CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 32


The pale morning light seeped through the lace curtains of the Venetian hotel suite, painting the marble walls in hues of cold silver and forgotten dreams. The air was still, except for the faint sound of water lapping against the canal below.
Vedika stirred.
Her body ached in quiet places — not from pain, but from a heaviness that came from surrendering to something she never consented to, not with her heart. The sheets clung to her bare skin, a reminder of the night etched into her muscles and her memory. Her breath felt caught between her ribs, rising slowly as if her lungs feared the weight of waking.
She turned her head.
Abhimaan lay beside her, the sheet tangled loosely around his waist, his chest bare and rising with slow, deep breaths. There was no trace of the storm he had been the night before. His face was calm, untouched, as if sleep had wiped him clean of what he had done — or what he believed he had taken.
But Vedika remembered everything.
His eyes — not full of love, but of hunger. His hands — claiming, never asking. His voice — low, possessive, promising her the world only if she stayed locked in his arms. There had been a moment — just a moment — when she had given in, not from desire, but from exhaustion. From the futility of resistance. From the realization that no one was coming to save her.
And that was the part that shamed her the most.
Not that she had been with him.
But that a part of her had wanted to forget everything — if only for a night — and be seen. Touched. Held.
Now the silence between them was louder than his words had ever been.
Vedika sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to her chest. The ache in her legs made her wince. She looked around the room — the scattered clothes, the overturned wine glass on the floor, the remains of red rose petals that had been strewn across the bed. It had been staged — romance scripted over a story of control.
She looked at Abhimaan again.
He hadn’t stirred. He slept like a man who had won.
And maybe he had.
Vedika slid out of bed, careful not to wake him. Her body was bare, but she had never felt more stripped than she did now — stripped of her will, her voice, her identity. She pulled on the silk robe left hanging by the armchair and walked to the window.
Outside, Venice shimmered in soft morning light — gondolas slicing through silver water, tourists beginning their day with espresso and careless laughter. The world looked untouched. Free.
She touched the glass, her reflection faint in it. A bride. A captive. A woman carrying the burden of someone else’s obsession.
Behind her, she heard him shift.
"Vedika…" His voice was groggy, laced with sleep.
She didn’t answer.
He sat up slightly, resting against the headboard. “Come back to bed.”
Her hands clenched into fists. “I can’t.”
He frowned, as if she had said something irrational. “Last night… we crossed a line. There’s no going back now.”
She turned, facing him. “You think that makes it right?”
“I think it makes you mine.”
Those words pierced deeper than any touch.
Vedika stepped away from the window. “You don’t own me, Abhimaan. You’ve just caged me in a room so tight I can’t breathe. And last night… you called it love.”
He didn’t flinch. “Because it is. You just don’t understand it yet.” He replied with anger in his voice.
She shook her head. “No. It’s not love when only one person chooses.”
He stood, walking toward her without shame or hesitation, still bare. She backed away.
But this time, he stopped.
“I will touch you remember this — you’re my wife. And you denying it does not change your identity as my wife.”
She looked up at him, her voice a whisper. “Then you are delusional.”
His jaw clenched due to her constant fight against him her constant denial to his rights over her is something which triggers his animal.

With a low growl, his lips crashed onto hers—hungry, raw, claiming. Vedika’s body tensed, instinctively pushing away, but the strength of his hold pinned her, erasing resistance with every fierce kiss. His tongue slipped inside, tasting the bitterness of her fear and the sweetness of reluctant surrender. She tasted herself in him—the bitterness of captivity, the shame of submission.
Her breaths came in ragged gasps as his hands roamed her body—smoothing over curves, tugging at her robe, pulling off layers like shedding the last fragile barriers between them. Her srobe slipped down, a cascade of silk revealing the pale skin beneath. He traced every inch as if memorizing, as if branding her soul.
His mouth found the sensitive hollow of her neck again, teeth grazing the skin, leaving a trail of heat and small, cruel marks. Vedika’s skin burned under his lips, a paradox of pleasure and pain.
"You're mine," Abhimaan whispered against her throat, voice thick with dark promise.
She shook her head, lips trembling, tears burning behind her eyes. But the defiance was fragile now, crumbling beneath his touch.
He sank lower, trailing kisses down her collarbone, his breath hot and uneven, his hands clutching her waist, holding her like a prize, like a possession no one else would ever claim.
When his mouth found the sensitive skin just beneath her ribs, Vedika gasped, arching against him despite herself. His lips sucked and nipped with possessive hunger, igniting fires beneath her skin.
The cool marble floor pressed against her bare feet, grounding her in a world that was dissolving into heat and whispered promises. The wilting red rose on the side table was a silent witness—its petals crushed under the weight of passion and pain.
Abhimaan’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her lingerie, a rough but reverent exploration, pulling her closer until no space remained between them. Their skin met with a searing heat that threatened to consume them both.
He pushed her on the couch of the balcony removing the last piece separating them. His lips found her nipples and started sucking on them as they were his candy but with a force to hurt her so that she knows who he is. Without any wait he entered his rod inside her wet clit, deliberately without giving any time started thrusting inside her —each movement a claim, a conquest. Vedika’s body trembled, heart hammering wildly as conflicting waves of fear, shame, and a dark, twisted need pulsed through her veins.
His hands gripped her hips tightly, anchoring her, while his gaze never left hers—possessive, possessive, demanding. There was no room for hesitation, no space for escape.
As he moved inside her, the rawness of the moment overwhelmed every sense. She tasted the bitter tang of despair and the aching pulse of forced surrender. Every touch, every thrust was a reminder that this union was not born of love, but of obsession and control.
Her breath hitched, and tears spilled down her cheeks—not from pleasure, but from the crushing weight of captivity.
When he finally filled her pussy with his cum then only he had left the crushed soul which was only waiting for this torcher to end. they lay tangled in the aftermath—a haunting blend of violence and vulnerability, dominance and fragile submission. Abhimaan’s possessive gaze softened just for a moment as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.
"You belong to me," he murmured. "Every part of you."
Vedika closed her eyes, the bitter truth settling deep within her—she was trapped in a cage forged not of iron, but of desire and domination.