A Devil Love Story

Chapter 12

He turned to see Diya standing at the door, her face pale. She had heard the tone of his voice.

"Pack your bags, Diya," Arnav said, walking toward her. He didn't ask. He ordered. "We’re going back. The honeymoon is over. The war has moved inside our house."

"Arnav, what’s happening? Who is Mr. Chatterjee?"

Arnav stepped close to her, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw with a possessive touch. "Someone who forgot that I am the Devil. And someone who is about to learn that you belong to me—body, heart, and soul. Anyone who touches what is mine... dies. And anyone who looks at you with wrong intentions... will wish they were dead."

He grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the door. Diya realized then that the contract was indeed void, but it had been replaced by something much more binding—Arnav Singhania’s obsession.

The journey back from the Maldives was silent and suffocating. Arnav didn't let go of Diya’s hand even once during the four-hour flight. His grip was a constant reminder that she belonged to him—not as a partner, but as a possession. When they arrived at the Singhania Mansion, the atmosphere was different. There were more guards, and the air was thick with the scent of an impending storm.

"Go to the room, Diya," Arnav said, his voice cold and devoid of any warmth. "I have business to attend to."

"Arnav, please... don't do anything reckless," Diya pleaded, her eyes searching his for a glimmer of the man she loved.

Arnav leaned in, his face inches from hers. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes—eyes that were now void of mercy. "Reckless? No, Diya. I’m being precise. Stay in the room. If you step out, I’ll make sure you regret it."

He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked toward the basement, where Samuel was waiting. Diya stood there, frozen. She felt like she was losing the man she had finally started to trust. But her heart was tied to him, and she couldn't just walk away.

In the basement, the air was cold and damp. Mr. Chatterjee, a man who had worked for the Singhanias for twenty years, was tied to a chair. He was trembling, his face covered in sweat. When Arnav walked in, the room seemed to get even colder.

"Twenty years, Chatterjee," Arnav said, pulling a chair and sitting across from him. He began to play with a small, sharp blade. "Twenty years of trust. And you sold my wife’s location for a few million dollars?"

"Arnav... please! They threatened my family!" Chatterjee sobbed.

Arnav stood up, his movement swift and lethal. He grabbed Chatterjee’s collar, his face turning into a mask of pure fury. "You threatened my family. You threatened Diya. Do you have any idea what I do to people who touch what’s mine?"

The screams from the basement didn't reach the upper floors, but Diya could feel the darkness radiating from below. She sat on the bed, her mind racing. She knew Arnav was a 'Devil', but seeing him like this was different. He was obsessed with her safety, and that obsession was turning him into a monster she didn't recognize.

An hour later, Arnav walked into the suite. He was wearing a fresh shirt, but the smell of metallic blood followed him. He saw Diya sitting on the bed, her face pale.

"You didn't listen," he said, walking toward her. "I told you to rest."

"What did you do to him, Arnav?" Diya whispered, her voice shaking.

Arnav sat next to her, his hand moving to stroke her hair. It was a gentle touch, but it felt like a shackle. "I removed a threat, Diya. From now on, you won't leave this house without a ten-man security team. And you won't talk to anyone I don't approve of."

"You’re locking me up! This is a prison!" Diya cried, standing up.

Arnav stood up with her, his body looming over hers. He pinned her against the wall, his arms on either side of her, trapping her. "It’s not a prison if you love your jailer, Diya. You are mine. Every breath you take, every smile you give—it belongs to me. I’ve seen what happens when I let my guard down. Aria died. I won't let that happen to you. Even if I have to break your spirit to keep you safe."

He kissed her then—a forced, hungry kiss that claimed her soul. Diya tried to push him away, but his strength was overwhelming. He was obsessed, and his love was a cage that was slowly closing in on her.

"Tell me you belong to me, Diya," Arnav hissed against her lips. "Tell me you are mine."

Diya looked into his dark, swirling eyes and realized there was no escape. "I... I am yours, Arnav," she whispered, her tears falling.

Arnav smiled—a dark, triumphant smile. The Devil had won. He had her in his grasp, and he would never, ever let her go.

Days turned into weeks, and for Diya, the Singhania Mansion had truly become a gilded cage. Arnav had disconnected the landline in her room, and her smartphone was now monitored by his personal security team. She wasn't allowed to step into the garden without four guards trailing her like shadows.

But the most suffocating part wasn't the guards—it was Arnav himself. Every evening, when he returned from the office, he would head straight to her. He didn't ask about her day; he claimed it. He would hold her for hours, his silence more terrifying than his anger.

"Why are you doing this, Arnav?" Diya asked one evening as he sat behind her, brushing her long hair with slow, rhythmic strokes. "I am your wife, not your prisoner."

Arnav stopped. He leaned forward, his chin resting on her shoulder, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "Prisoners want to escape, Diya. You don't want to leave me, do you?"

The way he said it wasn't a question; it was a warning. His hand moved from her hair to her throat, not squeezing, but lingering there—a possessive caress. "I saw you talking to the new gardener today. You smiled at him."

Diya’s heart skipped a beat. "He was just asking about the lilies, Arnav! It was a two-second conversation."