Part 8 : " the rage
Bhuvanya hadn't eaten for twenty-four hours. Hunger clawed at her belly, but fear and rage overpowered it. Every creak of the mansion, every shadow in the hallway, made her pulse spike.
he opened the door cautiously. A servant stood there, hesitant, holding a folded set of clothes.
"Mam… wear this. Sir is calling you downstairs," the servent said, voice low, almost apologetic.
Bhuvanya's hands trembled as she snatched the garments from him. Her voice shook, sharp as glass:
"I WILL NEVER WEAR THESE!"
Her shout echoed through the hallway. The walls themselves seemed to shrink around her, the darkness pressing closer.
Unbeknownst to her, Aarush was listening. Every word, every tremor in her voice, seeped through the floorboards.
Footsteps—slow, deliberate—came from the staircase. He appeared at the top, arms crossed, that familiar smirk playing on his lips, eyes dark with amusement and something… dangerous.
"Well, that's an interesting way to greet the morning," he said, his voice smooth but edged with steel. "Refusing me again, Bhuvanya?"
Her hands clutched the clothes tighter, knuckles white. Every instinct screamed to run, to fight—but where could she go?
Aarush descended slowly, each step measured, echoing in the empty hallway like a countdown. She could feel the weight of his gaze burning into her skin.
"You can scream, shout, spit… it won't change anything," he murmured as he reached the bottom step, tilting his head slightly. "But watching you resist? That… I never get tired of."
Bhuvanya's breath hitched. Her throat was dry. Her fists clenched. Every muscle in her body wanted to strike, to run, to vanish.
But for the first time in that cursed mansion, she felt the full, suffocating gravity of the trap she was in.
And yet… she refused to bow.
"I… I will never…" Her voice faltered, but her glare held steady, sharp enough to cut through the tension like a blade.
Aarush's smirk widened, dark and patient. He reached the hallway. Leaned just slightly toward her, whispering as if sharing a secret only she could hear:
"That's the problem, Bhuvanya. You don't know… how much I enjoy breaking someone who refuses to break."
The room seemed to shrink around her. The silence after his words wasn't empty—it was waiting. Watching. Judging.
Bhuvanya swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Tomorrow… I'll find a way out.