Chapter Twenty Six
Author's pov;
The sun pierced through the sky with an almost cruel brightness, burning away the memories of last night's storm.
Outside, the world seemed to have been washed clean, pristine, unaware of the chaos brewing inside the mansion.
But Aansh's mind was far from the calm light of morning.
Every second of last night's torment replayed vividly-the way Ria had trembled, the way her eyes had pleaded, the fragile, quivering curves of her body pressed to the floor.
Weakness. Fragility. Helplessness. Every instinct inside him recoiled, hated, and yet. .. burned with a dangerous fascination.
A knock at the door snapped him out of the memory.
Once, twice, thrice. Irritation flared instantly.
Whoever must be at the door hated their life.
He swung the door open, the weight of his glare almost tangible.
"What?" His voice was low, sharp, dangerous, cutting through the morning air like a blade.
Avantika froze, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I... I'm sorry, Aansh. I thought you weren't around."
"Can I help you?" he said without looking at her, his tone flat, void of any patience.
"I'm looking for Ria... I haven't seen her in the kitchen," she said cautiously, trying to peer past him.
"How am I supposed to know she is?" he snapped, slamming the door in her face before she could even speak. The sound echoed, sharp and final, leaving silence heavy and oppressive.
Aansh moved toward the mirror, adjusting his watch with meticulous precision. His gaze wasn't on the reflection-it was on the memory, on her. Her trembling body, her weakness. Her helplessness. Vulnerability. He clenched his jaw.
The balcony door slid open under his hand, and there she was.
Crawled against the cold stone, small, fragile, pale.
Her lips quivered as though even breathing was a struggle.
Her kurti had fallen open slightly, exposing the flawless curve of her back.
Yet she clutched it to herself with a desperate tenacity, hiding from prying eyes, even in unconsciousness.
He crouched beside her, the world narrowing to the soft rise and fall of her chest, the quivering of her fingers.
He lifted her chin with one precise motion, forcing her face toward him.
"I hate weakness," he said, voice low, sharp, almost venomous.
"I hate fragility, helplessness, dependence.
I hate the way it burns in my mind. And you.
.. you are everything I despise. You are weakness made in flesh, vulnerability incarnate.
You are everything I want to destroy and yet. .. cannot stop watching."
He let go of her chin, but his eyes never left her.
Even unconscious, she burned him with a dangerous heat.
He swept her up as though she weighed nothing, carrying her with a precision that masked the dark storm inside him.
In the bedroom, he laid her on the bed, covering her with the blanket. His gaze lingered on her delicate face.
"If it weren't for my grandfather," he muttered, teeth clenched, "I wouldn't give a damn if you lived or died. Nothing. You exist only because he allows it."
A small button pressed, summoning a maid. She appeared immediately.
"Yes, sir?"
"Get her a doctor," he said, his tone calm, measured, but lethal. "And once she wakes... change the bed dressing. My bed is sacred." No one has ever laid on my bed, it was sacred.....except her. Without another glance, he left, the room settling into a silence as heavy as a tomb.
---
Aansh made his way to the warehouse, his speed dangerous fast. The warehouse smelled of iron, blood, and fear.
The man waiting for him had been beaten to the edge of death, barely breathing, barely alive.
To Aansh, blood wasn't just red liquid-it was art, a chaotic masterpiece, proof of dominance, proof of control, proof that anyone who dared touch what was his would be erased.
He slid on his black gloves, heart hammering not with fear but with anticipation. He slowly started inspecting the weapons on the table.
"You have two options," he said, his voice low, deliberate. "Tell me why you followed my wife... or I will give you a death so agonizing, it will redefine pain. Either way... you die."
The man laughed, ego clinging to him like a shield. "Come on... can you blame me? She's- hot."
Red fog consumed Aansh. Fury burned, hot and lethal. He closed the distance. His fists moved faster than thought, each punch precise, brutal, crushing bone, knocking teeth free, breaking jaw, shattering pride. The man crumpled until he almost lost his unconscious, but Aansh was far from done.
"Bring the molten lava," he ordered. The men scrambled, terrified, shaking at the sheer coldness in his tone.
The molten lava hissed and bubbled. He forced the man's hand into it, watching flesh melt, sinew dissolve, listening to the screams that clawed at the air. Pleas, cries, curses-ignored. He leaned close, fingers gripping the man's throat.
"She carries my name," he hissed, voice thick with obsession and ownership. "She is wearing my sindoor, every breath, every step she takes belongs to me..... you dared to shamelessly look at my wife, walk on the ground she touched. Your eyes will never see the sun again."
With surgical precision, he removed the man's eyes. Crimson surged, and he smirked, enjoying the chaos, the proof of control. He discarded the body like trash.
"Make sure his wife sees this," he said under his breath, gloves off.
---
Aansh went upstairs and decided to take a cold shower, washing away the man's filthy blood, sweat, and rage-but never the storm inside. After his shower, Aansh wore a black trousers, fitted black shirt, hugging the lean, lethal lines of his body.
Aansh made his way to the car and slid into it, he slowly started pulling out his phone and played CCTV footage: Ria's small and fragile body walking into the mansion, a shadow was closely following her.
He felt rage, obsession. He ground his teeth.
What annoyed him more is the fact that ria didn't notice that someone was following her. Stupid girl, aansh whispered.
As he watched the footage, he saw how the guards had looked at her body.
He saw red. He shut the footage and immediately made a phone call.
"Kill all guards at the gate last night.
Hire new ones. Fire the driver responsible for her.
" with that, he threw his phone in the back feeling disgusted.
He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
"I fucking despise you, but why do I care if other men look at you?
" This question haunted Aansh's mind over and over again.
"I will break you, that's my promise." Aansh spoke venom lacing with each word.
What is this feeling Aansh is suddenly having towards ria, is it obsession or possessiveness???
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What do you guys think about this chapter, and if you want to continue to the next chapter, I want atleast 15 comments and 100 votes on this chapter, less than that, am not going to update the next chapter.