Draped for the Devil - 8
867 Words
Zara couldn't speak.
Her lips trembled. Her throat felt sealed shut, paralyzed by the warning he had already laid out. The file. The threat. The demand.
She could only cry—silent, broken tears trailing down her cheeks as she stared at the paper in front of her, hoping it would disappear. That he would disappear.
But he didn’t.
Aariz leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, his voice low and deliberate.
"What is your answer, Zara?" he asked, his eyes fixed on hers like a noose tightening.
"Will you be my w***e… willingly?"
A beat passed.
"Or do I have to take the chance?"
The room went still.
The silence was suffocating.
Zara gripped the edge of the chair, her knuckles white. Her heart screamed no—but no words came out.
She remained still, her voice buried beneath the rising storm inside her.
Tears rolled silently down her cheeks, but she gave him no answer—only fear-filled eyes and trembling lips.
Aariz exhaled slowly, but there was no softness in it.
He leaned forward, his gaze locked on her like a predator tightening its grip.
"I don’t like repeating myself," he said, his voice low… deadly.
"So I’ll ask one last time."
His tone dropped further, now laced with the promise of control.
"Will you obey… willingly?"
He paused, letting the silence weigh heavy between them.
"Or do I have to make you… in my way?"
His words weren’t loud, but they thundered in her mind.
A threat wrapped in velvet.
A choice that wasn’t a choice at all.
"I... I don’t…"
Her voice cracked as she tried to speak.
"I don’t want to be… Please…" she whispered, broken, her eyes pleading with his.
She looked up at him, shattered—her lips trembling, her hands clutching the edge of the chair like it was the only thing keeping her from collapsing.
Aariz didn’t blink. He simply watched her—unmoved. Unshaken.
The silence between them grew heavier, colder.
Her words didn’t soften him. They didn’t reach the part of him she was desperately trying to appeal to.
Because maybe… that part didn’t exist.
Aariz didn’t say a word.
He simply rose from the chair with deliberate calm, his silence more terrifying than any threat.
Zara flinched as he moved behind her.
Then—without warning—he leaned in, so close that she could feel his breath near her cheek. Her entire body stiffened.
From over her shoulder, he reached forward and placed his phone on the desk beside her.
The screen lit up.
A video began to play.
It was her father—standing in front of a blackboard, gently teaching a classroom full of children. His voice calm. His hands moving with passion. His smile real.
Zara’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingers curled into fists.
Tears threatened again.
She didn’t understand—why was he showing her this?
But a chill ran down her spine…
Because she knew, whatever the reason was, it wasn’t mercy.
Aariz’s voice came close to her ear—low, controlled, and cruelly calm.
"He’s your father, isn’t he?"
Zara didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
His next words made her blood run cold.
"How would it feel… if there were a sudden bomb blast in that classroom?"
He paused, watching her stiffen in horror.
"How would it feel to lose him in a second? To watch all those children—learning, dreaming—get reduced to nothing but smoke and silence?"
He leaned just a little closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"All because of one wrong answer."
Zara cried. She looked at him with tears and asked, "Why me?"
Zara broke.
Tears streamed down her face as she turned to him, her voice trembling—shattered.
"Why me?" she whispered, barely able to speak.
Her eyes searched his face for even a sliver of mercy.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
Aariz didn’t move. His expression remained unreadable—calm, composed… and merciless.
But his silence was louder than words.
Because monsters don’t always raise their voices.
Sometimes, they simply watch you fall apart—piece by piece.
Aariz tilted his head slightly, as if her question had amused him more than surprised.
"Why you?" he echoed, his voice smooth but laced with something unsettling.
"Because you were breathtaking, Zara."
"That red saree you wore…"
His voice came low—right at her ear, his breath brushing against her skin.
"…the way it hugged your body like it was stitched by sin itself."
She flinched—but couldn’t move. Her hands gripped her lap as he leaned in even closer, not touching, but invading her space entirely.
"It drove me mad," he murmured, the softness of his voice far more terrifying than a shout.
"You looked like you were wrapped for the devil…"
A pause. She held her breath.
"…and unfortunately for you—"
He let the words linger, barely above a whisper, right at the curve of her ear.
"—that devil is me."
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- Writer
