Unhinged Love: You can run across countries, but you can’t outrun fate. Or Aaditya Verma.
Hello everyone. This was supposed to be a short Holi story, but it will now be a full-fledged novel. I hope you like the second part. This book is FREE and available to read on my website.
Don’t forget to read the first part.
Unhinged Love: No Escape from Aaditya
The phone nearly slipped from my hand as his furious voice exploded through the speaker, raw and unforgiving.
I sighed, pulling the phone away from my ear before he shattered my eardrum. Same Aaditya. Same rage simmering beneath his skin, ready to boil over. Same stubbornness that never let go, never backed down. Nothing about him ever changed—except the things that did.
“Stop it, Aaditya,” I muttered, pressing my fingers against the pounding ache building in my temple. “Move on. You have already. You just won’t let me move on.”
“Whatever. I don’t care. Return.”
The sharpness in his voice sliced through me, but it wasn’t the words that made my stomach twist—it was the desperation beneath them, thinly veiled and bleeding through the cracks.
I exhaled slowly, trying to ground myself, trying to hold on to the fragile distance I had built between us. This was insanity. He was insanity. A storm I couldn’t escape no matter how far I ran.
“Please…” The word slipped out, too soft, too broken—more for me than for him. I needed this to stop. I needed him to let me go.
The sound of his breathing filled the silence, rough and heavy, like he was barely holding himself together. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped—low, raw, and threaded with something dangerous. Something I wasn’t sure I could survive.
“I fucking can’t live without you.”
The confession hit me like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs.
“At least when you were here, I got to see your face once a month.” His voice cracked, and I felt it in my bones. “Now you’re telling me that’s done too?”
I closed my eyes, fighting against the sharp sting crawling up my throat. Yes. That was the answer. The only answer that made sense. “We can’t cheat on your wife, Aaditya,” I said, hating how fragile my voice sounded. “She deserves better. This is wrong.”
His laugh came fast and bitter—an ugly sound that didn’t belong to the boy I used to love. “You think this is just about sex?” he demanded, each word edged with frustration that burned like fire. “I just want you. You, Shona. Everything that comes with you. Don’t take yourself away from me—I’ll lose my fucking mind.”
I swallowed against the ache in my chest, but it didn’t budge. Nothing ever did when it came to him.
“I did things for a reason,” he said, his voice rougher now, like the words were cutting their way out of him. “That day… when I married her… there was a reason. You don’t know everything.”
A reason. A reason? My heart stuttered as confusion tangled with the anger I had buried for so long. “What?”
His breathing hitched. Softer this time. Weaker. “Just come back,” he said quietly, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t anger driving him—it was pain. Real, soul-deep pain. “It hurts so fucking bad in my chest. Two weeks without you, and it’s killing me, Shona. Please…”
The tears came fast and hot, slipping down my cheek before I could stop them. Why was he doing this? Why was he pulling me back when I had barely stitched myself together without him? I had tried to survive after him—after us—but here he was, undoing everything. And the worst part? I didn’t know how to stop him.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, and I meant it. For him. For me. For everything we had lost.
His voice softened into something almost broken. “What about me?”
My throat tightened. “What about you?”
His silence stretched, heavy and unyielding. When he finally spoke, the words came slow and raw—stripped of the armor he usually wore. “Why don’t I deserve you?”
The ache in his question dug deep, but I didn’t have an answer that would soothe him. Aaditya had always been short-tempered, always standing on the edge of an explosion. But Chandra aunty had once told me I was the only thing that calmed him. And maybe she was right. Maybe that’s why now, with the world, he was calm, composed. But with me? He was unhinged. He took it all in and then with me, he took it all out.
But he deserved to know the truth. Even if it hurt.
“Because when I told you I couldn’t marry you, you stormed off,” I whispered, my voice trembling under the weight of old wounds. “You didn’t even wait to hear me out, Aaditya. I just asked for one year. One year. And you left me.”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut skin. Then his breath hitched—a sound I knew too well. A warning.
“Don’t,” he growled, low and lethal. “Don’t fucking lie to me. That’s not how it happened. You think I wanted to marry her? You think I didn’t fight? I had pressure at home, Shona—you don’t fucking get it.”
His rage burned through the line, hot and wild. It should’ve scared me. Maybe it did. But more than that—it hurt. Because no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much damage we had done, he still had the power to hurt me.
“Aadi, stop it,” I said quietly, forcing calm into my voice even as my pulse raced.
“I have killed myself to be with you,” he bit out, his words fierce and raw. “I have killed my fucking conscience to be with you. And I am not letting go. Do you understand? Nothing—not time, not distance, not even my fucking marriage—can take you away from me.”
“No.” The word came out broken, barely above a whisper. “Please…”
But he wasn’t listening anymore. I could feel it—the moment the rage slipped into something colder, something far more dangerous.
“Just wait and see what I do now.”
The threat was soft—almost gentle—but it made my blood run cold. My whole body tensed, my heart thudding loud and fast as his words hung heavy between us, leaving no room for escape.
And then, with the terrifying calm only Aaditya Verma could manage, he said, “Bye.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
“Enjoy your Dubai, your freedom… while it lasts. And if you fuck another guy, I swear to God, Gargi—” He paused, letting the weight of his promise sink in. “—I will do something you’ll never forgive yourself for.”
The line went dead, but his words lingered—dark and heavy—curling around me like invisible chains. I sat there, frozen, the phone still clutched in my trembling hand, my pulse thudding loud in my ears.
“If you fuck another guy, I swear to God, Gargi—”
A promise. A threat. A truth I already knew—he wasn’t going to let me go. Not now. Maybe not ever.
I dragged myself off the bed and walked to the balcony, pushing open the glass door. The warm Dubai air hit me first—thick and dry—but it did nothing to soothe the chaos inside me. The city lights sprawled beneath me, glittering and endless, but I couldn’t see beauty in any of it. Not with his voice still echoing in my head. Not with the weight of him pressing down on my heart.
My fingers tightened around the cool metal railing, knuckles turning white. What now? I had come here to escape, to rebuild something for myself. And for a while, I almost believed I could. But with one phone call, Aaditya had cracked that illusion wide open.
If he never let me move on, how the hell was I supposed to?
The truth was brutal—I never really had. I could bury myself in work during the day, lose myself in emails and deadlines and the endless drone of corporate life. I could sit with Mom in the evenings, talking about nothing and everything while pretending the ache in my chest wasn’t consuming me from the inside out. But nights? Nights were the worst.
Because at night, there was nothing to distract me from the weight of missing him.
Missing someone who was gone forever—like Dad—was different. That pain settled over time. It dulled, became a part of you, something you carried but eventually learned to live with. But this? Missing Aaditya was a wound that never stopped bleeding. It cut deeper with every day, every breath, every second he lived a life I couldn’t be a part of. And the cruelest part? He refused to let me forget.
And her.
Prerna. His wife. The quiet girl from a small village who had no idea the man she shared a bed with had already given his heart to someone else. She didn’t question him, didn’t suspect him—at least not yet. But did that make it okay? Did her innocence mean we had the right to break her trust?
No.
And yet, here I was—fighting a losing battle against a man who had never learned how to lose.
I exhaled shakily and turned away from the city lights, stepping back into the bedroom. My body felt heavy, the kind of exhaustion that settled in your bones and refused to leave. I barely made it to the bed before collapsing onto the mattress, my limbs weak, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
What the hell had just happened? And what was he going to do now?
I stared at the phone lying beside me, as if it held the answers I didn’t want. I already knew Aaditya wasn’t bluffing. He never bluffed. If he said he’d do something—he would. And whatever came next wouldn’t be simple. It wouldn’t be easy.
Because Aaditya Verma didn’t know how to walk away.
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I swallowed them down. I wouldn’t cry for him. Not again. Not after everything he had put me through. He had no idea—no clue—what it felt like to sit at that dinner table and watch him smile at Prerna like she was his whole world. He didn’t know how it shattered me—how it hollowed me out from the inside. I had sat there, heart in pieces, knowing the one thing I had wanted my whole life had slipped through my fingers.
Him.
Aaditya. My Aaditya.
Loving a man like him was hard—exhausting, even. But being loved by him? That was a blessing and a curse. Because when Aaditya loved, he didn’t love in halves. He consumed. He claimed. He made you his until there was nothing left to give.
The first time he really looked at me—really looked at me—it was like the entire world tilted on its axis. That intense gaze, the one that always made me feel like I was the only thing he could see, had hooked me in a way nothing else ever had. I remembered the burn of it—hot and electric—how it spread through my whole body, leaving no part of me untouched.
But Aaditya? He never just gave.
He took.
And God help me, I had given him everything. Every piece of myself. Every dream, every hope, every inch of my heart—I had placed it all in his hands. And in return? He had torn me apart.
And now he was back.
Back to finish what he started.
Within the first month, he had made me cry. I had just started my first-year junior college. He had scissors in his hand as he terrified the hell out of me.
“Please… stop…” My voice wavered as I struggled to pull my hair free from his grasp. My scalp stung, my heart pounded in my chest, and my eyes stayed locked on the pair of scissors in his hand.
But Aaditya only smiled, that arrogant, infuriating smirk that told me he wasn’t going to stop. That this was a lesson, and I was about to learn it the hard way.
“What did I tell you the last time you wore sleeveless?”
“That I wouldn’t wear it anymore,” I choked out. “But… I already bought this. I can’t just throw it away.”
“I don’t care.” His grip tightened slightly, the blades glinting under the yellow light of his bedroom. “Maybe after you lose your hair, you’ll finally realize what it means to go against me.”
My stomach twisted in fear. “No, please… I’m sorry… I won’t do it again.”
His smirk didn’t fade. “Go change into my tee.”
I blinked. “How can I wear your t-shirt to college?”
“You can.” He released me, tossing the scissors onto the desk like they no longer mattered. “Go grab one.”
My hands shook as I turned toward his cupboard, yanking the doors open with more force than necessary. I was furious, so damn furious, that I grabbed one of his black tees—the most boring, oversized thing I could find—and in a fit of frustration, shoved the rest of his clothes onto the floor.
I spun toward the bathroom, determined to change and get this over with, but before I could take a step, he grabbed my arm and yanked me back. My breath hitched.
Aaditya was always like this—one moment dangerous, the next, something entirely different.
His hands found the hem of my top, pushing it upward.
“Aaditya…” I whispered, my voice barely there.
“Shush…” His voice was softer now, almost coaxing. “All is okay.”
He wasn’t supposed to do this. We weren’t even officially together. He hadn’t asked me out. Hadn’t declared me his. But he had taken me out, made me lie to my parents, dragged me to the movies, and acted like he owned me.
He was in his second last year of B.Tech at IIT, staying in the hostel even though it was just a few miles away. He only came home on weekends, but those weekends? Those belonged to me.
“Aadi…” I breathed his name like a secret, a prayer, a curse.
Before I could protest, he pulled my top over my head. My skin prickled under the cool air, under the weight of his gaze. But he didn’t linger. He didn’t act like a boy seeing a girl half undressed. He simply took his tee and slipped it over my head, pulling it down until it covered me completely.
It was huge. Swallowed me whole.
“I don’t like this,” I muttered, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
“But I do.” He stepped back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “I like you in my t-shirts.”
I scowled. “I’m not wearing this.”
“You are.”
Then, without another word, he grabbed my discarded sleeveless top, his fingers gripping the thin material as if it had personally offended him. And then, right before my eyes, he tore it in two. The fabric never stood a chance against the sheer strength in his hands.
A sharp gasp left my lips. “Aaditya! What the hell—”
But he was already turning away, walking out of the room like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just forced me into his clothes. Like he hadn’t just ruined mine.
I stood there, stunned, fists clenched at my sides. Rage bubbled in my chest, hot and suffocating. But what could I do? He was always a step ahead, always one move in front of me.
When I stormed downstairs, my best friend, Shama, was already watching me with barely concealed amusement.
“Your brother is a—” I cut myself off, jaw clenching. I hated cursing. More than me, Aaditya hated me cursing.
“He’s a lot of things,” Shama said with a shrug. “I know. I’ve lived with him since birth.”
She tossed me her belt, and I looped it around my waist, trying to salvage some dignity. Just as I tightened it, he sauntered into the room, grabbing something off the side table.
Our eyes met. I glared. He smirked.
Then, with the audacity only Aaditya could have, he blew me an air kiss before turning on his heel and walking out the door.
Shama snorted. “You enable him way too much.”
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “Maybe. But for that smile…” I bit my lip, heart hammering against my ribs. “Maybe I’d do anything for him.”
Shama’s knowing chuckle filled the silence. “And that, my dear, is exactly why he gets away with everything.”
∞
A week had passed since his last call. Seven days of silence, of not even a single message. Three weeks in Dubai and I had still not rented an apartment. I was staying at company property, begging for a week more time. They had given me final ultimatum. Until Tuesday. I sighed, not knowing how I would find a place in the weekend. I had seen a few places but was yet to finalize it.
The last seven days I had been living like a zombie, my eyes on my phone every few seconds. At night as well, I kept looking at my phone.
At first, I told myself I was fine, that this was what I wanted. I had needed the space, had prayed for it even. But now, standing at the threshold of another dull weekend, the weight of his absence felt heavier than I had expected.
I stepped out of the office, the cool Dubai evening brushing against my skin. Aakash, my Indian colleague, was already waiting, adjusting the leather strap of his bag as he grinned at me. His easygoing nature made work tolerable, and I found myself smiling back. He was my senior but we got along well.
“What are your plans for the weekend?” he asked, his tone casual.
I sighed, shifting my laptop bag onto my shoulder. “Don’t know. Maybe nothing much. I need to do some grocery shopping.”
“Finalized the rent apartment?”
I nodded. “That too. I have to do it this weekend.”
“Choose the first one we saw. You liked it.” He said with a grin.
Aakash was good and when he trained me on few of the processes, I told him about my apartment hopping. He joined in, showing me budget friendly places. But in the end it was my decision.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I need to go grocery shopping, that’s the first and foremost on my list as of now.”
Living alone in Dubai was… hollow. The city was grand, vibrant, luxurious in ways I couldn’t deny, but it wasn’t home. It lacked the warmth of familiarity, the chaos of people who knew you beyond polite conversations and scheduled meetups. I had taken this job for three reasons. First, to escape him. Second, for the money—the Dubai offer had given me a seventy percent hike along with a promotion. And third, the reason that sat like a stone in my gut, the one that made me sick with guilt—I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t sell my soul every time he touched me, not because he forced me, but because I wanted him too much. That was the problem. I wanted him, full stop.
Aakash gave me a thoughtful look, then shrugged. “I can join you if you want company. Remember Gargi, you are not alone here.”
I hesitated, studying him for a moment. His eyes didn’t hold the spark I used to see in Aaditya’s, the teasing arrogance, the possessiveness that made me shiver in both frustration and longing. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe I needed someone steady, someone simple. I nodded.
The grocery store was massive, stocked with everything imaginable, pristine and expensive, yet nothing felt like home. I missed Mumbai—the corner shops, the frantic bargaining, the tiny lanes crammed with vendors shouting over each other. Here, everything was organized, sterile, efficient.
“Look at this,” Aakash said, picking up a pack of instant noodles. “You just need to add veggies, and ten minutes later, dinner is ready.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m more of a paratha kind of girl.”
He laughed, his voice warm. “Not liking Dubai?”
“Dubai is good, but I haven’t really seen it,” I admitted, running my fingers over a row of neatly arranged spice jars.
“I can show you around. Next weekend?” he offered. “I’d have taken you tomorrow, but I already have plans. And you need to finalize the place or the HR would start deducting the rent from your salary.”
I considered it for a moment. Maybe a distraction wouldn’t be the worst idea. “Cool, let’s plan something. And yes, I am on it. This weekend I will finalize the house.”
We wandered the aisles for another hour, picking up things we probably didn’t need. By the time we were done, my cart was full, and for the first time in a long time, I felt lighter.
“This was nice,” I said, placing my bags on the checkout counter.
Aakash chuckled as I tapped my card on the machine. “You’re easily pleased.”
“I just like the process, it calms me.”
He nodded, smiling.
Once we stepped outside, Aakash led me to his car, unlocking the door and holding it open. I hesitated for a moment before sliding in, murmuring a soft thanks. He was easy to be around, effortless in a way that didn’t demand anything from me. Maybe that’s why I agreed to this grocery run in the first place—to remind myself that life could be simple, that interactions didn’t always have to be tangled in complications and unsaid things.
I turned to him as he started the engine, the soft hum filling the silence between us. “So, have you been with Salesforce for long?”
He glanced at me before switching lanes. “Yep, eleven years. Five of those in Dubai.”
I let out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s impressive.”
He smirked, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “But you love India more,” he observed, his tone light, but the statement held weight.
I sighed, shaking my head as if I could shake off the heaviness settling over me. “Is it that obvious?”
His lips twitched in amusement, but he didn’t say anything, waiting for me to continue.
“My father passed away years ago, so it was always just me and Mom. I miss her too much. Then there’s Shama—she’s my best friend, but honestly, her family always felt like mine too. I miss them as well.” My fingers traced the seam of my jeans, a nervous habit I hadn’t shaken. “I miss the personal connection. Mumbai felt like home in a way Dubai never will. Dubai is great—clean, efficient, everything works perfectly—but it’s… impersonal.”
He nodded, as if he understood, but I knew it wasn’t the same for him. “It takes time,” he said after a pause. “My life in Mumbai wasn’t exactly great, but I get what you mean.”
A beat of silence passed before he glanced at me. “Should I drop you home?”
I hesitated. “I don’t want to bother you. You can just drop me at the metro station.”
He nodded, not arguing, and we drove in comfortable silence.
Ten minutes later, we reached the station. It was just outside our office, a full circle from where we started. I unbuckled my seatbelt, opened the door, and stepped out. Aakash followed, opening the back door to retrieve my grocery bags.
“I guess I should’ve just dropped you home,” he muttered, shifting the weight of the bags in his arms. “These are heavy.”
“Don’t bother.”
The voice sliced through the air like a blade, freezing me in place. Every muscle in my body locked up, my heart slamming against my ribs in wild panic. That voice. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible.
I turned slowly, half-expecting—half-praying—that I was imagining things. But there he was. Aaditya. Standing just a few feet away, as if he had materialized out of thin air.
No. This wasn’t real. He was in Mumbai. He had to be in Mumbai. Dubai wasn’t a two-hour drive away—it was an entirely different world. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
He stepped forward, gaze locked onto mine, unreadable as ever. Then, casually, like he had every right to be here, he reached for my grocery bags.
Aakash was looking at me for direction and I just nodded. He gave me a lingering look before smiling and handing the bags to Aaditya.
“Mate, I’ll take it from here,” Aaditya said, his voice smooth, effortless—like he did this sort of thing all the time. “The boyfriend surprise thing—it always leaves them speechless.”
Aakash laughed, shaking his head in that easy, carefree way, as if this was just some casual joke between friends. As if my entire past—every raw, unresolved piece of it—wasn’t unraveling in front of me. Their eyes turned to me, waiting, like this was supposed to be funny. I forced a smile, but it felt hollow, detached.
My heart pounded in my chest, an ache that spread through my ribs, but I locked it down. It was the only way to survive moments like these.
Aaditya’s chin lifted, a silent command, as he gestured toward a sleek black car parked by the curb. Of course. Nothing about him was subtle. Without thinking—without even allowing myself the luxury of hesitation—I moved. My legs carried me forward, my body in autopilot while my brain scrambled to catch up. The door shut behind me with a soft, deliberate click as I slid into the backseat, my gaze fixed blankly ahead, refusing to meet his.
Outside, their conversation continued—low, easy, like this was the most normal thing in the world. I barely caught the murmured exchange before Aaditya shook Aakash’s hand, his posture relaxed but unmistakably in control. Then, without another word, he slid in beside me, his presence swallowing up the quiet space between us.
The driver nodded in acknowledgment and eased the car onto the road. The city lights blurred into a streak of gold and silver, but my mind couldn’t focus on anything except the unbearable silence pressing down on us. I clenched my hands together in my lap, knuckles white, my pulse thudding in my ears.
Ten minutes passed—each one heavier than the last—before I finally turned toward him. My voice came out quiet but razor-sharp. “What the hell, Aaditya?”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn. His focus stayed on the road ahead as if my words barely registered. “Let’s talk at home,” he said, his tone calm—too calm. Like he already knew exactly how this would play out.
Home. The word hit like a cold slap. My stomach twisted with something sharp and painful. What the hell did home even mean to him?
“And you know where I live now?” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care.
That finally earned me a glance. His expression was unreadable, the smooth surface of a man who gave nothing away unless he wanted to. “Didn’t you give your address to Shama?”
I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “I gave my address to Shama. Not you.” My words trembled on the edge of something dangerous—something I didn’t want to feel. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
His lips twitched, a flicker of amusement in his otherwise impassive face. “Language, Gargi.”
“Fuck my language,” I snapped, the words bursting out before I could stop them. Anger burned through me, hot and blinding. How dare he? How dare he sit there with that calm, smug expression like he hadn’t just bulldozed his way back into my life without permission?
His jaw ticked, a sharp flex of muscle, and for a moment, I thought I’d pushed too far. There was something dangerous in his stillness, something coiled tight beneath the surface. Then, without warning, the car slowed to a smooth, deliberate stop.
Aaditya moved first. Of course he did. Always in control. He stepped out, exchanging a brief word with the driver while I sat frozen, torn between fury and something far more treacherous—something warm and heavy that settled low in my stomach.
He turned back, eyes gleaming under the dim glow of the streetlights, his voice softer but no less commanding. “Show the way, Miss Gargi Guglani.”
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to scream and throw things and demand why the hell he still had this hold over me. But instead, I stormed ahead, my footsteps echoing through the quiet night as I led him toward my apartment. Let him follow. Let him carry everything—my rage, my confusion, the damn weight of five years I had spent clawing my way back to normal.
The second we stepped inside, I spun around, my chest rising and falling with the force of everything I wanted to say. But before I could get a single word out, he was on me.
His hands grabbed my waist, strong and unyielding, pulling me against him as if the space between us had offended him. His body—hot, solid, too familiar—pressed into mine, and then his mouth crashed onto mine, fierce and unapologetic. There was no softness, no hesitation. He kissed like he was making a point, like he had every right to take what he wanted. And maybe he did, because God help me—I let him.
A low, primal growl rumbled from his chest as his grip tightened, his fingers digging into my waist as if he could fuse us together by sheer force. His lips moved with a brutal intensity—biting, teasing, owning—until a whimper slipped from my mouth, betraying me completely. The sound seemed to snap something inside him because the next second, his tongue slid inside, deepening the kiss, demanding more.
I should have stopped him. I should have shoved him away and screamed at him to leave, but my traitorous body had always known a different truth. My hands curled against his chest—whether to push or pull, I wasn’t sure—and I melted against him, tasting the hunger he didn’t bother to hide.
He kissed me like he was still angry. Like he’d never forgiven me. And worse, like I was his. As if my absence had never changed that. And maybe it hadn’t, because no matter how much I hated myself for it—when it came to Aaditya Verma—I never really learned how to walk away.
His fingers worked my trouser buttons open, slipping inside before my mind could fully catch up with what was happening. “No,” I breathed out, my voice trembling—weak, useless against the way his fingers moved inside me. My body betrayed me instantly, clenching around his touch, but I couldn’t let this happen. Not again. Not like this.
I grabbed his wrist, a desperate attempt to stop him, to take back even the smallest piece of control. But he pulled his face back, just enough to look at me—his eyes blazing, dark with a warning I knew too well. “Don’t. You. Dare,” he said, his voice low, each word punctuated like a command etched in stone.
And I remembered. His rules. The one where I was never—never—allowed to touch his hand while he was inside me. I could plead, cry, beg if I wanted, but I couldn’t touch. He was five years older than me, and for as long as I’d known him, he had ordered me around like it was his God-given right. And the worst part? I let him. I had always let him. Until he married someone else. That should’ve changed things. It had to. But it hadn’t.
His fingers didn’t stop. If anything, my defiance only seemed to push him further. His other hand slid into my hair, twisting at the nape as he yanked my head back, exposing my neck. “You never learn,” he murmured, his lips brushing over my jaw before he kissed me again—rough and unyielding—swallowing every protest I might’ve had. His scent—clean, warm, so achingly familiar—wrapped around me, dragging me under. There was no space left to think. No room to fight. My trousers pooled at my ankles, my panties quickly following, and still, he didn’t stop. His fingers curled inside me, pushing deeper, stroking in that maddening rhythm that made my thighs tremble. I hated the sounds I was making—soft, needy, completely out of my control—but that only seemed to make him bolder.
I gasped, trying to twist away, to catch my breath, but it was too much. Too fast. Too raw. And then he lifted me—effortless, like I weighed nothing—and tossed me onto the couch. My pulse skittered in my throat, panic flaring beneath the molten heat pooling low in my stomach. I scrambled to sit up as I saw him remove his pants and boxers, to put any kind of distance between us, but he was already there, already on me. His mouth was back on mine, his hands rough as they roamed over my body—claiming, taking, reminding me exactly who was in control.
Before I could protest—before I could find even a shred of willpower—he thrust inside me.
The air punched out of my lungs. A scream caught in my throat, half pleasure, half devastation. My hands flew to his hair, fisting it tight, my nails biting into his scalp, but it didn’t slow him down. Nothing ever did. His grip on my hair tightened as he moved, his thrusts deep, relentless—like he wanted to break me apart from the inside out. And maybe he was. Because with every push, every ragged breath against my neck, I felt myself shattering. There was no escaping him. Not here. Not ever.
I loved him. God help me, I loved him. And it didn’t matter that he had no right to be here. That this—us—should’ve ended the day he put a ring on another woman’s finger. It didn’t matter that I had crossed oceans to get away from him. Somehow, he had still found me. And worse? My body still craved him like nothing else ever had.
His rhythm grew rougher, his groans low and raw as he came inside me—inside—without hesitation, without any of the usual care or control he had always kept between us. My heart lurched, a sharp ache slicing through the pleasure as he came inside me. He had never done that before. Not once. This was a new line crossed, a new weight to carry.
And the cruelest part? I wasn’t his wife. Prerna was. I was just… the other woman.
He didn’t pull away. He never did. Instead, he held me tighter, lifting me as if he couldn’t bear to let me go. “Wrap your legs around me, Shona,” he whispered, his voice softer now—dangerously.
And because I was weak—because I would always be weak for him—I did. I locked my legs around his waist, letting him carry me through the apartment like he owned the place. Like he owned me. His steps were sure, unhurried, as he kicked open the bedroom door, then shut it behind us. The next thing I knew, he was inside me again, his body pressing me into the mattress, dragging me under with every deep, punishing thrust.
This time, I came first—hard and fast, my body bowing beneath him—and when he followed, the way he whispered my name against my skin shattered me all over again.
When it was over, he didn’t leave. Of course he didn’t. He collapsed beside me, his body warm and heavy, pulling me into his arms like this was normal. Like I wasn’t supposed to hate him. And because I was too exhausted, too broken to fight it—I let him. I laid my head on his chest, feeling the steady, familiar rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek, and for a fleeting, dangerous moment, I let myself believe this was real. That he was real.
He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the top of my head—gentle, almost reverent—and that was what broke me the most. Like this wasn’t a disaster waiting to happen. Like we hadn’t already burned to the ground once before.
Sleep pulled at the edges of my mind, and I let it win. For a while, it was easier that way. Safer. In his arms, I slept like a baby, forgetting he wasn’t my constant as he used to be.
I woke up two hours later, and his arms still wrapped around me, the weight of everything we had just done crashed down on me like a tidal wave. I slipped out of his grasp, every nerve raw and frayed, and stumbled toward the bathroom. The second I shut the door, I sank to the cold floor tiles, my body shaking as the tears came hard and fast.
I sobbed—gut-wrenching, breathless cries that echoed through the silence. Because I had tried. God, I had tried so damn hard to escape him, to rebuild my life on my own terms, in a place where he couldn’t touch me. But it hadn’t worked. None of it had worked. And now? Now, I didn’t know how the hell I was supposed to survive him. Again.
A few minutes later, a soft knock echoed against the door before the knob turned, and there he was. Of course, he didn’t wait for permission—he never did. He stepped inside, crouching beside me without a word, his warmth wrapping around me as he pulled me into his arms. I should’ve pushed him away. I wanted to push him away. But instead, I leaned in, my body collapsing against his chest as I let the tears fall. And he let me cry—no teasing, no smart remarks—just the steady pressure of his hand moving up and down my back, grounding me while I fell apart in his arms.
When the tears finally dried, leaving me raw and hollow, I shifted to face him. His eyes, usually so cold and unreadable, softened just enough to make my chest ache. I wanted to believe that meant something. I wanted to believe this wasn’t just another game for him.
“We need to talk,” I said, my voice hoarse from crying.
“First dinner, then talking,” he said, so casually it made me snap.
“No,” I spat, the anger bubbling up again, raw and sharp. “Don’t fucking act like any of this is normal.”
And just like that, I hit a nerve. Something inside him shifted—something dark. Before I could react, he shoved me back onto the cold bathroom floor, pinning me beneath him. His breath was rough against my ear as his fingers found my still-sensitive entrance. In one swift motion, he pushed inside me again—hard, fast, and without warning.
“Stop,” I gasped, my hands pressing against his chest, trying to push him away. “Please stop.”
His mouth brushed against my jaw, but there was nothing soft about it. “Sorry, Shona,” he murmured, his tone low and dangerous, “once I start, I don’t stop. Don’t worry, baby—I’m close.”
I hated how my body reacted, how the stretch of him inside me still made me tremble. My mind screamed that this was wrong, that I should fight harder, but my muscles were weak—my resolve even weaker. A few rough thrusts later, he shuddered, spilling inside me for the third time that night. My stomach twisted, an ache building deep in my gut. This was too much. Too intimate. Too… dangerous.
When he pulled out, he cupped my face, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip like he hadn’t just wrecked every fragile boundary I’d tried to build. “We eat, then we talk. Okay? Or…” His lips curled into a wicked smirk. “I can go again. I can keep going.”
I swallowed hard, too shaken to argue, and gave a small nod. Anything to make this stop—or maybe to make it last.
“Good girl,” he said, pressing a quick, bruising kiss to my mouth before standing. He pulled me up with him like I weighed nothing, his grip firm as he guided me toward the shower.
I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. I stepped under the hot spray as he joined me, the warmth soaking into my skin while he lathered soap over my body. His hands were steady, gentle even, moving with the same confidence he always had—like I was his to touch, to care for, no matter how much I fought it. I should have told him to stop. Instead, I closed my eyes and let him wash my hair, let myself melt under the delicate strokes of his fingers. My chest ached because, for a moment, it felt safe. And that terrified me.
When we stepped out, I dried myself off and slipped into a loose tee and pajama bottoms while he rummaged through my cupboard. My breath hitched when he pulled out one of his old T-shirts—the one I kept hidden—and tugged it over his head without saying a word. He found his trousers from earlier and slipped them on, and just like that, it felt like he had never left. Like all those years apart had never happened.
Without another word, he picked me up and carried me to the kitchen. I should have fought him—I wanted to fight him—but my body sank into his touch as if I belonged there. He placed me on the counter, his hands lingering a little too long on my thighs before turning to check the groceries I had brought earlier.
I watched him, silent and heavy with memories as he moved around my kitchen. He boiled pasta on one stove while he stirred pink sauce on the other, his focus sharp and effortless. Watching him cook again—like he had done a hundred times in the past—brought back memories I’d buried deep. Late nights in his rented apartment during his last year of college. The tiny kitchenette where he used to make me Maggi noodles because I swore no one else could do it better. Him feeding me from his plate like I was the center of his world. He gave me everything—except the ring. And without that, everything else had shattered.
Thirty minutes later, he finished. He plated the pasta, dividing it between two bowls, and placed a shared plate of garlic bread between us. My stomach twisted at how normal it all seemed—how easily he slipped back into my life like he had never broken me. Then, from his bag, he pulled out a bottle of wine, pouring it into two glasses without a hint of hesitation.
When he finally turned to me, his expression softened just enough to make my throat ache. “Let’s sit, Shona. Let’s eat.”
I slid off the counter, wincing slightly as an ache throbbed between my legs—a reminder of everything that had just happened. His gaze flicked to me, dark and knowing, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he pulled out a chair, waiting until I settled before taking the seat beside me.
We ate in silence, the soft clink of forks against plates filling the thick, heavy air between us. Every bite I took felt like I was swallowing something more than just pasta—words I couldn’t say, feelings I didn’t want to name. But the worst part? The part that curled low and tight in my stomach, making me feel sick?
It wasn’t just that he was here, sitting across from me, acting like he still owned me.
It was that a part of me still wanted to let him.
His voice sliced through the silence, low and calm—too calm. “Who is Aakash?”
I froze mid-bite, my fork hovering in the air. Of course, he’d ask. Of course, he couldn’t let it go. I set my fork down with careful precision, forcing my pulse to steady. “A colleague,” I said, keeping my tone flat, uninterested.
Aaditya leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable, but there was something dangerous in the way his fingers drummed lazily against the stem of his wine glass. That tension—the one coiling just beneath his skin, the one I had spent years learning to fear—was there. Lurking. Waiting.
“The laws are quite strict here, Shona,” he murmured, his voice as smooth as silk, as sharp as a knife. “If I go to prison, I’m not sure how I’d get out.”
The air turned frigid. My fingers tightened around my glass. “What?”
“I don’t want to hurt Aakash.” His words were a lie. A deadly, beautiful lie. I knew him too well. He wanted to. He wanted to rip Aakash apart just for existing in my space, for sharing the same air I breathed.
“You don’t have to.” My voice was too fast, too eager to defuse the storm before it could rise.
His lips curved—not a smile, something colder. Something predatory. “You don’t have to give me a reason to hurt him.”
“I’m not.” My voice wavered despite my best efforts. “He’s just a colleague. My senior, but from a different department. We’ve only met a few times—he was my training manager, teaching me some of the processes I need to use. That’s it.”
Aaditya tilted his head slightly, as if weighing my words, peeling them apart, tasting them for lies. And then, after what felt like an eternity, he said, “Cool.”
Cool. Like he wasn’t already mapping out exactly how much damage he’d inflict if Aakash so much as looked at me again.
I exhaled slowly, gripping my glass as if it were the only thing anchoring me to sanity. I needed control. I needed answers. “What are you doing here, Aaditya?”
“I got a transfer.”
His words landed like a physical blow. My fingers went numb around the glass. “What?”
“My company was already pushing me to move to London,” he said easily, like this was just another casual update. “But they also have an office here. I asked for a transfer. The process was fast. I still need to go back to complete a few formalities, but after that…” He met my eyes, and my heart stilled. “I’m here. Permanently or at least for the next two years as per my current contract. My office will provide accommodation, so we’ll shift there. Good thing you haven’t rented anything yet.”
We. Shift. There.
I stared at him, my mind struggling to process, to make sense of words that didn’t belong in my reality. “You… shifted to Dubai?”
“Yep.” He took a sip of his wine, unconcerned. “Told Prerna she couldn’t come along.”
I flinched. Prerna. His wife.
“She wasn’t planning to anyway,” he added, as if that detail somehow made this less insane. “Her mother’s not well. She wants to stay back with her family. This way…” His gaze darkened, something possessive curling in his voice, something that had always been mine to bear. “We get to stay together now.”
No. No, no, no. My stomach twisted. I felt sick. “But you’re still married to her,” I whispered, the words tasting like bile.
“I am.” No hesitation. No regret.
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it. “Fuck you, Aaditya.”
His eyes flashed, dark and hungry, full of something feral. He leaned in, his breath warm against my skin, his voice curling around the edges of a promise and a threat. “Say it again, Shona,” he murmured, his fingers tracing my jaw. “And I will.”
I clamped my mouth shut, my heart pounding against my ribs, erratic and terrified. Because I knew he meant it. And here? In this city? There was no one to stop him. No family to rein him in. No rules that could contain him. Nothing between us but the tangled, broken mess we had become.
I had run across countries to escape him.
But Aaditya Verma had followed.
He stood and moved closer, tilting my chin up when I tried to turn away. His grip was firm, sure, and far too familiar. “Now we get to stay with each other,” he murmured, his voice laced with the kind of certainty that left no room for protest. “We get to play husband and wife, and I’m looking forward to it, Shona. You are mine, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my time with you. I want to see how life would be with you.” His thumb traced my bottom lip, his eyes dark with promise. “And I am too excited for tomorrow to come, then day after tomorrow, then next week, then next month. I can’t wait.”
I swallowed hard, not knowing what to say.
I hope you enjoyed this part (Unhinged Love); wait for the next one. Coming soon. Thank you!
Do check out my articles on Twin Flames.
Author Payal Dedhia independently publishes books on Amazon Kindle. You can check her collection by clicking here.
If you like Dark Romance Fiction, do read my Sctintilla Series. Click here to read.
Aayansh Ahluwalia isn’t just a billionaire business tycoon—he’s the kind of man who haunts people’s nightmares. The world may recognize Scintilla Corporations as a legitimate empire, but Aayansh isn’t confined to the light. In the shadows, he commands an empire of fear, power, and blood. He rules over the underdogs, the darkness that terrifies everyone else.
Ruthless and untouchable, they call him a devil for a reason—he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t blink when it comes to taking lives.
His existence is fearless. His power, unmatched. Yet beneath the wealth and carnage lies a void—a darkness so complete it consumes him. There’s no light, no hope. Just emptiness stretching endlessly, leaving him hollow.
Then, one night, everything changed.
He saw her—a woman so radiant, so full of life, she made his chaos stand still. She erupted into his world like a dream, settling in his heart and claiming it as her own.
Tisha Chopra.
Aayansh hadn’t been searching for her, hadn’t asked for her. But the moment he saw her, he knew—she would be his.
She didn’t belong in his world, and that only made him want her more. Her laughter, her light—it wasn’t meant to survive the darkness he thrived in, yet it pulled him in, unrelenting. Like a predator to prey, he followed. He didn’t want her to save him. No. He wanted to ruin her, piece by piece, until she belonged to him completely. He would drag her down, crown her queen in his Devil’s Paradise, and make her sit beside him on the devil’s throne while he ruled the world.What unfolds is a story steeped in obsession, control, and desire—a dangerous game where love is a battlefield, and submission comes at the cost of a soul.
Scintilla isn’t just the name of Aayansh’s empire; it’s the pulse of this saga—a place where power thrives and morality dies.
The series is divided into four phases:
🔥 The Chase – Where the predator finds his prey. Click here to read.
- The Beginning – A collision of worlds. A spark ignited.
- Unveiling Paradise – Her light tempts the darkness.
- The Masked Guy – Secrets wear masks. So do devils.
- Unleashing the Demons – Once awakened, there’s no turning back.
- The Winner – Victory tastes sweeter when claimed by force.
🔥 The Possession – Where obsession takes root. Click here to read.
- New Beginning – The chase ends. The real game begins.
- The Rules – Boundaries are set, only to be broken.
- Gilded Cage – Possession doesn’t feel like freedom.
- Unleashed Fury – When control falters, chaos reigns.
- Ensnared Hearts – Hearts trapped, souls scarred.
🔥 The Submission – Where surrender is demanded, not given. Click here to read.
- Her Resistance – Light fights back. Darkness pushes harder.
- Her Confession – Truths whispered in the dark.
- The Good Times – A fleeting calm before the storm.
- The Devil Struck – The predator strikes. The angel shatters.
- Angel’s Judgement – When love turns to reckoning.
🔥 The Reward – Where love and darkness collide, leaving nothing unscarred. Click here to read.
- The Storm – Chaos erupts, tearing apart the fragile ties of love and power.
- The Punishment – Sins are judged, debts are paid, and vengeance claims its due.
The Arranged Marriage series is a collection of 5 books.
Book 1 – The First Meet (Read now)
Book 2: The Life Together (Read now)
Book 3 – The Surprises in Store (Read now)
Book 4 – The Everchanging Times (Read now)
Book 5: The Story of Us (Coming Soon)
The Unscripted Love Series is a collection of 10 books
Book 1 – Arjun’s Jenny (click to read)
Book 2 – Priti’s Rendezvous with Somesh (click to read)
Book 3 – Rana’s Vivacious Girlfriend (click to read)
Book 4 – Claire’s Dashing Raj (click to read)
Book 5 – My Rebirth (click to read)
Book 6 – My Family (click to read)
Book 7 – My Sister’s Wedding (click to read)
Book 8 – My Secret Love (click to read)
Book 9 – My Silent Romeo (click to read)
Book 10 – The Brunch (click to read)
[…] Twisted Ties of Life: Nowhere to Hide from his Unhinged Love […]