or demand an explanation. She simply turned and walked away from the office and from the marriage she had believed was safe. Dominic reached the hallway too late. She was already gone, and for the first time in seven years, he had no idea how to fix what he had broken.

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