A Devil Love Story

Chapter 2

:

The First Supper and Hidden Scars

The golden clock in the hallway chimed seven times, its sound echoing through the cold, silent corridors of the Singhania Mansion. Diya sat on the edge of her massive bed, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns of the silk bedspread. She had been staring at the locked balcony doors for hours. The rain had slowed down to a steady drizzle, but the atmosphere inside the house remained heavy and suffocating.

A sharp knock at the door made her jump. It was Samuel, the stern-faced butler.

"Ms. Diya, Mr. Singhania is waiting for you at the dining table. He does not like to be kept waiting," Samuel said, his voice as robotic as his movements.

Diya stood up, smoothing out her crumpled dress. She followed Samuel through the winding stairs. The mansion was a masterpiece of architecture—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and expensive paintings—but to Diya, it felt like a museum of loneliness.

When they reached the dining hall, she saw him. Arnav was sitting at the head of a long, mahogany table. He had changed into a black silk shirt, the top buttons undone, looking every bit like the king of his own dark empire. The candlelight flickered on his sharp features, casting long shadows across his face.

"Sit," Arnav commanded without looking up from his wine glass.

Diya sat at the opposite end, feeling miles away from him. The table was filled with gourmet dishes—roasted meat, exotic salads, and expensive wine—but she had no appetite.

"I didn't see you eat anything," Arnav remarked, his dark eyes finally meeting hers. "Is the food not to your liking, or are you still mourning your lost freedom?"

"How can I eat when I feel like a prisoner?" Diya retorted, her voice trembling but brave.

Arnav let out a cold, dry chuckle. He stood up and walked toward her. His footsteps were silent on the thick carpet. He stopped right behind her chair, leaning down until his lips were inches from her ear.

"A prisoner? No, Diya. You are an investment. And I take very good care of my investments," he whispered. His cold breath sent a shiver down her spine. "Now, eat. I need you healthy for the tasks ahead."

As Diya picked up her fork, her eyes caught something. As Arnav reached for a bottle of water, his sleeve pulled back slightly. On his wrist, there was a jagged, old scar. It didn't look like an accident; it looked like a mark of deep pain. Diya gasped involuntarily.

Arnav noticed her gaze. His expression instantly shifted from arrogant to murderous. He pulled his sleeve down, his jaw tightening.

"Don't look at things that don't concern you, Diya," he hissed, the temperature in the room seemingly dropping by several degrees. "In this house, curiosity can be a very dangerous thing."

He slammed his glass on the table and walked out of the room, leaving Diya alone in the vast, empty hall. She realized then that the 'Devil' wasn't just cruel; he was broken. And the secrets hidden behind his expensive suits were far darker than she had ever imagined.

The silence of the mansion was louder than the rain. After Arnav stormed out of the dining hall, Diya remained frozen in her seat. Her heart was still racing from the cold threat he had whispered. She looked at the half-eaten food and realized she couldn't swallow a single bite. The image of the jagged scar on Arnav’s wrist kept flashing in her mind. Who gave him that mark? Or did he do it to himself?

Driven by a mix of fear and an uncontrollable curiosity, Diya stood up. Samuel was nowhere to be seen. The hallway was dimly lit by flickering wall lamps that cast dancing shadows on the expensive wallpaper. Instead of going back to her room, she turned left, toward the east wing—the part of the house Arnav had told her was strictly off-limits.

"In this house, curiosity can be a very dangerous thing," his voice echoed in her head. But Diya felt that if she was to live in this 'gilded cage', she needed to know who her captor really was.

She walked past several closed doors until she reached a large, heavy oak door. Unlike the others, this one was slightly ajar. A faint, warm light spilled out from the gap. Holding her breath, Diya pushed the door open. It was a library, but unlike any she had ever seen. Thousands of books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, but in the center of the room, there was a large easel covered with a black cloth.

Her hands shook as she reached for the cloth. With a quick pull, she uncovered it. It wasn't a painting of a landscape or a business tycoon. It was a portrait of a woman—beautiful, with eyes as kind as the sun, but she looked hauntingly familiar. She had the same sharp jawline as Arnav.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice was like a whip. Diya gasped and spun around, the black cloth falling from her hands. Arnav was standing at the entrance, his shadow stretching across the room like a giant. His eyes weren't just cold anymore; they were burning with a terrifying rage.

He marched toward her, his heavy boots thumping against the wooden floor. Diya backed away until her heels hit the easel. He trapped her against it, placing his hands on either side of her head. He was so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, contrasting with the icy glare in his eyes.

"I gave you a simple set of rules, Diya," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "One of them was to stay away from my private space. Do you think this is a game?"

"I... I just wanted to know... who is she?" Diya stammered, pointing at the portrait.

Arnav’s expression crumbled for a split second—a flash of pure, raw agony—before it turned into a mask of stone again. He grabbed her arm, his grip firm but not enough to bruise, and pulled her toward the door.

"She is a memory that you have no right to touch," he growled. "You are here to serve a purpose, not to dig into my past. If I find you here again, the contract won't be the only thing I'll break. I will make sure you regret the day you ever met me."

He practically dragged her back to her room and slammed the door, the sound of the lock turning from the outside clicking like a final judgment. Diya sank to the floor, tears finally blurring her vision. She had seen a glimpse of the man behind the 'Devil', and it was far more complicated than she had imagined.