It had been four in the morning.

Four.

Oh god, this was so fucked up.

So completely, irreversibly fucked up.

The air in the room felt heavy, thick with the scent of spent adrenaline, smoke, and a desperate, suffocating attachment.

I couldn't even breathe now.

Every draft of air entering my lungs felt like scraping glass against my raw throat.

And Ishaan...

He was an unhinged, starving monster.

There was no other word for what he became when the dark sky took over, when the ghosts of the past two years caught up to his cold, calculating mind.

He had been fucking me for the past four hours like crazy, driven by a relentless, consuming hunger that seemed less about desire and more about a desperate need to anchor my existence to his own.

Now, I was entirely exhausted.

My limbs felt heavy, detached, as if my body didn't fully belong to me anymore.

Just moments ago, I had been pinned against the cold wall of my bedroom, lifted completely into his arms while he channeled every ounce of his possessive fury into a relentless, exhausting fucking that felt designed to shake the very life out of me.

My whole body was flushed a deep, burning red.

Every inch of my skin felt hyper-sensitive, covered in his dark biting marks, deep bruises, and places where the friction had left me bleeding and raw.

The physical toll of his obsession was laid out across my skin like a map of his anger.

My body felt entirely ruined, aching to its absolute limit under the weight of his unyielding demands.

The internal ache in my pussy constant, throbbing reminder of how completely he had dominated the night.

I felt like I was going to die.

I was going to fucking die under the sheer volume of his intensity, crushed beneath the weight of a man who didn't know how to love without destroying everything he touched.

And he...

He was long gone into the red depth of his own mind, operating on pure, lawless instinct.

Suddenly, he moved.

He carried me away from the wall, stepping toward the bed once again with a heavy, deliberate stride.

It was as if he hadn't truly felt me yet, as if no matter how close he got, the phantom distance of our separation still haunted him.

He climbed onto the mattress with me held tightly in his arms, never letting the physical connection break for a single second.

And now, once more, I was pinned to the bed beneath him.

The white sheets felt coarse against my raw skin, my body aching with an absolute, localized agony that made even the smallest shift a form of torture.

I lay there, crying and sobbing into the quiet of the room, my tears wetting his broad, scarred shoulders as he finally, suddenly withdrew his heavy presence from me.

I gasped out loud, a sharp, ragged sound breaking from my chest as the sudden absence of his weight hit my nervous system.

Finally.

God damnit, finally, the physical assault had ceased.

And then, in the suffocating silence that followed.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasp: "Baby... are you sore?"

I froze to death.

The words seemed to hang in the damp air of the bedroom like a physical blow.

My eyes widened to their absolute limit, my lips parting in sheer, unadulterated disbelief.

Our eyes met finally.

The dim, gray light of the approaching dawn caught the deep, blood-shot red of his glare, and looking at his calm, questioning expression, my blood boiled with an absolute, terrific limit.

The exhaustion vanished, replaced by a white-hot flash of pure, localized rage.

I glared at him, my voice shaking with a dangerous intensity: "What the fuck did you just say?"

He smirked.

God, that fucking smirk—that arrogant, mocking curve of his lips that he used whenever he wanted to hide the wreckage inside his own chest.

I wanted to kill him right fucking now for even asking that fucking question, for acting as if the past four hours of absolute physical destruction could be summarized by such a clinical, patronizing inquiry.

I didn't wait.

Driven by an impulse that ignored the agonizing ache in my limbs, I moved.

The next second, my hand shot up, my fingers wrapping around his ear, and with every ounce of strength left in my shaking fingers, I twisted it hard.

He froze beneath my touch, his massive frame instantly locking up as the unexpected pain registered.

And then, the unhinged monster let out a low, involuntary whimper of genuine discomfort.

"Ouch... baby, what the fuck?" he rasped, his head tilting to ease the pressure of my grip. "Leave my ear... it's hurting..."

I yelled directly into his face, my voice cracking with emotion: "Hurting? You bastard... you have been fucking me for four hours... and you had the audacity to ask me if I'm sore or not?"

Suddenly, a low, breathy chuckle vibrated in his chest.

Hearing it, my frustration spiked.

I knew it—it wasn't truly hurting him.

This was a man who took bullets like painkillers, who walked through fire and corporate warfare without blinking an eye.

He was only letting me hurt him because it amused him, because my small display of violence was the only thing that proved I still had the energy to fight him.

He leaned down further, nuzzling his sharp nose against the sensitive skin of my throat, his voice dropping into a dark, heavy whisper: "I know, little kitten... but I asked you... it happened with your consent, right?"

I froze completely against the pillows, my heart stopping in my chest.

Consent?

What the hell was he saying?

And when did he ever not have my consent?

Even when he was at his most brutal, even when his anger was a physical force breaking through my defenses, he knew every single part of my soul belonged to him.

He knew I chose the destruction.

I whispered, my voice trembling as the strange, underlying gravity of his words hit me: "Where is this coming from... Ishaan? What do you mean by consent...?"

His jaw tightened instantly, the muscle along his jawline locked into a hard, rigid block of bone.

His eyes were entirely blood-shot red, burning with a deep-seated agony that had nothing to do with the night's lust.

Without answering, he buried his face deep into the crook of my neck, his hot breath scalding my skin as he held me with a sudden, crushing desperation.

My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

What the hell was happening inside his head?

The sudden shift from the predatory beast to this heavy, suffocating despair was dizzying.

I wrapped my shaking arms around his massive torso, pulling his heavy weight down against me despite the ache in my bones.

I hugged him tightly, anchoring him to my chest as I whispered into his dark hair: "Talk to me, please... why did you even say that...?"

He didn't say a word.

He only held me tighter, his long arms wrapping around my waist and back with a brutal force that drove the remaining air from my lungs.

My breath stopped.

I couldn't even process anything anymore, caught in the terrifying vacuum of his silence.

I whispered again, my voice breaking into a sob: "Ishaan, please... talk to me... please, tell me what's going on..."

Finally, his shoulders trembled against my chest, and he murmured, his voice a broken, hollow echo of its usual authority: "Two years back... the day I took you to the hospital... after the doctor was done checking your body... by looking at your bruises and everything... they said..."

He paused, his chest heaving as he took a deep, ragged breath that rattled through his throat.

He choked on his breath, the raw vulnerability of the sound tearing through the quiet room before he whispered the final, devastating truth: "They said... I raped you."

My breath hitched instantly.

My eyes widened in absolute horror, my lips parting as a sharp, silent gasp tore from my throat.

My throat tightened until it felt completely blocked, my heart pounding so violently against my ribs that I felt it would burst straight through my skin.

I whispered, the words tasting like ash: "What the fuck..."

I couldn't even believe my ears.

The room seemed to spin around me, the gray light of dawn turning into a sickening, chaotic blur.

As he continued to murmur against my skin, his voice tight with an old, festering wound: "Rudra told me yesterday in the office..."

My heart kept pounding against my ribs.

So this was the reason.

This was the hidden, toxic catalyst behind his madness.

This was the reason why all of them—Rudra, Ishir, the entire inner circle—had agreed to my demands so easily once before, when I had told them with a tear-stained face that I wanted to leave his side.

They hadn't been protecting me from his anger; they had been viewing him as a criminal who had crossed the ultimate, unforgivable line with the woman he claimed to love.

Oh god... oh my god.

I couldn't even breathe under the crushing weight of the realization.

Tears spilled from my eyes, hot and fast, soaking into his dark hair.

I couldn't even process the reality of the situation.

He had been accused of raping me?

The corporate empire, the untouchable Ishaan Khanna, had been carrying the silent, devastating brand of that accusation in the shadows of his own circle?

Oh god, this was so absurd.

This was so deeply, thoroughly fucked up.

My heart was aching with an absolute limit, a sharp, localized pain that had nothing to do with my physical body.

Why the fuck had nobody ever told me?

Why had Rudra kept this filth hidden from me for two entire years, letting the guilt eat away at the margins of Ishaan's sanity until he became the unhinged monster standing before me?

Oh god, my heart ached for him so deeply it made me forget my own raw skin.

I couldn't even process the depth of the damage it had caused.

I tightened my grip on his back, my fingers clawing at his skin as I whispered, my voice commanding despite the tears: "Look at me."

He didn't move.

He kept his face buried in my neck, refusing to show me the wreckage behind his eyes.

My heart was beating fast, a dangerous, protective maternal instinct mixing with my own fury.

I whispered-growled, using the full weight of my voice to break through his defenses: "I said... fucking look at me, Ishaan Khanna."

And then, slowly, with a heavy, agonizing reluctance, he lifted his head and looked at me.

And then, I froze completely.

My chest tightened with an absolute, terrific limit, the air catching in my lungs as the sight shattered the last of my composure.

Because Ishaan—the ruthless, untouchable tyrant who commanded empires and handled violence like a daily chore—his eyes were entirely red. Blood-shot red, burning with an insufferable agony.

And tears... they slowly spilled from his eyes, thick and heavy, directly falling onto my face, mixing with my own tears across my cheeks.

My hands were shaking uncontrollably as I reached up, my palms cupping his rough, stubbled jawline to wipe his tears away with my thumbs.

His jaw tightened under my touch, his muscles contracting into rigid knots as he held me with a crushing, desperate grip.

I whispered, looking directly into the crimson depth of his gaze: "You... you never did. You know that right?"

He choked on his own tears, a harsh, broken sound escaping his throat as he spoke, his voice completely unraveled: "I... I know... I know... but I feel like... I somehow did."

I froze to death against the mattress, a cold, terrifying shiver running straight through my spine.

My heart was pounding like a frantic drum.

How... how could he even think like that?

How could a man so absolute in his convictions let the systemic filth of an external accusation warp his own memory of our shared, chaotic dark world?

He whispered, the words spilling out like a confession from a dying man: "Whatever I did that night... I did against your wish... I punished you..."

I cut him off instantly, my voice rising in desperation: "No... please..."

But he cut me off right back, his voice shifting into a whispered growl that vibrated with a lifetime of self-hatred: "It's true... I did it. That's why you tried to kill yourself... because..."

"Shut the fuck up!" I yelled, my voice shattering the quiet of the early morning. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I grabbed his jaw with both hands, using every ounce of my remaining strength to pull his massive head down, and I crashed my lips onto his.

It wasn't a kiss of desire; it was a desperate, violent attempt to seal his lips, to stop the poisonous words from leaving his mouth and ruining the only reality that kept us alive.

He kissed me back with a frantic, unhinged hunger, his teeth scraping against mine as I could still feel his continuous tears falling onto my face.

I held him tightly, locking my fingers into his hair until the movement slowed, the frantic energy between us settling into a heavy, suffocating grief.

Slowly, I let go of his mouth, though I didn't allow him to pull away.

Our foreheads remained pressed against each other, our noses and lips brushing together with every ragged breath we drew.

I murmured, my voice shaking but absolute.

"Listen to me very carefully... you never did that. And yes... you did punish me. You were cruel, you were angry..." I paused, swallowing the lump of iron in my throat. "But that wasn't the reason I did whatever I did... you know the real reason too. It had nothing to do with your touch."

He choked again, his breath hot against my mouth as he whispered: "But... but... nobody else knows it."

I cut him off again, my eyes locking onto his with a fierce, uncompromising loyalty: "And they don't have to fucking know it! This is us. This is how we do things to each other. This is our sickness, Ishaan."

He shook his head violently against mine, his lips twisting into a bitter, self-destructive grimace as he whispered.

"No... this is me. I'm this crazy, unhinged bastard... I can't fucking control my anger. I lose it every single time." He paused, his chest heaving as he delivered his own self-indictment. "And I... I... I end up hurting you... and destroying us both."

I sobbed out loud, the pain in my chest far outweighing the physical agony of my raw body.

I whispered, my voice breaking into a plea: "Stop it... please... I'm begging you. Why are you talking like this?"

He whispered, his eyes dropping as the cold, clinical distance returned to his face: "Because... this is the truth, little kitten."

With that, he let go of me completely.

The sudden absence of his heat felt like a physical drop in temperature.

He shifted his massive frame, stepping off the center of the bed until he sat on the edge of the mattress, his back turned to me, his shoulders hunched under a weight I couldn't lift.

I lay there frozen in the center of the white sheets, my heart hammering against my ribs like crazy.

The gray light of four-thirty in the morning was slowly illuminating the room, exposing the physical wreckage of our encounter.

Slowly, using my forearms for leverage, I tried to sit up.

The moment my weight shifted, a sharp, white-hot line of agony shot through my pelvis, my swollen pussy and bruised thighs protesting the movement.

I hissed in pain, my teeth clenching together as a small whimper escaped my lips.

He growled instantly without turning around, his voice laced with a bitter, self-loathing fury: "Did you see? Go and look at yourself in the mirror... I have destroyed you."

I yelled back, my frustration breaking through my physical limitations: "Fucking stop it already! What is wrong with you?"

Suddenly, he stood up from the edge of the bed.

He grabbed a dark towel from the side table, wrapping it loosely around his wide hips with a swift, aggressive motion.

He didn't look at me as he walked toward the dresser, his long fingers reaching into his discarded pants to take out a cigar and his lighter.

He struck the flint, the small flame illuminating the sharp, rigid lines of his tightened jaw before he lit it up.

He smoked, drawing the heavy, dark tobacco into his lungs and exhaling a thick cloud of gray smoke toward the ceiling.

My chest was tightening to the point of agony.

I couldn't take this silence anymore, because looking at his rigid back, I could see the truth—he was drowning in a sea of absolute guilt.

And that guilt was hurting me more than anything else in the world.

It was hurting more than my current physical condition, more than the bruises on my skin, more than the blood on my lips.

It was killing me to see the monster broken by a lie.

I looked at him from the center of the bed, my voice dropping into a desperate whisper: "Ishaan... talk to me."

Suddenly, he roared, turning around with a violent velocity that made the gray smoke swirl around his head: "What do you want me to say, little kitten? Tell me!"

I jumped slightly against the pillows, my heart pounding at the sheer volume of his rage.

I sobbed, pulling the sheets up to cover my bare, bruised breasts as I whispered: "We need to talk... normal people, they talk and they sort things out."

He growled, taking another heavy drag of his cigar, his bloodshot eyes locking onto mine: "But I'm not normal... I'm completely fucked up."

I yelled back, refusing to let him retreat into his self-imposed isolation: "No... you are not! And you need to talk for god's sake!"

He stared at me for a long, heavy moment, his broad chest heaving as his breathing remained heavily agitated.His jaw tightened until the bone looked ready to snap.

With a slow, predatory stride, he came toward the bed, the heavy smoke trailing behind him like a dark shroud.

He sat beside me on the mattress, the tobacco scent filling my senses as he reached out suddenly.

His large hand tangled into my long, messy hair, yanking my head backwards with a harsh pressure that forced me to look up into his dark face.

I hissed in pain, my scalp burning under his fingers.

He growled, his face just inches from mine, his breath smelling of bitter tobacco and ash: "Don't fucking provoke me, little bird... I'm not in a fucking mood."

I cried, my tears wetting his knuckles as I looked into his unhinged eyes: "Why are you like this...?"

He let go of my hair with a sudden, careless shove, turning his face away as he exhaled another stream of smoke. "Because I'm a fucking psychotic, obsessed bastard... I can't fucking help it."

I cried harder, my body shaking against the pillows as the toxic reality of our connection was laid bare between us.

He whispered, his voice dropping into a cold, clinical assessment that cut deeper than any physical blow: "We are in a fucking toxic relationship, little kitten... I just told you the truth... and you are trying to find someone else to blame."

My blood boiled at his words, the sheer unfairness of his guilt turning into an aggressive defense of the man who was currently holding me captive.

I yelled back, my voice echoing off the walls: "You want me to blame you? Easy... done! You screwed up, Ishaan. Again!"

I paused, my chest tightening as the tears threatened to choke my words.

I yelled, my heart breaking for the choice I was making: "You put me in a position where I have to defend you again!"

He didn't say a single word.

He just sat there, his massive chest heaving in the gray light as he smoked his cigar, acting as if nothing was happening, as if my words weren't tearing through his defenses.

I yelled again, my voice cracking with the weight of my own broken boundaries.

"A position where I have to bend my morals again!" I paused, my eyes burning as I delivered the final blow: "Where I have to go against every single damn thing that I believe in... again!"

Finally, he turned around, his charcoal eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the room lose its air.

Our eyes met, his jaw locked tight.

I yelled, the truth tearing out of my throat like a confession: "Because I love you!"

His jaw tightened even further, his knuckles turning completely white as his hands clenched into fists against his knees.

He didn't blink.

He just stared at me through the gray haze of smoke before he whispered, his voice a cold, dead instrument: "Well then... stop fucking loving me."

My chest tightened to the point of physical suffocation.

The rejection was a physical blow that broke the last of my strength.

I buried my face into my knees, pulling my legs up against my chest as I cried hysterically, the sound muffled by the fabric of the sheets.

I whispered-yelled into the dark space of my own lap: "I can't... I just fucking can't..."

I cried harder, my shoulders shaking with a desperate, localized grief, as his voice drifted over me, delivered with a flat, terrifying finality: "Don't worry... I will leave soon. To Russia... with Adrian, Ava, and Nina."

My breath stopped instantly.

I froze to death inside my own skin, my mind refusing to process the words.

What did he just say?

Russia?

Leaving?

With the rest of his inner circle?

My throat tightened until I couldn't even swallow my own saliva.

I slowly looked up from my knees, my tear-stained face exposed to the gray dawn.

He was already looking at me, his gaze unmoving.

For a fraction of a second, his blood-shot eyes softened, the monster receding to show the raw, bleeding human underneath, before his jaw tightened once more to mask the vulnerability.

I whispered, my voice dropping into a dangerous, shaking register: "What the fuck did you just say?"

He looked directly into my eyes and said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion: "I will leave... so that you can live."

I let out a harsh, bitter chuckle, the sheer absurdity of his martyrdom driving me past the brink of sanity.

Fresh tears spilled from my eyes as I looked at him in absolute disbelief.

I said, my voice dripping with an aggressive, defensive venom: "So... you came back here to fuck me for the last time like the whore you think I am... so you can finally leave like a coward once again?"

He stood up instantly, the towel shifting around his hips as his massive frame towered over the bed.

His jaw tightened to the point of cracking as he glared down at me, the unhinged monster returning with an absolute, terrifying velocity.

He roared, the sound rattling the glass panes of the windows: "What the fuck did you just call yourself?"

I flinched at the volume, but the rage inside my own blood wouldn't allow me to back down.

I stood up from the bed, ignoring the sharp, localized agony that shot through my swollen pussy and bruised thighs as my feet touched the cold hardwood floor.

I didn't look at him.

My feet were aching, my legs shaking with an absolute, terrific limit as I forced myself to walk toward the open door of the walk-in closet.

He followed me inside instantly, his heavy footsteps a dangerous echo behind mine in the narrow, mirror-lined space.

I began frantically rummaging through the racks, my hands shaking so hard I could barely grip the hangers, desperate to find a clean t-shirt to cover my ruined body.

I couldn't even stand properly, my whole body shivering from the cold air and the emotional wreckage.

He stood at the entrance of the closet, his massive frame blocking the exit as he yelled again, his voice filling the confined space: "I asked you... what the fuck did you say?"

I yelled back, turning my head to glare at him through the mirrors: "I called you a fucking coward! You fucked up asshole!"

He roared back, stepping closer until his heat was a suffocating pressure against my back: "I heard that! I'm asking you what the fuck did you call yourself?"

My blood boiled past the point of restraint.

I grabbed a handful of clothes from the rack and threw them violently onto the floor, half of my wardrobe scattering across his feet.

My chest was heaving, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps as I turned around to face him fully.

Our eyes met in the tight space.

He was boiling in pure, unadulterated rage, his veins popping along his forehead and neck.

I yelled directly into his face, stripping away every shred of my own dignity to match his self-hatred.

"I called myself a pathetic, disgusting whore! Who can't stop herself from getting fucked by you!" I paused, my chest falling and rising frantically as I delivered the final, toxic truth: "I'm a slut who spreads her legs for you every single time you're around!"

And then, the next second—CRACK.

The sound was deafening in the narrow closet.

He slapped me.

The force of his large palm against my cheek was enough to break my balance completely.

I stumbled sideways, my vision blurring for a fraction of a second as I almost fell onto the floorboards, my hand shooting out to grab the edge of the vanity table to hold myself up.

My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, the ringing in my ears a loud, high-pitched frequency that drowned out the quiet of the morning.

My whole body was shaking, the skin of my left cheek instantly blooming into a hot, burning red wave of localized pain.

He fucking slapped me.

He fucking slapped me.

This bastard.

I slowly turned my head back around, my long tangled hair flying across my face.

Fresh tears spilled from my eyes, but the sorrow was completely gone, replaced by a white-hot, lawless fury that demanded blood for blood.

My blood was boiling to its absolute limit.

And he... Ishaan froze to death on his feet.

The moment his brain registered what his hand had done, the rage vanished from his features, replaced by a pale, absolute horror.

His jaw tightened, his fingers trembling as he looked down at his own palm.

The next second, with a sudden, heavy crash, he fell on his knees in front of me on the hardwood floor.

The untouchable tyrant was brought down to his joints, his massive frame looking suddenly small at my feet.

He reached up, his large hand trembling violently as he tried to touch my burning cheek, his voice a broken, desperate whisper: "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, baby... I got angry..."

And me...

I was completely gone to the madness.

The last thread of my civilized mind snapped under the weight of the slap, the raw, unhinged protective rage inside me taking over my limbs.

CRACK.

With every ounce of strength left in my shaking arm, I brought my palm down across his face, the impact echoing loudly off the closet mirrors.

Ishaan froze completely, his head snapping to the side from the blow, but he didn't move to defend himself.

He stayed on his knees before me. Slowly, he turned his face back toward me, his charcoal gaze completely softened, stripped of all its predatory edge, presenting his skin to my fury like a silent penance.

CRACK.

Once again, I slapped him, the sting of his stubble burning my palms as his cheek flushed a deep, immediate red.

He didn't say a single word.

He didn't blink.

He just turned his face back around, accepting the punishment with a terrifying, submissive calm.

I slapped him again.

And again.

I kept slapping him with all my remaining strength, the blows falling in a frantic, chaotic rhythm across his jaw and cheeks.

My chest was falling and rising in ragged, exhausting drafts, my tears continuing to fall onto his upturned face as I tried to beat the guilt out of his mind, to force him to feel the reality of my choice through the localized pain of my hands.

And for the tenth time, my hand remained raised in the air, shaking uncontrollably as my muscles finally failed me.

Tears spilled from my eyes in continuous streams, my breath hitching in my throat as I looked down at him.

Slowly, Ishaan turned his face back to meet my gaze.

His cheeks were completely flushed, a dark, bruised red from the force of my ten slaps, yet his expression remained entirely calm, entirely devoted to my breakdown.

He reached up, his large, steady hand wrapping around my shaking wrist, and he slowly lowered my palm until it was pressed flat against his red, burning cheek, forcing me to feel the heat of the damage I had caused.

He looked up into my eyes from his position on his knees.

His voice dropping into a low, chilling whisper that carried the full weight of the unhinged monster waiting just beneath the surface.

"Baby... you done?" He paused, his thumb rubbing against my wrist before he delivered the final, quiet warning."Or do you want to lose the ability of your hand, too?"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I stood there entirely naked, stripped of every physical defense, every piece of fabric that could offer a semblance of armor in the narrow, claustrophobic confines of the walk-in closet.

My body was aching with an absolute limit, a deep, structural fatigue that throbbed in rhythm with my frantic pulse.

The cool early morning air rushed over the flushed, ruined map of my skin, biting sharply at the raw bruises and deep marks he had left behind during our four-hour collision.

Hot, heavy tears spilled from my eyes, tracking through the damp remnants of our shared sweat, carving clear lines down my cheeks.

But beneath the physical agony, beneath the absolute shock of the slap and the frantic retaliation that followed, a devastating, unyielding truth solidified in the center of my aching chest.

I can never unlove him.

Never.

It was a life sentence I had signed the moment our paths crossed, a toxic, cellular dependency that refused to dissolve no matter how much violence we inflicted upon each other’s souls.

Even if he forced himself on me in the dark warehouses of his past, even if he stalked me across continents to drag me back into his perimeter, even if he completely destroyed my physical body beneath the weight of his unhinged madness—I was trapped.

Even if he never loved me back in the clean, normal way civilized people expected, I was entirely, irrevocably his.

Our eyes remained locked in the tight, mirror-lined space, the connection between us a live wire hum of pure, unfiltered intensity.

He stayed on his knees before me, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his cheeks bearing the dark red flushes of my hands.

Looking down at the absolute tyrant brought to his knees by his own guilt.

I whispered, the words small and fragile in the damp air: "Have you ever loved me, Ishaan?"

He froze to death on his joints.

The question seemed to strip the remaining air from the room, hitting his massive frame with the force of an unexploded shell.

His jaw tightened instantly, the muscle locking into a hard, white block of bone that throbbed beneath his stubble.

His eyes, entirely blood-shot red from hours of tears and unhinged focus, widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing into defensive slits.

He gulped down hard, his throat contracting around a heavy, unspoken weight, and his lips parted slightly as if to let out a roar or a plea—but he didn't say a word.

The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

I knew the answer without him needing to utter a syllable.

I knew it in the way his presence consumed the room, in the absolute territorial violence of his touch.

He was completely obsessed with me.

He was viciously, pathologically possessive of me, ready to burn down worlds and tear apart anyone who dared to look toward my silhouette.

But love... he actually never loved me.

Never.

He didn't know how.

He took care of me as if I were his own baby, tracking every detail of my existence with a clinical, suffocating precision.

From the food I put in my mouth to the very clothes he forced me to wear, everything was curated by his possessive hand.

He fought for me in the dark corners of his empire; he killed for me without a single shred of remorse, treating my survival as his ultimate, lawless mandate.

Yet here I was.

Here we were, standing in the wreckage of his bedroom at four in the morning, and he still couldn't say the word.

He still maintained the cold, analytical distance that insisted he never loved me.

A bitter, broken chuckle bubbled in my throat, though I didn't let it out.

I felt like laughing at the absolute irony of our lives.

Poor ex-professor.

The brilliant, calculating academic who understood the structural mechanics of power and empires, yet had never been taught the simple, fundamental vocabulary of the heart.

He had never been in love before me; he had never known the soft, yielding vulnerability that normal people traded in the daylight.

So... even if he did love me in his own twisted, chaotic way, he didn't know how to say it.

He didn't know how love even felt, misinterpreting the deep, aching devotion in his chest as a symptom of pure, unhinged obsession.

So... it wasn't his fault.

It was simply the tragedy of his architecture.

But that didn't mean I was going to unlove him.

It didn't mean I could simply erase the scars he had carved into my soul or forget the absolute gravity of his name.

I can't forget him, no matter how hard the rest of the world tried to pull me away from his shadow.

And here I was, even after all those years of separation, after the flight to Delhi and the silence that followed, I was still standing right here.

Naked.

Entirely exposed in front of the only man who called me Little Bird and Little Kitten and every other possessive moniker designed to keep me small beneath his weight.

Yet...

He remained completely silent, his unblinking stare anchored to my bare frame.

I gulped down the burning lump of iron in my throat, my fingers trembling as I finally yanked my palm away from his flushed cheek, breaking the last physical point of contact between us.

He didn't say a single word to stop me. He just remained on his knees on the hardwood floor, his long, scarred hands resting heavily against his thighs, his chest heaving in short, jagged drafts as he looked up at me through the gray light of dawn.

The absolute submission in his posture was more terrifying than his rage; it was the quiet before a structural collapse.

I looked down at him, my voice dropping into a flat, steady register that sounded entirely detached from the weeping girl of moments ago. "You were right... there is no us."

My chest was tightening to the point of physical agony, each breath a sharp scrape against my ribs as I forced the final verdict out of my lips: "I can't unlove you... but I can definitely leave you."

He froze to death on the floorboards, the words hitting him with a visible, physical shock.

His blood-shot eyes widened to their absolute limit, his lips parting in a silent, desperate gasp as if the very breath had been ripped from his lungs.

The smirk was entirely gone, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated horror—as if by uttering those words, I had reached straight into his massive chest and torn his very soul out of his body.

I whispered, leaning down slightly so he could see the absolute certainty in my tear-stained eyes.

"You don't have to leave for me, Ishaan. I will be leaving... and this time..." I paused, letting the cold finality of the morning settle over his shoulders. "This time... it will be forever."

The word forever seemed to shatter the temporary paralysis that held him.

With the swift, terrifying velocity of a drowning man, his hands shot forward, his long fingers hooking around my waist with an unyielding, brutal force that pulled me instantly closer to his kneeling form.

I gasped out loud, my hands coming up instinctively to rest against his broad, tense shoulders for balance as my bare pelvis was dragged flush against his chest.

He didn't wait.

He buried his face forward, his sharp nose and hot lips nuzzling aggressively against my right breast, his breath scalding the sensitive, hyper-flushed skin around my nipple.

Another sharp gasp tore from my throat, my upper body arching backward against the pressure of his mouth.

He murmured against my skin, his gravelly voice shaking with a rare, desperate vulnerability: "Phir se chhor k chali jayogi, Little Bird?"

The sudden shift into our native tongue felt like a knife twisting in an open wound, stripping away the clinical distance we had used to fight each other all night.

My chest was tightening until I felt entirely suffocated, my heart aching with an absolute, terrific limit at the raw panic vibrating in his tone.

I whispered back, forcing my voice to remain hard, forcing the venom back into my words to protect the remaining pieces of my sanity."Han... aur wahi better hai."

Hearing the confirmation, his grip on my waist tightened until his knuckles turned white, his mouth moving with a frantic, possessive desperation as he nuzzled his lips firmly against my breast, attempting to brand his signature into my skin before I could walk away.

I gasped again, my toes curling violently against the cold hardwood floor as a deep, involuntary shiver ran straight through my spine.

Tears spilled from my eyes in continuous streams, wetting his dark hair as I fought against the intoxicating, dangerous warmth of his touch.

I couldn't let him pull me back into the vortex of his guilt; I couldn't let his desperation erase the boundaries I was trying so hard to rebuild.

Using every ounce of force left in my aching arms, I yanked his hands away from my waist, breaking his hold with a desperate, aggressive twist of my hips.

I turned my back on his kneeling form instantly, refusing to look at the wreckage in his eyes as I reached over to grab my towel from the vanity table.

I wrapped the white terry cloth tightly around my bare breasts and torso, shielding myself from his possessive scrutiny.

Without uttering another syllable, I walked past him, my bare feet dragging heavily against the floorboards. I could feel his unblinking, bloodshot gaze burning holes into my spine as he watched me retreat, but he didn't move to follow.

I walked straight into the bedroom's attached washroom, my hands shaking so violently I could barely turn the brass handle.

The moment I crossed the threshold, I slammed the heavy wooden door shut and turned the lock from inside, the sharp click of the mechanism providing a temporary, fragile barrier between my body and his madness.

The moment the lock turned, the last of my strength dissolved completely.

I stepped into the glass shower enclosure, my hands reaching up to twist the knob until the water came rushing down in a heavy, steaming torrent.

I stood directly beneath the shower, letting the hot water slam against my head and shoulders, cascading over my face to wash away the salt of my tears and the lingering scent of his tobacco smoke.

My body was aching with an absolute, terrific limit.

My legs were shaking so hard against the tiles I felt I would collapse under my own weight at any second, the muscles in my thighs vibrating with a deep, localized exhaustion.

My pussy was on fire.

My asshole was on fire.

The physical reality of his four-hour assault was a burning, raw agony between my thighs, every contact with the hot water sending a sharp, stinging sensation straight up my spine.

Fresh tears spilled from my eyes, mixing instantly with the deluge of the shower as I stood there in the center of the enclosure like a broken fucking doll—entirely unraveled, my joints stiff, my spirit crushed beneath the weight of a love that felt more like a curse than a blessing.

I couldn't even stop crying, the sobs racking my petite frame until my chest heaved in jagged, painful gasps.

My lower abdomen was hurting like a bitch, a deep, internal ache that felt as if his massive shaft had completely crushed my insides, leaving me hollowed out and ruined from the inside out.

I stayed under the water for thirty long minutes, losing all track of time as I mechanically washed my hair and cleaned the remnants of his touch from my skin.

No matter how much soap I used, the internal ache remained, a permanent fixture of my anatomy.

Finally, when my skin had turned a bright, scalded red from the heat, I turned off the water.

The sudden silence in the washroom was heavy, broken only by the sound of my own continuous, quiet sobbing.

I stepped out of the enclosure, wrapping one large white towel tightly around my wet hair and another around my trembling body, tucking the edge securely over my breasts.

I unlocked the door and walked outside into the bedroom, expecting to find the space empty, expecting the cold silence of his departure.

Instead, I froze completely at the edge of the carpet, my breath catching in my throat.

Ishaan was sitting on the dark leather couch near the window.

He was completely dressed, wearing his heavy charcoal button-down shirt and his dark tailored trousers, looking exactly like the formidable, dangerous tycoon who ruled the corporate landscape during the day.

In his massive lap, he was gently holding Snowy, his long fingers idly stroking the white fur of my cat while his other hand held his cigar, a thin stream of gray smoke rising toward the ceiling.

But to my absolute horror, his expression was completely unreadable, his eyes dark and empty as he stared out the window.

My chest was tightening to the point of suffocation, my eyes burning with a fresh wave of tears as the sight hit my brain.

He was wearing his clothes.

He was ready to go.

Of course.

Like always, he was going to leave me once again, retreating into the shadows of his empire the moment the physical intimacy ended, leaving me to deal with the wreckage of his guilt alone.

I didn't say a single word.

I refused to give him the satisfaction of my voice.

I could feel his intense, heavy gaze burning a hole through my body as I crossed the carpet, but I kept my chin up, walking straight past the couch and into the walk-in closet once more.

I pulled the towel from my body, my fingers searching the drawers until I found an oversized black t-shirt.

I pulled it over my head, the soft cotton draping loosely over my bruised hips and stomach, hiding the evidence of his touch from the world.

My feet were hurting like hell, every step a sharp reminder of the long corporate stairs and the bedroom floor.

My whole body felt entirely crushed, a hollow shell of ache and exhaustion.

I gulped down my tears, forcing the sob back into my throat as my legs continued to shake.

I walked back into the bedroom, my eyes anchored to the floorboards.

I didn't even bother to look at him as I approached the massive bed, pulling back the heavy duvet and climbing inside.

I curled into a tight, protective ball beneath the thick fabric, my back turned toward the couch as the hot tears spilled silently onto the white pillowcase.

He was leaving.

Of course he was leaving.

But then, the quiet of the room shifted.

I didn't hear his heavy footsteps over the thick carpet, but I felt the sudden, unmistakable compression of the mattress behind me.

A wave of intense, suffocating heat neared my back, and before I could even process the movement, he slid beneath the duvet beside me.

My jaw tightened instantly, my fingers clutching the edge of the blanket as my heart began to hammer against my ribs once more.

Suddenly, without a single word of warning, his massive arm shot forward, his thick forearm wrapping around my waist with an unyielding, possessive grip that brooked no negotiation.

With a single, effortless tug, he dragged my body backward until my bare spine hit the solid wall of his chest.

I gasped out loud, my breath hitching at the sudden, overwhelming proximity.

He didn't wait for me to recover or push him away.

He slid his large palm upward, slipping it smoothly beneath the hem of my oversized t-shirt until his rough, calloused fingers were resting directly against the hyper-sensitive skin of my bare stomach.

My toes curled violently beneath the duvet, my breathing becoming short and heavy as his head leaned down.

He buried his face into the nape of my neck, his sharp nose aggressively sniffing my wet hair and skin, drawing the clean scent of the soap into his lungs as if he were trying to memorize my scent for the rest of his life.

He murmured against my skin, his gravelly voice dropping into a low, mocking whisper: "Should I leave, Little Bird?"

My chest was tightening so hard it felt like my ribs would snap under the pressure.

The absolute contradiction of his actions—holding me with a force that felt like permanent ownership while asking for permission to abandon me—was driving me insane.

Fresh tears spilled from my eyes, wetting his forearm as I forced the word out of my throat: "Yes... you can."

A low, breathy chuckle vibrated directly against my spine, the dark amusement in his chest a cruel contrast to my despair.

He tightened his grip on my waist, his long fingers digging slightly into my skin as he whispered: "Itna nafrat mujhse, baccha?"

My throat tightened until I could barely draw air, the use of his private, soft moniker breaking through the last of my anger.

I stared blankly at the dark wall of the bedroom, my voice shaking with a deep-seated bitterness: "Bhut zyada he Nafrat hai tumse..."

He chuckled once again, a dark, deeply satisfied sound that made my blood run cold beneath the sheets.

He pressed his lips firmly against the side of my neck, his words a slow, deliberate trap as he whispered: "Toh socha baccha Nafrat itna Siddat se kar rahi hoon... toh pyaar Kitna gehera tha."

The realization that he saw straight through my anger, that he knew my hatred was simply the inverted, bleeding edge of my absolute devotion to him, made me break completely.

I cried harder, my sobs shaking both of our frames beneath the heavy duvet as he held me with a crushing, suffocating intensity that left no space between our bodies.

My blood was boiling at his arrogance, my jaw locked tight as the sheer frustration of my own helplessness took over.

I whispered-yelled, trying to twist my hips away from his palm: "Don't fucking touch me! I feel disgusted by your touch!"

He murmured, his voice entirely undisturbed by my outburst as his hand slid higher up my torso: "That's the only thing I don't believe you say..."

I sobbed harder into the dark, my fingers clawing at the duvet as I yelled: "Fuck you, Ishaan!"

He chuckled, the low sound rich with a dark, predatory certainty.

And then, the next second, before I could even register the shift in his weight, he turned me around in one fluid, uncompromising go.

His massive hands gripped my waist, lifting my small frame slightly against the mattress and dragging me forward until my bare breasts were pressed flat against his wide chest.

I gasped out loud, my hands coming up to press against his shoulders as the sudden contact hit my brain.

He wasn't wearing any clothes.

He was completely naked beneath the duvet, his heavy button-down shirt and tailored trousers having been discarded back onto the floor in the seconds before he climbed inside.

He wasn't even wearing his pants, and as he locked his thighs around mine, his heavy, semi-hard presence pressed directly against the raw, swollen entrance of my bare pussy.

My eyes widened to their absolute limit in the dim gray light, my lips parting as I whispered-stuttered in complete disbelief: "You... you... when did you undress?"

He nuzzled his sharp nose firmly against mine, his dark, bloodshot eyes locking onto my gaze from just an inch away.

His lips brushed against mine with every word as he murmured his final verdict for the morning: "Baby... you thought I would repeat the same mistake I made years ago? You thought I would let you walk away into the dark while I stood by like a fool?"

Fresh tears spilled from my eyes, hot and continuous, tracking down my temples into the pillow as the sheer relief and exhaustion washed over my mind. He wasn't leaving.

The clothes had been a distraction, a brief mask before he chose to lock himself in this cage with me forever.

Driven by a chaotic mix of relief and lingering anger, I lifted my fists and started hitting his chest, my weak blows landing harmlessly against his dense, unyielding muscle.

I yelled into his mouth, my voice cracking with emotion: "I hate you... I hate you... I fucking hate you, Ishaan..."

He didn't move to stop me.

He didn't tighten his grip in anger or growl at my defiance.

Instead, he simply wrapped his massive, heavy arms completely around my torso, pinning my arms against his chest and locking my trembling frame against his heat.

He held me with a soft, protective strength that felt entirely different from the predatory beast of the past four hours.

He whispered against my lips, his breath warm and steady: "Shh... shh... baccha... it's okay. I'm not going anywhere."

The words acted like a physical anchor, slowing the frantic rhythm of my heart against his ribs.

I stopped my weak resistance, my hands flattening against his shoulders as I let myself sink completely into his embrace, crying harder into the hollow of his neck as the tension of the long night finally broke.

He stayed motionless beneath me, his large palm moving in a slow, rhythmic pattern up and down my back, patting my skin in a silent, possessive rhythm that promised he would keep the rest of the world outside our door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~