Na tujhse nafrat thi, bas khud se dar lagta tha—

Tujhe dekh kar jo bhaaga, wahi raasta ab dil ko bhata.

Tera vella, tera shor, tera har lafz jalaata,

Par usi raakh mein se ek aag uthi—jo sirf tujhko jaanti hai.

Na nafrat, na chahat—bas tu hi ab sab.

MATURE CONTENT WARNING

This book is strictly 18+ and contains explicit, dark, and intense material.

Reader discretion is strongly advised. This story includes:

Graphic sexual content (rough, hate-filled, and explicit scenes), Strong language and dirty talk, Power imbalance and non-consensual power dynamics, Violence, blood, and mafia-related brutality, Dubious consent / CNC elements, Psychological manipulation and emotional intensity

This is a dark romance.

The characters are morally black, deeply flawed, and their relationship is toxic, volatile, and unhealthy. They do not represent ideal relationships.

If you are sensitive to any of the above themes, please do not proceed.

You have been warned.

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Scene 1

The rain hammered against the windshield like bullets as Aashvika gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.

“Fuck this marriage. Fuck him. Fuck everything,” she hissed, slamming her palm against the wheel again and again. Angry tears burned in her eyes.

Living with Dante Salvatore D’Ambrosio wasn’t a marriage.

It was a fucking nightmare wearing a designer suit.

She should have never agreed to become her sister’s replacement. She should have never stepped foot in Italy. Now she was nothing but a pawn trapped between two powerful families.

The airport was only fifteen minutes away. Freedom was close.

But freedom never came easy.

Multiple headlights appeared behind her. Then more from the front. Black SUVs. Sleek. Deadly. They moved with military precision, boxing her in from all sides until she had no choice but to slam on the brakes.

“Shit!” Aashvika cursed, heart pounding.

She grabbed the gun from the glove compartment and stepped out into the pouring rain, chest heaving with rage and fear.

The doors of the surrounding cars opened. Relief flooded her when she recognized the man walking toward her — Dexter, her father’s closest friend’s son.

“Aashvika! Your father sent me. Get in the car, quick—”

Before she could move, the sky roared.

A helicopter descended through the storm like a demon from hell, wind whipping violently around them. More cars appeared, surrounding them completely.

Aashvika’s blood ran cold.

She knew exactly who it was.

Dante Salvatore D’Ambrosio stepped out of the helicopter, coat flapping in the wind, eyes locked on her like a predator who had found his prey. Rain soaked his hair, but his expression remained terrifyingly calm.

Dexter pulled out his gun. “Stay behind me—”

Dante didn’t even blink. He raised his hand and fired twice. Dexter dropped to the ground with a scream, blood mixing with rainwater.

Aashvika’s scream tore through the storm. “No!”

Blind with fury, she lifted her gun and fired at Dante. The bullet hit his forearm. He barely flinched. A thin line of blood trickled down his sleeve, but he didn’t stop walking toward her.

His men stood completely still. No one moved. No one dared interfere.

This was between husband and wife.

Dante stopped a few feet away from her, rain pouring down his face. His voice was low, cold, and laced with terrifying control.

“Running away, little wife?”

He tilted his head, eyes dark and unreadable.

“You think you can escape me? You think I’ll let you go just because you spread your legs and played the perfect replacement?”

Aashvika pointed the gun at his chest, hands shaking with rage. “I hate you. I will always hate you.”

Dante’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Good. Keep hating me.”

He took one step closer, completely unbothered by the gun aimed at his heart.

“Because the day you stop hating me… is the day I’ll know I’ve finally broken you.”

He glanced at her gun, then back at her eyes.

“Now drop it, Aashvika. Or I’ll make sure every man who ever tried to help you disappears tonight.”

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Scene 2

The door barely closed before Dante shoved Aashvika against it, his large hand wrapping around her throat — firm, but not choking.

“You talk too much for a replacement bride,” he said coldly, voice low and dangerous.

Aashvika’s eyes burned with pure hatred. She grabbed his wrist, nails digging into his skin.

“Get your fucking hands off me, Dante. I didn’t ask to be your whore.”

A dark smirk tugged at his lips. Without warning, he spun her around and pressed her chest against the door, yanking her hands behind her back.

“You’re not my whore,” he murmured against her ear, his body pinning hers completely. “You’re my wife. And you will learn what that means.”

He kicked her legs apart roughly. His free hand slid under her dress, fingers digging into her hip hard enough to bruise.

Aashvika hissed, pushing back against him. “You think you can just take what you want? I’ll make you bleed for every touch.”

Dante let out a low, humorless laugh. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her neck.

“Then bleed me, Aashvika.”

He freed himself and thrust into her in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Aashvika gasped sharply, her body tensing at the sudden invasion.

“Fuck—” she snarled, even as her walls clenched around him.

Dante didn’t give her time to adjust. He started moving — hard, deep, punishing strokes. Every thrust was controlled, deliberate, and ruthless.

“Fight me all you want,” he growled, voice rough. “Scream. Curse me. Hate me. It changes nothing.”

Aashvika pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with equal force, turning it into a battle.

“You’re a fucking monster,” she spat, breathing ragged. “You don’t even want me. You just want control.”

Dante’s grip on her hips tightened as he drove into her harder, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.

“I don’t need to want you,” he said coldly, almost clinically. “But you’re mine to protect. Mine to break. Mine to keep alive.”

He reached around and rubbed her roughly, his fingers merciless.

Aashvika moaned despite herself, her body betraying her hatred.

“I hate you,” she gasped, even as she pushed back onto him.

“Good,” Dante replied, voice dark and steady. “Hate me harder. It makes you tighter.”

He didn’t slow down. He fucked her like he was staking a claim — rough, relentless, and completely unemotional, except for the raw possessiveness in every brutal thrust.

When she finally shattered around him with a broken cry, Dante didn’t stop. He kept moving through her orgasm, chasing his own release with the same cold intensity.

Only when he finally came did he press his forehead against the back of her head for a brief second — the closest thing to softness he would allow.

Then he pulled out, voice flat once again.

“Clean yourself up. You’re not leaving this room until I say so.”

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Scene third

The forest swallowed her whole.

Aashvika ran barefoot through the darkness, her torn red gown clinging to her body like a second skin soaked in blood and sweat. Her period cramps twisted like knives in her lower belly, but she kept running. Bruises bloomed across her arms and thighs from the earlier struggle.

She burst out onto a cliff edge, chest heaving, only to be surrounded again.

A circle of men. Rivals. The ones who wanted Dante’s empire to burn.

The leader — a scarred man with a cruel smile — stepped forward, gun dangling lazily in his hand.

“Huh. Didn't know Dante Salvatore D'Ambrosio was married. Look at you… bleeding, running like a stray dog. Guess the great king's got a weakness now. And underworld loves a target."

Aashvika straightened despite the pain, eyes blazing with defiance.

“Better a scared bitch than a dead dog like you,” she spat, voice hoarse but sharp. “Come closer and I’ll shove that gun down your throat.”

The man laughed. “Feisty. I like it. Maybe I’ll keep you as a toy before sending your head back to Dante.”

She attacked first.

Even exhausted, even bleeding, Aashvika fought like a storm. She kicked, clawed, and slammed her elbow into one man’s face. But there were too many. A heavy blow landed on her ribs. She gasped, falling to one knee.

Just as the leader raised his gun—

Gunshots exploded through the trees.

Dante’s men burst out of the forest like death itself. And behind them — Dante.

He walked through the chaos like the devil who owned the night. His white shirt was stained with someone else’s blood, sleeves rolled up, eyes locked on Aashvika with terrifying intensity.

One of his men hesitated. “Boss… she tried to run—”

Dante’s voice was ice-cold, lethal.

“One scratch on her skin, I'll burn everyone alive. She. Is. My. Fucking. Wife.”

The words shocked everyone into silence.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t explain. He simply claimed her in front of everyone.

Then all hell broke loose.

Dante moved like a predator unleashed. He grabbed the rival leader by the throat and slammed him against a tree with brutal force.

“You touched what’s mine,” Dante growled, voice low and terrifying. “You made her bleed.”

He fired twice. Point blank.

Aashvika watched in horror as Dante tore through the remaining men with ruthless efficiency — no mercy, no hesitation. His face remained unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes burned with something darker than rage.

When the last body dropped, silence fell.

Dante walked straight to Aashvika. She tried to stand but her legs gave out. Without a word, he scooped her up into his arms, holding her close against his blood-stained chest.

She was shaking. Traumatized. Overwhelmed.

In the car, Dante didn’t speak. He simply reached for the emergency kit, found the period pads, and with surprisingly careful hands, cleaned her up. He wiped the blood from her thighs with his handkerchief, replaced the pad, and wrapped his coat around her trembling body.

Aashvika stared at him, throat tight.

Why?

Why are you doing this when you hate me?

Dante’s jaw was clenched. His face remained cold, unreadable. But his arms around her were firm. Possessive.

He finally spoke, voice low and rough, almost against his will:

“…You’re mine to break, Aashvika.

Not theirs.”

Outside, the forest whispered with the wind.

And somewhere deep inside her chest, something dangerous stirred — a madness she refused to name.

A love so violent it could only end in destruction… or salvation.

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Tujhe chhupaa loon dil ke andre mein,

Mohabbat jo bol na paaye—zubaan pe na aaya,

Bas dhadkan mein reh gaya tera naam,

Shiddat meri saza ban jaaye,

Na koi naam, na koi shikwa,

Na hukm, na raaja—bas tera haath mera haath,

Bas tera khayaal, bas tera intezaar,

Bas teri aankhon mein mera jo khoon ruk gaya. 🎵🎵

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