08 | THE BEGINNING OF MADNESS

I could feel them before I heard them.

The whispers.

Silk-clad women with eyes like daggers, mouths painted in venom.
Men in suits who watched me not because they saw me—but because they couldn't understand how he could.
Their eyes didn't see a woman.
They saw a puzzle that didn't fit into the gleaming, curated chaos of the elite.

I was the quiet one.
The bookish one.
The woman with too much silence and not enough legacy.
Not born into wealth.
Not sculpted for the spotlight.
No family name that echoed through boardrooms or dinner parties. 

Just me—plain, unremarkable, undeserving, by their standards.

But I wore his collar.

And that made me the flame in a room full of moths.

I moved through the crowd, poised, even as the whispers licked against my skin, cool and venomous.
My heels clicked against polished marble.
Every step was deliberate.
Every breath was practiced grace.

"She's pretty—but not his level." "What's her last name again?" "Maybe it's just a phase." "Does she even know which fork is which?"

I smiled. 

The kind of smile that didn't need defending.
The kind of smile that said:
Let them talk. Let them burn.

But still... a sliver of doubt curled in my chest.
Because even when you know who you are, even when he's kissed your scars and promised you the world—whispers have teeth.
And when you've lived most of your life unheard, being seen can feel like violence.

I poured myself a glass of wine I didn't want, stared into the red like it held answers. I reminded myself I wasn't here to belong.
I was here because he wanted me here.
And I was done shrinking in rooms I'd already conquered in his eyes.

୨ৎ

The music swelled.

And then the air shifted.

It's strange how a room can sense power before it even arrives. A sudden pause in laughter. A murmur in the distance.
I didn't need to turn to know he'd arrived.
The crowd reacted before I could.

AARYAN VEER RAJWANSHA. 

My Aaryan. 

Every room bends for him.
This one cracked.
The very air seemed to tighten around his presence.

People straightened.
Voices dropped.
Phones rose subtly, greedily. 

Even those who feared him couldn't resist watching.

He walked in like the storm he always was—suited in black, jaw sharp, gaze darker.
Everything about him screamed danger wrapped in silk.
The kind of man who didn't walk into rooms—he claimed them.

But he wasn't looking at the crowd.

He was looking for me.

His eyes locked onto mine from across the ballroom.

And in that moment, the whispers died.
Choked. 

Silenced by something they couldn't quite name.

He moved.

Not walked—moved.
Like every step was designed to shatter.

He didn't just approach me. 

He broke the distance between us like it offended him.

୨ৎ

He didn't stop until he was standing right in front of me.

The music dipped.
The world held its breath.

He took my hand.

And then, without a word, Aaryan kissed my palm.

Slow. Reverent. Possessive.

The kind of kiss that felt like lightning disguised as worship.
Like a man undoing himself one sacred inch at a time.

Gasps rippled through the room.

Not scandal.
Not awe.

Panic.

Because with that one kiss, Aaryan made it clear—I wasn't a guest.
I wasn't temporary. 

I was his.

He looked up, still holding my hand like it was made of divinity.

His voice was clear.
Low. Unshakable.

"This is Meher."

His gaze swept the room like a sword.

"My queen."

Another pause. 

A stillness like the space before thunder.

"My ruin."

The room exploded in silence. 

And I—
I stood there with my hand in his, the collar still cool against my throat, and felt every stare melt away.

Because in a room built to question me—he didn't just answer.

He burned the question.

He didn't just defy their hierarchy.

He shattered it at my feet.

୨ৎ

Later, he held me in a corner of the balcony. 

One hand at my waist, the other brushing the edge of the collar like it grounded him. His thumb moved along the curve of my neck slowly, as if he needed the reminder of where I ended and he began.

"You heard them," he murmured.

"I did."

"They don't matter."

"I know."

He leaned in.
"But I do. And I'll remind them until my last breath—who you are. What you mean."

"You don't need to—"

He kissed me before I could finish.

Hard. Possessive. Worshipful.

The kind of kiss that makes your bones forget structure.
That says you're mine with more honesty than a thousand vows.

"You're not just enough, Meher," he growled softly. "You're everything. And I'll make sure the world is ruined by your name."

I looked into his eyes, and for the first time, I didn't just feel claimed.

I felt dangerous.

Because when a man like Aaryan belongs to you, truly belongs to you—what you hold isn't just his heart. 

It's the power to destroy him.

And I would never use it.

But knowing I could... was the beginning of madness.

I should have walked away.
God knows I've had chances.
Moments where I could've pulled my soul back from his mouth and stitched it shut with silence.

But no.

I stayed.

Not because he asked.
Not because he begged.

But because he needed me.
And because I needed to be ruined by him again.

୨ৎ

He didn't speak when I walked inside the bedroom.
Didn't touch. Didn't blink.

He just looked at me like he hadn't breathed in days.
Like my body was oxygen.
Like his sanity hung between the edge of my lips and the shape of my throat.

And when I stepped toward him, he broke.

Aaryan Veer Rajwansha —
Terror of cities. Storm in a suit. Empire in his name —
grabbed me like he would die without me.

"Meher—"
My name. Cracked. Desperate. A god on his knees.

His hands were on my waist, in my hair, under my dress —
Everywhere, all at once.

And then he kissed me.
Hard.
Like war.
Like hunger.
Like regret.

He pushed me against the wall.
Breath ragged. Hands shaking. His jaw clenched like it hurt to hold back.

"You should run," he growled into my throat, breath hot, wild, feral.
"Because I won't be gentle tonight."

I didn't run.

I offered myself.

He pushed my skirt up to my hips and whispered,

"Then break me properly, Rajwansha."

"You want soft?" he growled into my neck.
"Ask someone else. I can't be soft with you tonight."

"I don't want soft," I whispered, arching into him.
"I want you."

He cursed. 

He didn't undress me.

He tore me open.

Shoved my panties aside and slammed into me like he was claiming lost territory.
Like my body had betrayed him by being vacant too long.

One hand on my throat.
One buried in my hair.
His hips bruised mine with every stroke.

He was snarling.

Shaking.

"Say you're mine," he groaned into my mouth, hand tightening.
"Say it before I fucking lose what's left of me."

"I've always been yours," I gasped, eyes rolling back.
"You made me yours in every way that matters."

He yanked me forward by my nape, slammed me chest-down onto the edge of the table.

My breath knocked out of me.

He didn't slow.

He fucked me there—hard, brutal, filthy—one hand gripping my wrists behind my back, the other gripping my hip like it belonged to him.

And it did.

Every inch of me was his altar.

"You're mine," he grunted, each thrust deeper, angrier.
"No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets your sounds, your moans, your begging."

"I don't want anyone else," I moaned, tears blurring my eyes.
"I was made for you."

"Say it again."

"I was made for you, Aaryan. For this. For you to destroy."

He turned me around, lifted me up like I weighed nothing, and dropped me on the bed.

Climbed on top. Spread my thighs with both hands like scripture.

And buried his face between them.

His tongue was divine violence.
His groans—sacrilege.

He devoured me like he was starving.

Like I was the only thing that could save him.

"You taste like fucking worship," he groaned, biting into the softness of my inner thigh.

My fingers twisted in his hair, yanking, scratching.

I came on his tongue.
Once. Twice.

He didn't stop.

Not until my legs were shaking, my voice gone.

He kissed the tears off my cheeks, whispered:
"No one cries like this but for me. No one gives me this wreckage but you."

"A-Aaryan." I gasped, wrecked, ruined, wrecked.

His fingers bruised my thighs.

His teeth marked my collarbone.

Our mouths didn't kiss.

They devoured.

I bit him. He moaned like it was prayer.

And in the midst of all of it—our sweat, our pain, the way the headboard cracked against the wall—I realized something I couldn't unfeel:

He wasn't fucking me.
He was breaking into me.
Marking territory on the only place he still believed he belonged.

He lifted my wrists above my head.
Pinned them with one hand.
And stared down at me like I was everything and nothing.

"You make me insane."
"Good."
"I'd kill for you."
"Then start with the parts of me that still resist you."

He lined himself up again, this time slower, but no less brutal.

He pinned both my wrists over my head, leaned down so close our mouths barely touched.

"Look at me while I ruin you."

"I can't—"

"You will. You'll remember this. You'll dream about it."

He thrust in.
Hard.

Again.

And again.

I was screaming, clawing, writhing beneath him.

He slapped the side of my thigh.

"Quiet, baby. You don't need to scream for me to hear you. I already feel you in my bones."

His hand wrapped around my throat again—not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind me who was inside me.
Who owned this moment.

His pace quickened. His moans broke.

"I missed your body," he groaned. "But I missed your submission more."

"Take it," I whispered. "Take everything. I was always yours to hurt."

He slowed.
Just for a second.

Thrust deep. Stayed there.
Forehead pressed to mine. Our hearts between our teeth.

And I realized—
this man, for all his fury, for all his empire—
was still just a boy who never learned how to be loved gently.

So I kissed him.

Not with lips.

With acceptance.

With the bruises on my skin and the way my legs wrapped around his waist like a home.

He came with my name on his tongue.
Not shouted.

Sobbing.

He collapsed beside me. One hand still on my thigh. Chest heaving. Eyes haunted.

And I?

I crawled over him.

Kissed his jaw.

His throat.

His heart.

And then I whispered the only thing that could bring him peace:
"Now you remember who you belong to."

He took me like a prayer.
I gave myself like a curse. 
And Together, we made sin look like salvation.

He didn't speak.

He collapsed beside me, eyes open, chest heaving.

I lay there, aching everywhere, jaw marked, thighs trembling.

He reached over.

Traced a bruise on my hip.

"Too much?" he whispered.

"Not enough," I breathed.

He closed his eyes.

And I saw it then.

The god.
The sinner.
The boy.

All curled into one man who would burn the world
just to feel me breathe beside him.