A Devil Love Story

Chapter 7

The air in the study was thick with betrayal. Diya stood shaking, the red file clutched in her hand like a weapon. The photos—her laughing at a cafe, her crying outside the hospital—felt like thousands of tiny needles piercing her soul. Arnav stood at the door, his silhouette blocking the only exit. He didn't look like the man who had cried on her shoulder last night. He looked like the Devil again.

"Answer me, Arnav!" Diya screamed, her voice cracking. "Was I just a project? Did you buy my father’s debt just to lure me here?"

Arnav walked into the room, his footsteps slow and deliberate. "I never lie, Diya. I told you that you were an investment. I just didn't tell you how long I had been looking for the right one."

"Why me? I’m nobody!"

"You were the only one who had a connection to Mehra’s past," Arnav said, his voice cold. "Your father’s old business... he didn't tell you, did he? He was Mehra’s partner before everything went south. You are the only person Mehra would come out of hiding for. I needed a bait that he couldn't resist."

Diya felt like she was going to be sick. The man she was starting to trust, the man she thought she was healing, had been using her from the very beginning. Every touch, every 'soft' moment was calculated.

"I hate you," she whispered, the tears finally falling. "I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone."

Arnav’s expression didn't change, but his jaw tightened. "Hate me all you want. But you aren't leaving. Samuel!"

Samuel appeared at the door instantly. "Yes, sir?"

"Lock her in the room. Double the guards. If she even touches a window, I want to know."

"No! You can't do this!" Diya tried to run past him, but Arnav caught her arm. His grip was like iron.

"I am doing this to keep you alive, Diya. Mehra is coming for you. If you leave this house, you’re dead."

He pushed her toward Samuel and walked out without looking back. Diya was dragged to her room, the heavy oak door slamming shut with a finality that broke her heart. She sat on the floor, staring at the walls. She wasn't a guest. She wasn't even a contracted worker. She was a prisoner.

But as the night grew darker, Diya’s despair turned into a cold, hard determination. She looked at the green emerald gown she had worn to the gala, lying on the chair. She remembered the small pocketknife she had seen in Arnav's study earlier.

'If he wants a Devil, I'll show him what a desperate woman can do,' she thought.

She waited until the mansion was silent. Using a piece of wire from her hair clip, she tried to pick the lock of the connecting glass door to the study. It took her hours, her fingers bleeding from the effort. Finally, with a soft click, the door opened.

She crept into the study, her heart hammering. She found the knife and a set of spare car keys in the desk drawer. She didn't have a plan, but she knew she couldn't stay. She opened the window of the study—the one Arnav thought she wouldn't dare touch. The cold wind hit her face, promising freedom or death.

She climbed out, her feet hitting the wet grass. She ran toward the back gate, avoiding the flashlights of the guards. But just as she reached the perimeter wall, a hand covered her mouth and pulled her into the shadows.

"Going somewhere, little bird?"

It wasn't Arnav's voice. It was the oily, terrifying voice of Mr. Mehra.The moon was hidden behind thick, dark clouds as Mr. Mehra’s hand tightened over Diya’s mouth. She struggled, her muffled screams lost in the rustling of the leaves. Mehra leaned in, his breath smelling of expensive cigars and rot.

"Arnav thought his walls were high enough, but he forgot that I know every inch of his soul," Mehra whispered, his eyes gleaming with a sick pleasure. "You are just a pawn, my dear. A beautiful, fragile pawn."

Two men in dark suits appeared from the shadows, grabbing Diya by her arms and dragging her toward a waiting van. Just as they were about to throw her inside, a thunderous sound echoed through the estate.

It was the roar of a high-performance engine. A black SUV came flying through the back gate, crashing through the iron bars with a force that sent sparks flying into the night. The vehicle skidded to a halt, blocking the van’s path.

Arnav stepped out. He didn't look like a businessman anymore. He was disheveled, his eyes glowing with a primitive, lethal rage. In his hand, he held a sleek, black handgun.

"Let her go, Mehra," Arnav said, his voice so low it was terrifying. "Or I will make sure you don't live to see the sunrise."

Mehra laughed, pulling a knife from his pocket and holding it to Diya’s throat. "You’ve grown soft, Arnav. All because of this little girl? Is she your new Aria?"

At the mention of Aria’s name, something inside Arnav snapped. He moved with a speed that shouldn't have been human. A gunshot rang out—not hitting Mehra, but hitting the tire of the van. In the chaos, Diya bit Mehra’s hand and wrenched herself free, stumbling toward Arnav.

"Diya, get down!" Arnav roared.A rain of bullets followed. Arnav pulled Diya behind the cover of his SUV, shielding her body with his own. He was firing back with cold, calculated precision. Mehra’s men scrambled for cover, realizing they had awakened a monster they couldn't control."I hate you! Why did you come?" Diya sobbed, her face pressed against Arnav's chest.

Arnav looked down at her, his expression a mixture of agony and possessiveness. "Because you are mine, Diya. No one takes what belongs to me. Not even death."

The gunfight lasted only minutes, but to Diya, it felt like an eternity. Mehra, seeing his men fall, retreated into the woods, but not before screaming a final threat.