Maya
Stupid. That’s what I am.
People can be reckless. Others are just foolish. But me? I’m both. A reckless fool chasing a devil. A man who doesn’t walk—he hunts. A man who doesn't speak—he commands. And now, that devil has said yes to our engagement. Voluntarily. Without protest. Without so much as lifting an eyebrow.
And that's the most terrifying part.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t lash out. He simply said yes. Cold. Calculated. Calm.
And I—I’ve been trembling ever since.
The air conditioner in my room is set to 25 degrees, but I’m curled under my blanket, shivering like I’m trapped in a snowstorm. My palms are sweaty, and my oversized green T-shirt clings to my skin like it has spines. It feels like my body is reacting to something it senses before my mind can name it—danger.
Pure. Raw. Terrifying danger.
I popped an anxiety pill a while ago, but it didn’t help. Not when your soul is shaken from the inside out. Not when the man you’re engaged to—publicly, no less—isn't a man but a predator dressed in human skin.
The scandal that started this madness feels like a blur now—an out-of-focus memory burned in bright camera flashes and whispered headlines. A photo. Me. Utsav. In his car. Compromising position. The damage? Irreversible.
Since the story exploded, both the Mehrotras and my own family have been in a collective state of paralysis. Everyone's stunned. Because no one—no one—expected Utsav Mehrotra to be involved in something so salacious. He’s a man whose name alone evokes fear, respect, and mystery. He's always been untouchable.
But now?
Now, he's in the center of a media circus. And I’m the unfortunate queen of the show.
What shocks me more than the chaos is him. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t fight it. Just accepted the engagement suggestion like it was part of a schedule.
And that’s what’s making my stomach twist with dread. Because men like Utsav don’t surrender easily.
No. They never surrender. They calculate.
That yes… it was planned.
Even now, sitting in my dimly lit room while the world sleeps, my thoughts are spiraling. I’m trying to make sense of everything while pretending I’m not drowning. Mom is asleep in the next room. She cried all night. She was shattered when the scandal broke, her tears soaking her pillow like ink on fragile paper.
But I calmed her down. Wiped her tears. Acted like I was fine. We reached out to the Mehrotras.
And shockingly, they didn’t react with disdain or rage.
No drama. No insults. Just… cooperation. As if they were already prepared.
Utsav’s father—Adhiraj Mehrotra—spoke to us with warmth. Called me his daughter. His words were dipped in honey, so polished and kind that, for a moment, I almost believed him.
But then again, I’ve spent three years in the Bollywood industry. Three years among glittering gowns and glassy smiles. I know what a mask looks like. I know the difference between a kind man and a dangerous one pretending to be kind.
And Adhiraj? His sweetness wasn’t natural—it was rehearsed. Like a speech memorized for decades.
Still, I tried to convince myself that I was overthinking. That perhaps my paranoia was playing tricks on me.
After all, Adhiraj is a businessman. Not a mafia king. Not like his son.
Because Utsav... oh, Utsav isn’t pretending. He doesn’t hide behind facades. He is the facade.
To the world, he’s a heart surgeon—reserved, brilliant, coldly professional. But I know better.
I know who he really is.
The Lord of the underworld. A man who could make someone vanish without leaving a trace. A man who knows exactly where to stab—whether it's the body or the soul. A man who can kill without blinking… and never feel remorse.
And I?
I provoked him.
I played him.
I twisted a moment into a scandal. I dragged him into the spotlight like a trophy.
Oh god.
Someone please check me into a mental hospital. Because no sane woman would do what I did. No sane woman would take on Utsav Mehrotra as a game.
For any outsider, Utsav’s engagement to me would be seen as a romantic triumph. A brooding, silent man finally falling for a bold, beautiful woman. The media probably thinks we’re a power couple. That I tamed the beast.
But the truth?
I’m not the victor. I’m the prey.
And that “yes” wasn’t surrender. It was a trap.
For me.
This engagement isn’t a promise of love.
It’s a cage. A golden, glittering cage. And Utsav is standing outside it, holding the key... smiling.
But here’s the twist in this tale—I’m not scared enough to run.
Because I’m in love with him.
Yes. It’s toxic. It’s terrifying. But it’s real.
I’ve fallen for the devil, and the sickest part of my soul wants to be owned by him.
He won’t love me. He’ll dominate me. Possess me. Tear me apart piece by piece. And yet…
My twisted heart wants that. Wants him.
Even now, the thought of seeing him again—of standing across from him and facing those soulless, piercing eyes—is enough to send fresh chills down my spine. But I won’t break. I can’t.
Because Utsav Mehrotra isn’t just my punishment.
He’s my obsession.
And I will never walk away.
Even if it kills me.
The door creaked open with a slow, ominous groan.
And there he was.
The enigma cloaked in silence. The ruthless legend in human form. Utsav Mehrotra.
My breath caught in my throat.
His towering frame leaned casually against the doorway, his eyes as unreadable as ever—deep brown with that unsettling calmness that unnerved even the strongest. He wore a plain white, fitted T-shirt that clung to his sculpted chest and grey trousers, the kind that made every quiet step echo like a warning. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, but nothing about him felt casual.
My throat felt like the desert—dry, parched, cracking. My feet tingled, palms went cold. But I wasn’t going to shrink back. I couldn’t.
I was Maya Shekhavat.
And I refused to let anyone, even a man like him, see me falter.
“Manners?” I bit out, keeping my voice sharp, despite the tremble I felt crawling under my skin. “You didn’t even knock.”
He tilted his head slightly, as if mildly amused by my attempt at indignation.
“Is it so?” His voice held the chill of steel coated in silk. “I thought I could steal a few private moments with my fiancée.”
There was something dangerously soft in the way he said fiancée—like he was tasting the word, or perhaps mocking it.
Utsav Mehrotra didn’t knock. He invaded.
He approached like a predator—measured, quiet, and sure of the terror he inspired. The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound echoed in the silence like the sealing of fate.
My body screamed to move—to run—but I remained frozen on the bed, staring at him with a defiant expression. I wouldn’t let him see me break. Not yet.
“You... you can have your private moment,” I forced the words out, keeping my back straight. “But at least a knock wouldn’t hurt—”
“Shhh.”
His voice cut through the air like a blade dipped in velvet. The soft hiss silenced me instantly.
Before I could react, he leaned in—hovering over me on the bed, caging me in with his arms as his palms sank into the mattress on either side of me. The sheer force of his presence made my breath hitch.
I stared up at him, keeping my face as composed as possible. His body loomed inches from mine, suffocating with controlled power. He didn’t touch me—but every inch of air between us vibrated with a threat I couldn’t define.
“What happened, Emerald?” he murmured, eyes narrowing. “You’re shivering.”
He was mocking me. I could hear the pleasure in his voice—the thrill of watching me trapped in his web. A smirk curved his lips, slow and cruel.
“You should be happy, no?” he whispered. “We’re getting engaged, after all. And soon...”
His hand reached for the blanket wrapped around me, and with one swift motion, he pulled it off.
My breath stilled.
“...we’ll be married.”
The words were cold. Not romantic. Not promising. Just… final.
I tried to speak, to call out the absurdity of it all, but I could barely hear my own voice.
“I—I am happy,” I managed to say, eyes still locked on his. “But this scandal—”
“Ah. This scandal,” he interrupted with a sharp laugh. It wasn’t joyful—it was the kind that belonged in a room full of knives.
He straightened up and began pacing slowly, his steps deliberate as he circled the bed. I followed his every movement with wary eyes. There was nothing random about him—every gesture, every word was a calculated move in a game I didn’t know the rules of.
“I was just thinking,” he said, voice low, almost musing. “What a perfectly timed mess, isn’t it? The paparazzi caught you... right at the exact second when you had a panic attack.”
He stopped directly in front of me again, his brow lifted ever so slightly.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit... cliché?”
I swallowed. Hard.
My entire body was tense. My heart pounded so loudly it drowned out my thoughts. Does he know? My brain screamed the question, over and over. Did he find out? Did he see the footage? Did someone tell him?
I couldn’t breathe properly. A thin layer of sweat broke across my forehead.
And then—his fingers brushed against my skin.
Just two fingers. Lightly placed against my clammy forehead. The gesture was almost gentle. But in his hands, even softness felt like a threat.
“You’re sweating, Emerald,” he murmured.
The nickname hit like a curse. He said it so easily, but I knew the weight he gave it. To him, I wasn’t Maya. I was a possession. A game piece.
His voice lowered further. “Are you nervous?”
I shook my head. Frantically. But my face remained impassive. No fear. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
Inside, however, my mind was spiraling.
What if he kills me?
What if he drags me into the shadows and no one ever finds my body?
What if this engagement isn’t just about distraction—but punishment?
I steeled my spine, forcing calm into my voice. “Yes. The timing is... a little too perfect.”
He chuckled. The sound was slow and sinister, like a man who enjoyed watching fire consume everything it touched.
“Exactly what I thought.”
His eyes bore into mine like he was peeling away the layers of my skin, searching for truth. Every second I spent in his presence made it harder to hold on to the illusion of control.
And still—I didn’t blink. I didn’t flinch.
Because if I did, I would fall.
And Utsav Mehrotra never let anyone rise again once they fell.
“What? What did you think?” I asked, keeping my voice as calm as possible, even though I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, betraying the storm raging inside.
“That the plan was too good,” Utsav’s words cut through the air like a blade, freezing the blood in my veins.
My world halted. For a moment, I could hear nothing but the distant ringing in my ears.
He knew.
He knew about it.
He damn well knew what I’d done.
Still, I didn’t back down. My spine straightened out of habit, instinct. “Whose plan?” I asked, feigning confusion, forcing my brows to knot like I was clueless, like I was some innocent bystander in this whole mess.
But he wasn’t buying it.
He leaned closer.
The scent of his cologne curled around me like smoke—dark, musky, rich—invading my space, suffocating. His breath brushed against my cheek, warm and intoxicating, but the closeness didn’t fluster me—it warned me. Utsav Mehrotra never stepped too close unless he was about to destroy something.
“You don’t know?” he asked, his tone coated with condescension.
Not a question. A weapon.
I shook my head again. “No.” My voice was small.
But inside—I knew. Every second passing made it clearer that he was playing with me now. Toying. Circling like a predator before striking.
“Impressive,” he drawled. “I refused to date, so you—”
“I didn’t do anything!” I blurted, too fast, my voice laced with panic.
He grabbed my chin hard, forcing my gaze to meet his. “But I didn’t say you called the paparazzi… Emerald.”
His voice was low, laced with venom. He called me that name again. Emerald. Not in affection—but as a taunt. A claim. A threat.
His thumb brushed my cheek as if mocking my helplessness. And then he pulled away just slightly—enough to retrieve his phone and place it in front of me.
The screen lit up. A video played.
A man sat on the floor—bloodied, bruised, half-naked, on his knees—confessing.
He said my name.
Said I had ordered him to capture the moment. To leak the photos. To orchestrate the media storm.
I couldn’t breathe.
I lifted my gaze slowly. Utsav was still standing there, his posture relaxed, his expression calm—eerily calm. But his eyes… His eyes were made of hell.
“So?” he said. “Any explanation?”
“I… I…” The words tripped over my tongue. “I just tried to blackmail you, Mr. Mehrotra… I swear I never meant for those pictures to go viral—”
“SHUT UP.”
His voice exploded like thunder, silencing me instantly.
And then before I could react, he twisted my wrist behind my back and slammed me onto the bed beneath him, pinning me down with terrifying force. The breath escaped my lungs in a gasp.
He hovered over me, and for the first time since I met him—I felt like prey.
“You think this is a game?” he snarled. “You didn’t just leak pictures. You didn’t just pull a PR stunt. You dragged the Mehrotras into a scandal. You—” his eyes darkened further— “were wearing my shirt, disheveled, in my car. Do you even realize what that did to your dignity? Or were you so blinded by your obsession with me that you forgot the cost?”
“I… I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears stinging the back of my throat. “I just wanted you.”
“Wanted me?” His voice dripped with mockery. “Fine. You have me now, Emerald. And I promise you—you will regret it.”
He pressed his forehead to mine, eyes drilling into me like he could read every sin I’d ever committed. “I will claim you,” he whispered, his voice now a terrifying hush. “Own you. Break you. And when I’m done with you… you’ll beg for mercy.”
His left hand slid between us.
And then—
He pinched my breast through the fabric of my bra.
Not gently. Not affectionately.
But deliberately.
Shock jolted through me like a current. I froze. I didn’t even have time to process the intimacy before he let go—just like that—and stepped back, leaving me breathless, disheveled, stunned.
“I don’t have to lift a finger to destroy you,” he said, voice calm again, like he hadn’t just threatened to turn my life into ash. “The destruction will come from within.”
And then he turned and walked out.
Gone.
Like a storm that destroyed and moved on.
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I sat there on the edge of the bed, my breath shaky, my limbs numb. My wrist still stung from his grip. My chest ached. Not from the touch—but from the humiliation. The exposure. The fact that I’d underestimated him.
Again.
And yet… he didn’t kill me.
He didn’t hit me.
He didn't ruin me completely, though he could’ve.
He just warned me.
And that, somehow, was a win.
Because if Utsav Mehrotra had truly decided to destroy me—emotionally, physically, socially—I’d be in pieces already. But he hadn’t.
He left me broken… but not shattered.
Not yet.
And maybe that’s what frightened me more—what’s to come. Because he’s not like other men. Not emotional. Not impulsive. He’s methodical. Precise. Cruel in ways the world hasn’t even invented yet.
But even in the wreckage of what I caused—some sick part of me… craved him more.
I will beg for mercy? No, Utsav. You’ll see—I’ll beg for you to claim me again. Not out of fear.
But out of obsession.
You think you’re the hunter?
But the moment you touched me…
You became mine.
Good luck, dear fiancé.
Let the war begin.
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"Do let me know your thoughts about this chapter in the comments section. If you liked it, please don't forget to vote. Your single vote is enough to give me the courage to keep writing more.
And please, don't judge the characters solely based on the starting chapters. There's so much yet to unfold. Especially Utsav - I know his personality might seem negative at times, but trust me, he's about to go through a powerful journey of transformation.
Let the story breathe a little before forming opinions. Big twists are coming."
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