Chapter 5: The Devil's Game

Diya paced in her opulent room, the silk curtains drawn tight. Her escape plan was ready-she had already packed her essentials and booked her ticket. By tonight, she would be on a flight to London, leaving this twisted world and its mafia games behind.

A knock at the door. Firm. Commanding.

Diya's heart raced.

She opened it to find a servant standing stiffly. "Madam, Mr. Rathore has requested your presence in the study."

A chill ran down her spine. Abeer Rathore-requesting? No. Summoning.

"Tell him I'm busy," she said, her voice more confident than she felt.

The servant hesitated, his face pale. "He said...it wasn't a request."

Diya clenched her fists. Of course, it wasn't.

Fine. Let's get this over with.

She walked down the grand staircase, her heels clicking against the marble floor. The study loomed ahead-mahogany doors shut like the gates of hell.

Taking a steadying breath, she pushed them open.

Abeer Rathore sat behind a massive desk, dressed in a sleek charcoal suit that fit him like a second skin. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned just enough to hint at danger. The room smelled of leather and expensive whiskey.

He looked up from a file, dark eyes sharp and calculating.

"Sit," he commanded, his voice low and deadly.

Diya's defiance flared. "I prefer to stand."

He arched a brow, amused. "Suit yourself."

She crossed her arms. "What do you want, Abeer? I have things to do."

He leaned back, his posture relaxed but radiating dominance. "Do you, now? Like running away?"

Her breath hitched. He knows.

"You can't stop me," she said, lifting her chin. "I'm leaving tonight."

Abeer's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. "You really think it's that simple?"

Diya's stomach twisted. "What are you talking about?"

He stood up, buttoning his jacket with deliberate precision. Every move exuded power. He was no longer just a man-he was a force.

"Your passport?" he asked smoothly.

Her heart plummeted.

"Checked the drawer this morning, didn't you?" He stepped closer, towering over her. "Gone."

Diya's pulse spiked. "You-"

"And the London Business School? They seem to have misplaced your application," he continued, his voice almost gentle. "Strange, isn't it?"

Diya's hands trembled. "You had no right-"

"I have every right," he cut her off, his tone sharp. "This is my world, Diya. You don't just walk away."

Fury bubbled inside her. "You're insane."

Abeer's gaze turned colder. "And you're naive if you think you can escape me."

Diya took a step back, her breath uneven. "What do you want from me?"

He tilted his head, studying her. "I want you to remember something."

Her voice shook. "What?"

He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "You belong to me now."

Diya's blood ran cold.

"No," she whispered, fighting the terror clawing at her chest. "I don't."

Abeer straightened, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. "We'll see, Diya."

He walked past her, his presence lingering like a storm.

Diya stood frozen, her mind reeling.

Abeer Rathore had just declared war.

And she had no idea how to win.

Next Chapter Preview:

Diya attempts to outwit Abeer and retrieve her stolen passport. A high-stakes confrontation leaves her questioning whether escape is possible-or if Abeer has already trapped her in his dangerous game for good.