"Kneel" Abhimanyu said
"No please" I said while sobbing
"I said kneel Riddhima" he again said
"I'm sorry Abhimanyu please" I pleaded
"If you didn't fucking kneel on the count of three, my belt will keep talking to you until you pass out" he said...
After nine years had elapsed, the scene unfolded in the tranquility of a morning.
Within the embrace of sleep lay a vision of elegance, a young woman with cascading tresses, her form a portrait of serenity.
The gentle caress of sunlight filtered through the window, bestowing its warmth upon her pristine countenance.
Her slumber was abruptly interrupted by the melodic chime of her phone, jolting her into the realm of wakefulness. With a groggy murmur,
Riddhima greeted the caller, her voice laced with remnants of sleep.
"Hello?"
she answered, her voice thick with sleep.
"Wake up, my love. The day awaits,"
came the tender voice of her boyfriend, Aarav, on the other end of the line.
Groggily, Riddhima responded, her tone tinged with a hint of reproach, "Good morning. Where were you last night? I tried calling you numerous times. Since my move to Delhi, you seem perpetually occupied."
"I apologize, darling. Work held me captive,"
Aarav explained, his voice filled with remorse
As she spoke, her voice faltered at the sudden knock on the door, interrupting her.
"Didi, madam requests your presence for breakfast,"
The maid announced from the doorway.
"Alright, I'll be there,"
Riddhima responded.
"Wait, my love. when are you planning to tell your mother about us?"
Aarav's excitement was palpable.
"Soon, I promise. Gotta go now. Talk to you later. Bye,"
Riddhima hurriedly replied before ending the call
. . .
Atop the expansive terrace of his grand estate, a striking 25-year-old man stands, his gaze sweeping over the vast expanse of his domain as wisps of smoke curl from the cigarette between his lips.
Dressed in a sleek black shirt paired with crisp white trousers, the sleeves of his shirt casually rolled up to reveal toned forearms.
His jet-black locks cascade stylishly over his forehead, lending an air of brooding intensity to his visage.
In this moment, he embodies the epitome of allure, akin to a captivating antagonist from a cinematic masterpiece. This enigmatic figure bears the name Abhimanyu Singh Shekhawat, a moniker that resonates with power and intrigue.
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Another man of his age approached from behind and inquired, "When are you departing for India?"
"Today,"
responded Abhimanyu
"But you only returned a mere week ago. Why the rush?"
questioned his closest companion, Agastya.
"I have business in Delhi that demands my attention,"
Abhimanyu retorted, his irritation evident.
But you are the master here as well. Why not make this your permanent abode? I'm weary of being the lone inhabitant here,"
Agastya pleaded.
"The things I desire is in Delhi, and until I didn't claim my desire, I cannot remain here permanently. You will manage affairs in my absence,"
Abhimanyu declared before departing, leaving Agastya to stew in frustration
. . .
As Abhimanyu lounged in the opulent confines of his private jet, his fingers idly traced the screen of his smartphone, the vibrant glow casting a soft light in the luxurious cabin.
The aircraft soared through the sky, carrying him swiftly towards his homeland of India.
Abruptly, the serene atmosphere was disrupted by the shrill ringtone of his phone, jolting him out of his reverie.
With a commanding presence, he answered the call, his voice resonating with authority as he greeted the caller.
"Hello,"
Abhimanyu intoned, his deep voice conveying a sense of power and confidence.
On the other end of the line, his trusted right-hand man and secretary relayed a message.
"Sir, Sheetal Malhotra requests a meeting with you,"
the secretary informed him.
A smug smile tugged at the corners of Abhimanyu's lips upon hearing this news.
His mind already spinning with anticipation of the possibilities that lay ahead.
"Very well, schedule it for tomorrow,"
he instructed smoothly, before decisively ending the call.
As he idly swiped through his phone, his fingers paused over the gallery icon, tapping it open.
A melancholic sigh escaped him as he lingered on a particular photograph, capturing his figure against the backdrop of memories, he caressed the image, his eyes alight with determination.
"You've kept me waiting for what feels like an eternity,"
he murmured softly to himself, the weight of nine long years heavy in his words.
"No one comprehends the depths of my solitude during this time."
With determination creeping into his voice, he continued, "But soon, very soon, I'll stake my claim on you. You were mine, you are mine, and you'll forever be mine."
His declaration carried a hint of possessiveness, yet underlying it was an undeniable longing
"In the near future, I will be the sole presence in your life. I'll envelop you entirely, becoming your world,"
Abhimanyu vowed, his fingers tracing the contours of the photograph, his tone brimming with an intensity that bordered on obsession. "No one could ever love you the way I do, my princess."
