Prey To The Biker's Obsession

Chapter 3

Ishika Sethi's Point Of View.

Life has a cruel sense of humour.

All my life, I played by the rules, kept my promises, and made sacrifices - quietly, without protest and in return?

I was discarded. Just like that tossed aside like I had never mattered.

Now here I was — bruised, aching, and stranded in a small town I never meant to stay in. My bags were still packed in my ex husband's spare room.

My fingers were stiff, while gripping the edge of the seat like I was trying to hold myself together. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering every few seconds like they could not decide whether to stay alive or give up — just like me.

The nurse said something - probably about the swelling on my face but I did not hear her. The cotton on my cheek stung as she cleaned my wound, but I did not flinch - Not anymore. Pain had become familiar.

It was the silence that hurt more. My mind was elsewhere - floating somewhere between yesterday’s violence and tomorrow’s emptiness.

People walked by - doctors, nurses, patients in fast forward mode while I sat there, stuck in the slow motion reel of my own disaster.

I had stopped checking the time - How long had it been since the slap? Since the threats? Since the moment I looked in the mirror and could not recognize myself?

I had never imagined myself like this — alone, broke, and unsure of where to go next. I used to plan everything down to the last detail.

Now? I did not even know who I was running from.

I snapped back into reality the moment I heard that voice — deep, sharp, and laced with sarcasm I had not heard in years. My heart skipped a beat. Oh god, please no.

"Well, well," He said in a quite tone, while his voice was unmistakable, deep and sharp with that familiar hint of mockery. "Look who’s here — the mighty one herself."

That voice did not belong here. Not in this town, not in this hospital, not anywhere near my life anymore but as the words sank in, a chill crawled up my spine.

The universe was not done playing games with me. I guess, fate still had cards left because just when I thought I had hit the lowest point - he showed up.

My eyes lifted slowly, terrified of being right and there he was - standing like a shadow pulled straight out of my past. He was standing just a few feet away with blood on his knuckles, stitches on his cheeks, and fire in his eyes — everything inside me froze.

Aditya, Aditya Salgaonkar - The one man I never thought I would face again and the man whose destruction I had witnessed from a distance — without knowing I had played a part in it.

He looked different now, probably more harder and sharper like time had carved new edges into him but those eyes - they were the same - Cold, unreadable, burning with something dangerous.

The nurse looked between us and mumbled something about getting stitches ready. Then she stood up and walked off, leaving us alone. The silence between us was frightening as well as infuriating.

He stepped closer, not rushing, not threatening — but I still felt cornered. My heart beat like a warning siren in my chest.

“Funny, isn’t it?” He muttered, enough for me to hear. “I come out of hell just to find you sitting outside its door.”

“Aditya." I breathed, while i was barely audible. My throat felt tight while my tongue felt heavy, and useless. My lips parted, but no sound escaped.

I wanted to speak — to tell him that I was not with Anay anymore and last but not the least, that I had paid in ways no one ever saw but the words would not come.

Every breath I took felt shallow, like my lungs had forgotten how to work. My body refused to cooperate — frozen under the weight of his deadly presence, his deadlier stare and his deadliest silence.

It was the kind of look that made your blood run cold. The kind that reminded you that no matter how far you ran, the past always caught up — and this time, it was staring you right in the face with blood still on its hands.

“I… I am sorry,” I whispered, while my voice was trembling like my hands. "P -plea-se don't hurt me."

The words fell out of me before I could stop them — fragile, pitiful but worse than that, I hated that I meant it. I truly, and deeply meant it.

My eyes were wide as I looked up at him, searching his face for some sign of the man I remembered — the one who used to protect, not intimidate but that man was gone.

He did not react right away. There was no twitch of his brow, no tightening of his jaw, no flicker of emotion across his face. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, or what he might do next. He just stood there, watching me, like he was weighing my existence.

Then, slowly, he leaned forward just close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath and the weight of the threat in his voice.

His eyes never left mine. They were dark, unreadable, and dead calm — the kind of calm that made your skin crawl. His jaw was set, sharp and clenched tight, like he was holding back more than just words.

“If I wanted to hurt you, Ishika." He murmured, while his voice was low and flat like a blade dragged across stone, “…you would not be sitting here asking me not to.”

He held the silence after that, letting his words hang between us like poison in the air and then, just like that, he stepped back.

There was no shouting, no dramatic outburst of anger. It was just one single movement — deliberate, controlled, and quiet. Yet the silence he left behind was louder than any scream.

It sat heavy on my chest, thick enough to choke on. I felt like I could not breathe. Like the air had frozen around me and all I could do was sit there, drowning in it.

He did not know the truth about what happened behind those closed doors — the threats, the manipulation, the control I had fought so long to escape. In his eyes, I was still part of that world. He thought I belonged to Anay and maybe, in some twisted way, I had and without ever meaning to, I had helped destroy Aditya — simply by being there but now?

Now I was on the other side of everything. Lost, bruised, and stranded in a town. I was broken in ways I did not even know how to name and the worst part?

Aditya Salgaonkar — with blood on his hands and pain in his eyes — still looked more alive than I felt. He looked certain, unshakable, like the world had tried to kill him… and failed but me?

Whatever the world had done to me — it had succeeded.

It was not until I stepped outside that I realised I had been holding my breath the whole time. I waited a few seconds, half expecting Aditya to still be standing somewhere near the entrance, watching me but he was gone like a storm that passed without warning but left behind ruins anyway.

It was midnight, and the town was still buzzing with life. Bright lights lit up the streets, and there was a lively atmosphere all around. People lined up outside the pubs, eager to join in the fun. The full moon hung in the sky while casting a soft glow over each and everything.

Laughter and chatter filled the air while mixing with the sounds of cars honking and music playing from nearby clubs.

Groups of friends walked arm in arm, while their voices were rising above the scale as they shared jokes and stories. Couples strolled hand in hand, lost in their own little world amidst the chaos of the city.

The energy of the night was infectious, drawing me in despite my inner turmoil. Everywhere I looked, there was movement and life, a stark contrast to the stillness I was feeling inside.

I could not help but feel envious of those who could enjoy their evenings without a care in the world for tomorrow, blissfully unaware of the dangers lurking in the shadows. They laughed, danced, and lived at the moment, while I carried the weight of my haunting past on my shoulders and the consequences that followed.

My feet ached, my head throbbed, and my ribs still hurt every time I breathed too hard but pain was the least of my worries now.

A few blocks down, The Blue Cage, the sign read. A place I never imagined myself working in, but desperation had its own way of teaching you humility. I started waitressing there two weeks ago.

The place smelled of stale beer, cheap cologne, and broken dreams. Music pulsed in the background, heavy bass masking everything else — the arguments, the groping hands, the girls who laughed too loudly just to avoid crying.

I changed in the back into a black crop top and tight jeans that made me feel more exposed than dressed and tied my hair up. I just clocked in, picked up my tray, and got to work.

The crowd tonight was worse than usual — more drunk, and more aggressive. A man grabbed my wrist while I served him a second drink, while his breath was thick with whiskey. I yanked my arm back, forced a tight smile, and walked away before he could say something worse.

I hated each and every second of it - the fake smile, the heels that hurt and the comments I pretended not to hear but it was money and right now, that was the only thing standing between me and the streets.

Halfway through the night, I made the mistake of passing by the manager’s office. He was leaning against the doorframe — bald, heavy-bellied, with sweat soaking through his shirt. He looked at me like he always did like I owed him something just for existing.

“Hey, you.” He called out, while his voice slurred from whatever he was drinking. “Come here.”

I froze for a second, then stepped forward, as I pressed the tray tightly to my chest in fear. “Yes, sir?” He smiled — or at least tried to.

It looked more like a leer. His eyes dragged down my body without shame. “You have been avoiding me lately,” He said as he leaned towards me. “Too busy to check in with your boss?”

“I have just been trying to keep up with the tables,” I replied carefully, while my eyes were fixed somewhere over his shoulder.

“Yeah?” He said, while taking a step closer. “Because I think you need a little reminder of how this job works.”

I felt his hand graze my hip — slow, deliberate, and possessive, like he had every right to touch me. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. A sharp, electric chill rushed down my spine, and my skin instantly crawled with revulsion.

I took a step back without thinking, while trying to create space between us, trying to breathe — but it was too late. His fingers tightened around me, thick and rough, digging into the waistband of my jeans as if to remind me that I had nowhere else to go.

There was no softness in his grip, only a warning — that if I resisted, things could get worse. My heart thudded hard inside my chest, not from shock, but from that all too familiar dread creeping back in. It was the kind that told you no one was coming to help.

My voice barely came out, cracked and fragile as I choked out the words, "Let go." He didn’t.

He just stood there, staring at me with that smug smile on his face — the kind that made you feel smaller than the floor under your feet.

“Don’t forget who gave you this job, bitch.” He whispered and licked the back of my neck and in that second, I did not feel like a woman. I felt like property like something broken he could use and discard — just like everyone else had.

As something inside me shattered a little more, I surrendered and I did not know how much longer I could live like this before something inside me snapped for good.

I shut my eyes tightly, just for a second, and in my mind — I begged. Not out loud, not in words anyone else could hear, but in the quietest, rawest corner of my heart - Please, someone or anyone, just walk in or maybe see me and stop this.

That moment, even if that felt like too much to ask, I whispered a darker prayer — one I never thought I would say - End me. Let me disappear here, right now and then, because I do not have the strength to do this again. I was not praying for justice. I was not praying for revenge. I was just praying for a way out — even if that way was death.