Aira:

Life is going to be a fucking hell if I am going to be always stuck by his side.

Mai Chand aur wo mera grahan!

Ek naa ek din to wo grahan bhi hata hi doongi.

I didn't see him after he left the room this morning or more like I didn't leave the room the whole day just so I didn't have to face him.

He is a fucking bastard and I didn't want Rekha aunty suffering because of my mistakes.

If I somehow manage to avoid the phone conversation, he will surely forget about it.

Wouldn't he?

How did he even find out about the phone call. There are no cameras in that side of the garden, no gaurd having their eyes on me.

Rishaan! that snitch,

The knock at my door was sharp and abrupt, cutting through the silence of the room. My heart stuttered for just a moment, then fell back into its guarded rhythm.

I just hope it's not him but then again, he never fucking knocks.

He prefers to make his presence felt without being known. I kept the crochet in my lap, its softness pressing painfully against my palm, and stood just as the door creaked open.

"Ma'am," the young staff - I didn't know her name, only that she was Rekha aunty's sister's daughter and new - bowed stiffly. Her eyes flicked around the room as if she, too, was nervous about carrying her master's message. "Mr. Oberoi has asked that you prepare for tonight's event. The car will be here in two hours."

What event?

She held out a garment bag, the expensive fabric peeking through the transparent cover. I didn't need to look to know that it would be exquisite. That was always his way - commanding, opulent, suffocating.

A bitter smile twisted my lips. "Tell Mr. Oberoi that I am not attending."

The young girl's face paled. "Ma'am, he said you should keep the phone conversation in your mind while refusing his demand."

My chest tightened, a familiar coil of defiance and dread fighting for dominance. The warning. It echoed in my mind, soft and lethal.

It won't end up well for the person who gave me the phone.

I looked past the girl to the gleaming chandelier in the hallway beyond, its crystal arms stretched in silent, sparkling mockery. He wanted me to break. He wanted me to surrender, bit by bit, until I forgot who I was without him. And yet, a spark of resistance, long-buried but never extinguished, flared inside me.

Enough of being a fucking weakling.

I reached out, not for the dress she offered but for the heavy oak door. "Leave it on the bed," I said coolly. "You can go."

She hesitated, as if debating whether to push further, but my stare was cold and final. Finally, with a clipped nod, she set the garment down and backed out of the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, I exhaled, my pulse a drumbeat in my ears. The bag sat on the bed like a challenge, all emerald silk and understated cruelty. I approached it, fingers brushing the delicate fabric that had been chosen to match his tastes - and my compliance.

Death was better than having to parade myself in front of him and his circle as his wife.

Not tonight.

Might as well as die a Virgin ghost than dying in Calvin klein.

I turned on my heel, crossing to door that led to the walk - in closet, where my own dresses hung, untouched as if they were relics of another life. Then again, the dresses didn't really match my style. Tara choose them for me and like her they were made for the show - classy and elegant.

My fingers landed on a crimson red gown, one that spoke of defiance rather than submission - a tad bit revealing, just the kind of dress he didn't like me wearing.

And I didn't like him.

Since the morning incident, I realised how much he hated someone else's eyes on me.

Might be his twisted obsession with wanting that control over everything he owns but I will keep rebelling until he agrees himself that I am not one of the thing he owns.

I am myself, and I will always be.

If I am to survive, as he said if I do - I will not recognise myself.

Then I would rather be a stronger version of me.

My eyes raked over the dress once again - Too revealing for my liking.

But the clench of his jaw ticked me off.

Its deep color matched the simmering anger in my veins.

After freshening up, I slipped the crimson dress over my skin feeling a sharp sense of liberation, fleeting but real.

I kept my hair down and did a light makeup, making sure to paint my lips red, I did a little eye make - up going for the siren eyes.

Once done, I stood in front of the mirror, slightly impressed with my make-up skills.

The dress clung to my body in all the wrong ways - or right ways, depending on who was looking. A defiant smile curved my lips as I imagined his reaction. I knew it would drive him mad, and that's why I did it. A petty rebellion in an otherwise suffocating world.

A sharp knock broke my reverie. This time, there was no tentative pause.

"Ma'am," The voice, deep and almost as authoritative as his boss, seeped through the wood like a cold wind. "Are you ready?"

It sounded familiar.

I hummed, allowing the person on the other side to open the door and enter.

As soon as my eyes fell on the person who decided to grace me with his presence, I felt my earlier confidence waver but I clenched my fists, steadying the tremor in my hands.

It was Vyom, his right hand man.

Here to deliver his words.

For a moment his gaze swept over me, dark brows lifting as they registered the crimson silk that defied his master's choice but almost instantly he bowed his head, keeping his eyes down.

"You seem ready to go," he said, an edge of surprise softening the coldness in his tone. "But not in what Sir sent."

Keeping the phone in my clutch, I took one last look in the mirror and flashed him my brightest smile, "I am ready."

For a moment, the air was thick with tension. I could see the war in his eyes, the struggle between following his master's orders and not pushing my limits.

His voice hardened, "You will get yourself in more trouble."

Trouble? My whole life seemed to be going down a hellhole, I couldn't care less about a little trouble that involved the one person I hated the most.

"I hate the colour pink. It makes me look ugly." I mumbled innocently.

What a lie! I like pink. It's one of my favourite colours as a designer and a girl myself.

For a moment, I thought he would say something more but instead he gave me a nod and turned on his heel, stepping out of my room and going down the hallway.

The look in Vyom's eyes definitely told me to not go through this stupid plan. I leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.

Surely, he wouldn't kill me for this.

The fabric of the dress I chose whispered around my ankles as I walked through the lobby and descended the staircase, the heels of my shoes clicking softly against the marble steps. The crimson gown I wore was a deliberate rebellion, not the pristine, baby - pink silk he had sent. My pulse quickened with each step, defiance and apprehension twisting together in my chest.

He stood in the hall, back to me, phone pressed to his ear. His posture was sharp and commanding, every inch of him the embodiment of controlled power. Beside him, Vyom, loomed with an expression as cold and unreadable as ever. The tension between them, visible even from afar, hinted at a conversation that was more than business.

I reached the bottom step just as he ended the call. His impatience was almost visible, the slight clench of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed at his side. He turned, and his dark eyes took me in with a single sweep - lingering on the crimson dress that clashed starkly with the black tuxedo he was draped in himself.

His gaze stopped at the sight of my cleavage visible through the dress and I almost felt myself shuddering because of his eyes on me.

He seemed to be looking through my soul.

"What are you wearing?" he asked as I neared him, voice dangerously calm.

"A dress," I replied, lifting my chin.

His gaze hardened, but he said nothing. The silence stretched between us, taut as a wire. He turned slightly, addressing Vyom without looking away from me. "How much time do we have?"

"Forty minutes," Vyom answered, his voice devoid of emotion.

Arsh's eyes flicked back to me, and a shiver coursed down my spine. "Come with me."

Before I could protest, he reached for my arm, his grip firm and almost painful. The warmth of his touch seared through the thin fabric of my sleeve as he led me back up the stairs, his pace unyielding. The servants scattered, their eyes averted as we passed.

The door to my room clicked shut behind us, enclosing us in a silence so heavy I could feel it pressing against my chest. He released me and stepped back, his eyes dark and searching.

"Why do you insist on defying me, Aira?" His voice was low, but the edge of frustration cut through it.

I met his gaze, refusing to let him see the fear lurking beneath my defiance. "Because I won't be molded into your obedient puppet."

A muscle in his jaw ticked, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker behind his eyes - something akin to impression, almost human. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the cold, calculating man I knew too well.

He wore an amused expression, one that made me shiver at the thought of what he had in his mind.

"You really think you will say no just like that," he said softly, stepping closer. "And I will accept it?"

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking deep. But even as my pulse thudded wildly, I lifted my chin, refusing to let him see me break.

"Well, what you accept doesn't fucking matters to me."

"Then let me show it to you right now." He growled into my face.

My heart pounded in my chest as his sudden grip on my arm sent a jolt of panic through my veins. His hand was like iron, tight around my arms, pulling me towards him with a force I couldn't fight.

"Let me go!" I gasped, tugging uselessly against him, but he didn't seem to pay my struggles much attention. His silence only made it worse, the threat hanging thick in the air between us.

I turned, desperate to get away, but his hand kept me in place, his presence looming over me like a storm. His hand shot out, grabbing the back of my neck, and in one swift motion, he forced me toward the bed. My knees buckled, and I stumbled, my hands sinking into the mattress as he loomed behind me.

"Defy me again, and worse will happen," he growled, his voice low, filled with a quiet fury that sent a chill through me. He wasn't yelling - his anger was far more terrifying in its restraint.

I opened my mouth to protest, to scream, to demand he let me go, but before I could utter a single word, something soft brushed against my face. I flinched, my heart leaping into my throat. His hand was at my cheek, the sensation oddly gentle compared to the iron grip he had held me with just moments ago. I gasped as I realized what it was - a strip of black silk, smooth and cold against my skin.

His tie.

"W-what are you doing?" My voice trembled as he pressed the fabric over my eyes, blinding me.

"You don't need to see," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "Feel who is in control little wolf."

I squirmed, trying to pull away, but his hands were already tying the silk tightly behind my head, securing it in place. Darkness swallowed me, and the sensation of helplessness sent my mind spiraling. My senses heightened - every sound, every touch amplified.

This was darkness.

The dark that scared me and he was everything of it and yet so close to me.

I needed to run, far far away.

"I can't... I can't see," I whispered, panic starting to rise in my chest. I reached up to pull the blindfold away, but his hand caught mine, yanking it back down to the bed. His body pressed close behind me, his chest brushing against my back, and I could feel the raw power radiating from him.

"That's the point." he said, his voice dark and commanding.

I flinched as his hands slid down my arms, wrapping around my wrists. In one quick move, he yanked them behind me, holding them tightly together. My pulse thundered in my ears as I felt something cold and firm against my skin - something binding my wrists together.

Leather, his belt.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut - he was tying me up.

"Stop," I whimpered, tugging against the restraints, but he held fast, his grip unyielding. I felt completely exposed, vulnerable in a way I had never been before. "Please - "

"There is a limit to my tolerance of your fucking rebellion little wolf." His voice was sharp, filled with a dark satisfaction as he tied the knot tighter. "I don't give chances, and you have had yours."

I swallowed hard, my mind racing as I struggled to think, to breathe. Every nerve in my body was on high alert, my skin prickling with fear. But beneath the panic, something else stirred - a sensation I didn't want to acknowledge. Something dark. Something dangerous.

"You don't own me," I spat, trying to summon some form of defiance despite the terror clawing at my throat. "You can't just - "

His hand slid around my throat, cutting off my words, his grip firm - infact so tight that I almost thought he would choke me.

I hope not, I didn't want to die like this.

Can I please kill him first?

"I can do whatever the fuck I want to," he whispered against my ear, his breath hot and dangerously close. "And no one will come to your rescue Aira."

A shudder ran through me, my body trembling under his touch. I hated him - hated the way he looked down on me, the way he made me feel, hated that he had so much power over me - not just physically but also the way my body reacted to his words on it's own.

There was something about his presence, something about the raw power he wielded, that made my breath hitch in my throat.

I was powerless, and he knew it.

His hand slid down my back, fingers tracing the curve of my spine, and I gasped at the sensation. My body tensed, every muscle coiled tight as I braced myself for what would come next.

"This is what you are," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "My fucking property little wolf."

His hand came down sharply on my thigh, the sting of the slap sending a jolt through my entire body. I yelped, instinctively trying to move away, but his grip on my throat kept me in place, my body locked in his grasp.

The warning unheard but clear.

Move and inch and I won't live to see the next morning.

"I told you what would happen," he growled, his hand coming down again, harder this time. My skin burned where he struck me, but it was the cold, calculated way he did it - the control in every movement - that sent shivers of fear down my spine.

"You think you can toy with me? Dress into this fucking outfit and let other men see you?" His voice was low, dangerous, as his hand slid up to my waist through the slit in the dress, his fingers digging into my skin. "I decide who gets to touch you. I decide who even gets to look at you."

With a flick of his wrist, he tore the dress through the slit, and I gasped as the fabric fell open, exposing my skin to the cool air. My heart raced as I instinctively fought the urge to cover myself, a blend of embarrassment, anger and something akin to desire flooding my senses.

My hands were bound.

He fucking ripped the dress off me.

I struggled against him, my breath coming in sharp gasps realising I was only left in my inner wear, not even my fucking bra on because the dress didn't need one.

"I am not wearing anything underneath, you asshole." I spat, my voice shaking with both fear and anger though I was sure he could already see that. I was the one with the blindfold on.

"You can't - "

"I own you wolf," he growled, cutting me off as his hand tightened around my throat again, pulling me closer as the dress slipped down my body leaving me bare underneath. "Every part of you belongs to me, but I am the only one who is supposed to see through your body and soul."

I whimpered as his grip on me tightened, the air thick with tension. I was trapped, bound and blindfolded, my body shaking under the weight of his presence. The darkness made everything more intense - every touch, every breath. I could feel his heat behind me, the raw power in his every move.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice like a dark promise. "Say you are fucking sorry for defying me."

I swallowed hard, my heart racing. I hated him for making me feel this way - for making me question my own body's reactions. I hated that some part of me wanted to say the words, just to make this stop - because it was too much to take.

Feeling something I shouldn't for the enemy was making me question my own morals.

But I wouldn't. I couldn't.

"Never," I whispered, my voice trembling but defiant.

I was anything but sorry.

For a long moment, there was silence. And then, without warning, his hand moved, sliding down to my core, his fingers curling on the band of my innerwear - the only peace of clothe I had on with the crimson dress pooling around my legs.

"Apologize little wolf," he murmured darkly.

"I am not sorry for what I did asshole." I gritted out, my hands tied together curling the bedsheet beneath my hands.

I had no idea why I was provoking the monster beneath his handsome face but everything in me refused to back down.

To let him have this part of me surrender to himself.

I was not going to give anything to him and if he wanted to taint my soul, he will have to snatch it from me.

"Apologize and this ends now." His voice has hard and devoid of any emotion.

Everything in it told me that he was trying to restrain but he wasn't going to stop until I did as he said.

"Do your worst." My inner wolf - as he called me wanted to see how far he was willing to go.

Or atleast who breaks or backs first.

I shiver again, but this time it's different. I can't stop thinking about how his eyes will be on me, once the last shred of fabric falls away. How exposed I'll be.

The thought should make me furious. I should be fighting against this. But instead, I feel the heat rise in my chest, a flood of unwanted emotion sweeping through me. I hate it, hate him for making me feel this way. But I can't help it.

The ripping sound echoed through the room and I shuddered at the realisation.

He had torn away the last piece of the cloth I had on.

He steps back, his presence looming over me like a shadow, and I feel the weight of his gaze even though I can't see him. My chest rises and falls with each breath, but it's not enough. Not enough to calm the storm inside me.

He leans down, close to my ear. I feel the warmth of his breath. "You can't run. You can't hide." His hand brushes over my cheek, and for a moment, I think I feel a trace of something softer. But it's gone before I can grasp it, replaced by the cold certainty in his voice.

"I have you now."

And just like that, the ground beneath me shifts, tilting dangerously.

The leather bites into my skin, and I can feel every subtle shift in my body, every breath I take. My chest rises and falls rapidly. His presence presses in on me like a weight - intense, commanding.

"Apologize." His voice is low, colder now, the slight edge of disappointment lacing his words.

I bite my lip, the words I want to say trapped behind the knot of fear in my throat. I want to scream a yes to his question, but the words wouldn't be enough.

Anything I say would just heighten the frustration I know is building inside him unless it's begging and apologizing.

I shook my head and even though I can't see him, I can feel him getting angrier.

His hand brushes my arm, slow and deliberate. "You disobeyed me Aira. Do you know what happens to girl who don't listen?"

I feel the heat of his palm on my skin, but it's not a caress. It's possessive, asserting control. His touch lingers, just enough to make my pulse quicken, to remind me of my place.

"I have told you before," he murmurs, his voice dipping into something darker, "you need to learn how to obey."

I can feel him before he touches me again, then - snap - the sharp crack of his hand landing against my bare thigh.

I gasp, the sting pulsing through my skin, making my muscles tense. My breathing hitches, a mix of shock and something else - something much deeper, something I can't quite place but know all too well.

Hatred and desires can not go hand in hand and yet all that leaves my lips is a fucking yelp instead of curses.

"Is that enough to remind you of who is in charge, Aira?" he asks, his voice low and cold, though there is a trace of something else beneath it. Something that feels almost like... pride?

My throat is tight, words caught. I feel the burn of the slap still lingering on my skin, my body aching from the pressure. The sting isn't just physical. It's deeper than that, a reminder of everything that's happening between us.

I struggle underneath him, gritting my teeth as I attempt to somehow gain control.

"I am sure you don't want a repeat of last time this happened Aira," His cold voice catches me off guard as the flashes of everything that happened in the clubs washroom a year ago comes right in front of my eyes and my struggles vanish.

"I..." My words falter. My chest tightens. "I am not apologizing."

He steps closer, his breath hot against my ear. "And I will make sure you regret it."

I flinch at the words, the weight of them settling deep in my stomach. Every part of me wants to resist, to push back against the weight of his authority. But the small, almost helpless part of me? The rest of me feels something else - something raw, something unfamiliar, but utterly intoxicating.

His fingers curl into my hairs, tugging at them harshly so my face is turned to him. "Do you think you don't deserve this?" His voice is quiet, but there is a dangerous edge to it, a hint of challenge.

"I... I don't know," I admit softly, my voice shaky. The truth feels like an admission of weakness, but it's the only one I can offer right now.

Even if all I wanted to say was that I didn't.

"You don't know?" His voice hardens. "How disappointing. You are not learning fast enough. Maybe I need to make it clearer for you."

Then, without warning, his hand strikes my skin again, the impact sharp and stinging. I gasp, the sudden pain making my body stiffen, my muscles locking in a momentary protest.

"This is what happens when you don't listen," he said, his voice dangerously close to my ear. "All you have to do is apologize, Aira. Say you are sorry, and I will stop."

I bit my lip, the words trapped somewhere between pride and surrender. "No," I managed, though my voice shook.

Silence. The weight of it pressed down on me until I felt like I might shatter from the strain. His hand brushed against my shoulder, sending electricity racing down my skin. I sucked in a breath, determined not to let him see how my body betrayed me, how it craved every second of this twisted punishment.

"Stubborn," he muttered, fingers tracing the line of my collarbone. "Why do you make this so hard on yourself?"

"I hate you," I whispered, even as my resolve wavered. The silence that followed was colder than before, and I knew he was waiting-testing me.

Before I can react, his hand is on my breast, squeezing it roughly, his thumb brushing over the sensitive nipple. The shock of it hits me hard, a rush of heat flooding through my body. I want to pull away, but I can't. My body won't move - locked in place by the tie and his presence, every nerve in me alight with the pressure of his touch.

"You are nothing but a collateral," he murmurs. "A disobedient little girl who thinks she can play by her own rules. And I am going to remind you what happens to little girls who forget who they belong to."

Another slap. The sharp sound of his palm against my breast. A gasp catches in my throat, the sting almost unbearable. But somehow, in the midst of it, there is a strange sense of clarity. I do belong to him, in this moment, in this space. His hands are a reminder of that truth.

"Stop," I finally whisper, but I don't know if I am asking him to stop, or begging myself to stop feeling the way I do. The desperation in my voice is real. I don't want to feel this - this wild pull, this helplessness. But it's there, gnawing at me, growing in the dark corners of my mind.

It was unbearable, twisting and knotting until I could barely breathe.

"Please," I gasped finally, not realizing I had said it until I felt his touch ease, the leather loosening around my wrists.

"Say it," he urged harshly, his tone demanding, as if he was restraining himself from doing worse.

"I am sorry," I whispered, the admission heavy and raw.

The binding slipped from my wrists and eyes and I barely glanced at him, my face flushed with embarrassment and relief. His eyes met mine, holding me captive as he reached out, fingers brushing against the heat of my cheek.

"Wasn't that hard, was it?" he asked with a smirk adorning his face, the faintest trace of satisfaction in his voice.

He stepped back, giving me space to breathe, to gather the shattered pieces of my composure. A warm cloth appeared in his hand, and I watched, dazed, as he gently cleaned the tear I hadn't realized had streaked down my cheek.

"Now," he said, his eyes softening just a fraction, "put on the dress I bought you."

My cheeks burned hotter as I nodded, the fight drained from me.

Once he moved out of the room, I made a run to the walk in closet and covered myself with my innerwear as soon as I can.

My inner self was confusing me. I was feeling things I shouldn't for someone like him.

My body seemed to have a mind of it's own and it scared me. The fact that I felt aroused by the stunt he pulled right now scared me to my death.

I somehow stepped out of the closet and moved to the corner where the baby pink dress lay draped across the chair, its delicate fabric glistening like water under the moon. I slipped it on, the cool silk calming the heat of my skin.

I looked at myself in the mirror, I looked like a ghost of myself but atleast the hairs and the makeup was still intact.

When I turned back, he was already at the door, waiting, his anger still simmering but tempered with something I couldn't name.

"Let's go," he said, eyes raking over me one last time, approving and possessive.

I followed, my heart still racing, the echo of my surrender pulsing through me as we stepped out into the world once more-him with that triumphant gleam in his eye, and me, flushed, embarrassed, and utterly aware of the power he held over me.

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Chapter 16 to 23 are available on stck.me so if you use that site, you can read the chapters there.

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