Chapter 22
PRASHANT
She wanted to marry me.
She forced herself into my life. Hijacked it like it was hers to own.
I was sitting in a mandap about to start a life with someone else, when she showed up draped in lies, every word she spoke a carefully placed knife to my throat. She didn't just disrupt the wedding but she destroyed it.
In front of a hundred guests, family, friends, she spun her story. That she was pregnant with my child.
Pregnant.
Fucking impossible. I hadn't touched her in three years. Not even once. So how the hell was she carrying my child?
Simple answer: she wasn't carrying my child and damn she was not even pregnant.
She lied and manipulated everyone. She laced her venom into the ears of those closest to me, and they believed her. Because that's what Ira does. She makes people believe her lies.
And me? I married her.
Not because I loved her. Not even because I hated her. But because once again, I let her win.
I offered her a way out. I gave her the chance to walk away, to stay far the fuck away from me. But she didn't take it. No. She came back. And when she did, I made damn sure she saw what I'd become.
The version of me no one else sees. The monster that crawled out of hell with rage in its eyes and rot in its soul.
Because I was no longer that charming, golden boy anymore. That man died a long time ago. He bled out in silence, alone, buried beneath the wreckage of everything he lost.
What's left now?
Something unrecognizable. A shadow. A twisted version of who I used to be, made up of rage, regret, and a darkness so deep, it claws at my insides just to be felt.
For three months, I lived in torment. I saw things no one even wished to see that in their nightmare. I saw things I was unable to erase from my mind. I couldn't escape that and I couldn't escape me. Those three months changed me. Unmade me.
You don't just walk away from certain things. Some scars are too deep. Some memories were too vile. They infest your brain like parasites and feed on what's left of your sanity.
There were nights I wanted to rip my own skin off. Just to stop feeling and just to breathe.
But the mind? It's a prison. You don't escape it but you rot in it.
When I slammed the door open that night, I wasn't expecting to see her there. But of course she was.
Sitting on my bed like she belonged. Her back was straight, and chin high. She looked regal and defiant. Like a fucking queen taking back her kingdom.
She didn't flinch, and didn't move. Just stared at me like I was the villain in her story.
And maybe I am.
But she wrote this script.
She had the chance to walk away. The choice to leave me buried in peace. But she came back again.
Maybe she wanted the war. Maybe I did too.
Ira.
She was wrapped in a violet saree like temptation personified. She looked wild, beautiful, and untouchable. But I knew her. Underneath that icy calm, she was trembling. Because tonight was our first night as husband and wife. And I wasn't the man she remembered.
"Prashant, listen..." She stood up.
She barely got the words out before I crossed the room, closing the space between us in two strides. My presence cast a shadow over her. My silence was louder than any scream.
"You wanted to marry me?" My voice was quiet. It was too quiet, the kind of quiet that precedes a storm.
"Yes." Her voice was barely audible.
"Then why didn't you say yes three years ago?" I murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She shivered at my touch. A response she couldn't fake.
"Because..."
I cut her off. "Because Aryan was still around, right? Because he didn't reject you. Because he worshipped the ground you walked on. Because he was your perfect boyfriend. Because he loved you."
"Prashant, please..." she whispered, her jaw trembling as she fought to hold herself together.
But it was too late for mercy.
I smirked. She was the storm once. Now she was facing a hurricane. And the most fucked-up part of it all? I still wanted her.
Even in this chaos. Even after everything. Even when hate wrapped itself around my spine like armor... there was a small part of me that wanted her to never leave again.
And that was the part I hated most.
I gripped her shoulders, my gaze drilling into hers.
"You've used me again, Ira. Always. Like a discarded tissue.
When your precious boyfriend was out of the picture, you craved me to sate your dark fantasies, no strings attached.
Now he's married to Avni. And now you want me back?
You've always been a selfish bitch, Ira.
You toyed with my heart, my damn feelings, my very body. "
"Prashant, I was so confused..." Her voice, a choked whisper, caught in her throat, her eyes brimming with a theatrical display of tears.
But I wouldn't be swayed by that performance.
They were fake, just like every fleeting emotion she'd ever shown.
She'd probably just slither into the arms of the next fool who offered comfort.
"Turn around," I commanded, my voice flat. A faint frown creased her perfect brow.
"Uh..."
"I said, turn around, now," I barked, and she instantly obeyed, a tremble running through her.
"Are you comfortable having sex with me?
" I asked, my fingers already gathering the delicate fabric of her saree, lifting it to expose the sliver of pink lace beneath.
God, she was flawless, breathtaking in her unwilling surrender.
"Yes." A sharp gasp escaped her lips as I yanked her underwear down her legs, then squeezed the soft curve of her buttock. "But not like this."
"You want me to stop...?" I drawled, dipping a finger deep into her, feeling the wet, slick folds immediately clench around me. She was already pulsating, a hungry little throb.
"No..." she whispered, her fingers splayed against the cool plaster of the wall, clawing subtly as I replaced one finger with two.
"How long have you been celibate?" I rasped, the tightness around my fingers an intoxicating lure.
"Three years," she mumbled, her back arching subtly, biting back a moan that threatened to escape. She liked it; she always had. My hand, her most intimate space.
"Haven't you fucked Aryan?" The name was a deliberate barb, a taste of the bitterness still lingering.
"No!" She barked. "Mind your language," she chastised, but my open palm connected sharply with her butt cheek, a stinging reminder of who held the power here.
"Oh, Dimples!" The sound was torn from her, a mix of pain and pleasure.
I rotated my hand, a rough, insistent friction that drew more of her hidden juice to the surface.
She was getting wetter, slicker, filling my entire hand with her undeniable need.
Her legs began to tremble, pressing her cheek against the wall, soft moans escaping like trapped birds.
I liked her defiant, dominant spirit, but I loved her surrendering to my touch even more.
"Dimples..." she cried out, a raw sound of desperate pleasure, as I inserted a third finger, my jaw clenching against the sudden rush.
We were still fully clothed, yet the heat in the room was a palpable, living thing.
Her ass shook, her legs trembled uncontrollably as I fucked her with my fingers.
The air thickened with her scent, a potent, primal mix of arousal and her unique fragrance that always drove me to the edge.
I watched her face, a canvas of conflicting pleasure and pain, and a dark, vengeful satisfaction coiled in my gut.
This was it. This was the reckoning for every time she'd casually discarded me.
Before she could crest, before she could find that release, I unzipped my pants.
In one fluid, brutal motion, I thrust straight inside her from behind.
A choked cry tore from her throat, but I covered her mouth with my hand, muffling the sound as I began to pound her deeper, harder, rougher against the unforgiving wall.
"Ah...mm..." Her cry was a strangled whimper beneath my palm as I buried myself, fully, completely inside her.
I'd never been this hard, this consumed.
Ira was the only woman I just took, and she was here, now.
I was taking her, angrily, savagely, against the wall because she deserved it.
She deserved to be punished for pushing me away, for making a mockery of my feelings, for weaponizing my very soul against me.
I hated her, and I would remind her of that hatred with every breath she took, with every thrust I delivered.
I grabbed a fistful of her hair, twisting her head back, forcing her face to meet mine, and kissed her, a brutal, unyielding press of my mouth against hers. "Am I rough, Warrior?" I asked with a sneer, my voice a low growl against her lips.
Tears, thick and hot, welled in her eyes, but she stubbornly shook her head, refusing to acknowledge the pain.
Too proud to admit it, wasn't she? I sneered again and plunged into her harder.
Her body convulsed forward, her chin wobbled precariously, her perfect brows creased in a contortion of pain, and her eyes rolled back behind her eyelids, a silent testament to the exquisite pleasure she was fighting.
I liked that she liked it. I pulled my palm away from her mouth, replacing it with another bruising kiss, dragging my tongue around her lips, then her cheeks, tasting the salty tears that tracked down her face.
Again, I kissed her, but she didn't kiss me back.
Her body remained rigid against mine, a taut string vibrating with every merciless thrust. The only sounds in the suffocating room were our ragged breaths and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.
"Am I disrespectful to you, Warrior?" I asked her, my voice laced with venom. She nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound that scraped against my throat, and kissed her rough again, bruising her petal-like lips. "Have you ever earned it?"
I broke our kiss, glaring down at her, forcing her to meet my gaze. She didn't reply, biting her lower lip, her eyes fixed somewhere beyond my shoulder, anywhere but mine. "Have I always disrespected you?"
She shook her head, a low moan escaping when I gave her a sudden, deep pound, driving into her with a force that stole her breath.
Her fingers clawed against the wall, leaving faint marks, as she bit into her lower lip, a silent scream of both pleasure and agony.
My free hand reached down, finding her aching clitoris, and began to rub hard.
Her hips bucked, her back curving sensuously against me.
I wanted to rip her saree, to feel her soft skin, every inch of it, against mine, but that wasn't the point tonight.
First, she needed to learn I wasn't some sort of toy she could play with, to have me when she desired, to discard me when boredom struck.
"Ah!!!" She gasped, her head falling back against the cold wall.
"You like it, Warrior. You like me inside you, don't you? You like how perfectly we fit each other."
"I hate you," she hissed, her voice strained, raw. "I hate you for making me feel like this."
"What am I making you feel, Warrior?" I pushed deeper, the friction intoxicating, building into an unbearable pressure.
"Like a sex toy," she breathed out, her words punctuated by sharp, desperate gasps. "You've never taken me like that before. You've always been tender, a gentleman, but I hate this side..." I squeezed her ass roughly, her moan cutting her off. "...of yours."
"You like war..." I rasped, holding back my own guttural groan, the edge of my orgasm building, threatening to shatter my control.
I sped up, a furious, final rhythm. After a few more shattering thrusts, I came, a hot, forceful gush of my seed deep inside her.
My breath tore from my lungs in ragged shuddering gasps.
I could feel her body trembling beneath me, registering the intimate warmth of my release.
Slowly, reluctantly, I pulled out, the sensation of her tightness lingering, a phantom embrace. I carefully put down her saree, smoothing the fabric over her, then turned and walked away, leaving her discarded against the wall, a silent, trembling testament to the brutal war we had just waged.
______