Possession in Ruin

Possession in Ruin
Across the city, in the dimly lit confines of his office, Ekansh stood by the window, staring at the skyline.

His jaw was locked. His hands fisted at his sides.

Kabir entered, his face grim. “We have a problem.”

Ekansh didn’t look at him. “Go on.”

“Siara has been digging.”

A muscle in Ekansh’s jaw ticked.

“She asked her informer to find out about a specific tattoo,” Kabir continued, placing a file on the desk. “And when I saw it… I realized why she’s been acting strange around you.”

Ekansh turned his head slightly. “What tattoo?”

Kabir slid a photograph toward him.

Ekansh’s eyes darkened the moment he saw it.

It was his tattoo.

Ink embedded into his skin—a mark of a past he had never wanted her to see.

Now, she knew.

And now it made sense why she was behaving so strange last night.

Now, she was getting closer to the truth.

And the worst part?

She wouldn’t stop.

Ekansh let out a slow breath, forcing himself to stay calm.

Except he wasn’t calm.

The thought of Siara getting too close to this world sent a shiver down his spine.

She wasn’t meant for this darkness.

She wasn’t supposed to be entangled in his world.

And yet, she was.

"Damn you, Siara. Why can’t you just stay away?"

Because if she kept digging…

She would find things she was never meant to know.

––––––––

Ekansh leaned against the cold glass of the window, his breath slow, measured—controlled. But beneath that carefully constructed exterior, he was anything but calm.

His fingers curled into a fist, nails pressing against his palm, hard enough to break skin. He welcomed the sting. Anything to keep his thoughts from spiraling into something darker. Anything to drown out the chaos brewing inside him.

Blood still clung to his knuckles, drying in uneven smudges. He should have washed it off. He should have felt something about what he had done.

But all he felt was rage.

Not at himself. Not at what had transpired last night.

At her.

Siara.

She hadn’t confronted him yet.

But she would.

And when she did, he already knew what she would see.

Not the man who had watched over her in the shadows, ensured that no real harm ever reached her, the man who had stayed close even when he shouldn’t have.

No, none of that would matter.

She would see him as the villain.

She had probably already painted him in that image, locking herself inside her own version of the story, twisting everything to fit the conclusion she had drawn.

Would she even hesitate before believing the worst?

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. No, of course not.

Siara was smart, calculated—always seeing things in black and white.

But the truth? The truth was never that simple.

Ekansh exhaled sharply, his chest tightening with something dangerously close to frustration.

Why did it matter?

Why did the idea of her looking at him with disgust feel like a blade lodged between his ribs?

It shouldn’t.

And yet, it did.

Because she had made him uncertain—and that was the worst part of all.

Before her, things had been simple. He had been certain of his choices, his control, the way the world worked. He had dictated the terms of his life, determined what was his and what was not.

Then she had come along.

Siara, with her sharp eyes and sharper tongue. With her stubborn defiance and her quiet strength. She had slipped past every wall he had built, broken past the edges of his carefully crafted world without even trying.

And now?

Now, she was going to walk away, wasn’t she?

The thought sent a cold wave of something ugly crashing through him.

No.

She couldn’t.

He wouldn’t let her.

She didn’t know the truth yet. Didn’t know everything he had done, everything he would do to keep her safe.

To keep her his.

That’s what it all boiled down to, didn’t it?

Siara belonged to him.

She didn’t know it yet. Maybe she never would.

But that didn’t change the truth.

She was his. And he had no intention of letting her go.

Ekansh pressed a hand to his forehead, inhaling slowly, forcing himself to think. He needed to stay ahead of this.

He had to be ready for when she finally confronted him, for when she turned those fierce, accusing eyes on him.

Would she fight him? Would she demand answers with the same fire he had come to admire in her?

Or worse—would she walk away without a word?

The idea sent something dangerously close to panic lacing through his veins.

No. He wouldn’t let that happen.

Siara wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t someone who could be silenced or easily controlled. She wasn’t someone who could be bought or scared into obedience.

She was a storm.

And he had never wanted anything more than he wanted her.

His grip tightened.

She had trusted him. Maybe not fully, maybe not completely, but enough.

He had seen it in her eyes, the way they softened when she let her guard down, the way her sharp words sometimes gave way to something hesitant, uncertain.

She had started to let him in.

Started to believe that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t the monster she had first assumed him to be.

And now?

Now, she probably despised him.

The very man she had begun to trust was the same one she had started to hate from her core.

Ekansh exhaled harshly, shoving a hand through his hair.

The worst part?

She wasn’t wrong.

He was a monster.

But Siara had never been afraid of monsters.

That’s what had drawn him to her in the first place.

That’s what made her dangerous.

She didn’t cower. She didn’t submit. She fought, even when the battle was one-sided.

Even when it would be easier to turn away, she fought.

And now, she was going to fight him, wasn’t she?

A slow, almost predatory smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Good.

Let her try.

Let her challenge him, let her rage, let her say whatever she wanted.

Let her believe she had the power to walk away from him.

Because in the end?

Siara was his.

She had always been his.

And no matter how much she fought, no matter how much she hated him, one thing would remain unchanged.

She wasn’t going anywhere.