"Even the Devil was once an angel."

SANA entered the college, smiling and lost in her own thoughts, replaying moments from her time with Sidharth the previous day.

It had been raw and passionate.

"I'm getting addicted to your pussy babygirl."

"You feel so good."

"I feel like fucking you like this, all the time."

"I love the way you call me 'Sir', keep saying that; and see how I fuck your pretty pussy."

His filthy words echoed in her mind, and she bit her lip and pressed her legs together, as vivid images of Sidharth consuming her completely flashed in her mind—his rough hands, his intense gaze, and the way he'd punished her for yelling at him last weekend after he left her to eat alone.

Fifteen spanks. Each one was harder than the last, making her cry out both in pain and pleasure. By the end of her punishment she came so hard, messing the room's couch.

Her body had betrayed her, craving the sting of his punishment. Her ass was still sore, and sitting for long periods was a struggle. But the pain... oh, the pain was a reminder of him. Of their moment. And a reminder of his care afterward.

After he was done punishing her, he had kissed her sore skin softly, his lips trailing over her like a whisper. Then he'd massaged her with hot oil, the warmth soothing the sting he'd inflicted.

Hot oil.

Who even does that?

No one.

Except Sidharth Vyas.

And she loved it.

She loved his aftercare, those rare moments when he was gentle, thoughtful, and careful with her. Those moments made her want to cry with happiness. They made her fall for him a little more each time.

She wished she could hold him, kiss him, and tell him how much she adored him. But she knew better.

Some things about him still bothered her. He would serve her food, ask her to eat, and then leave to get dressed upstairs. He never sat with her to share a meal, no matter how much she asked. He always refused.

Her thoughts broke as she noticed Siya entering the college alone. To her surprise, Julia had taken the day off.

"Siya!" Sana called out, running toward her. "How are you?"

"I'm good, Siya replied curtly. "How about you?"

"Siya, are you still mad at me for that stupid kiss? It didn't mean anything, I swear! Ram and I... trust me... it was nothing." Sana grabbed Siya's hand, her tone pleading.

"I know. I'm not mad anymore," Siya admitted, looking embarrassed. "I was just too ashamed to face you after that day."

"Really? You're not mad?" Sana asked, needing reassurance.

Siya smiled and nodded. "I've realized my mistake. I shouldn't have overreacted,"

"Thank God!" Sana pulled her into a tight hug.

"Back then, I was jealous and confused about my feelings. But now, I've sorted it out. I know I claimed to love Sid, but that wasn't real. Things have changed between us now."

"What do you mean?" Sana asked, curiosity lighting up her face.

"We broke up."

"What?!" Sana gasped, genuinely shocked. "When did this happen?"

"Not officially. It was over a phone calI," Siya explained, shrugging.

"Over a phone call?" Sana was incredulous. "Who breaks up like that?"

"He's out of town, in Jaipur. He was desperate to end it, but he promised we'd meet and talk about it properly once he's back."

"And you're okay with this?" Sana asked, still trying to process Siya's calm demeanor.

"Now? Yes." They began walking toward the classroom.

"My dad talked to me about it and helped me understand the difference between love and obsession. After listening to him, I realized that deep down, I've always loved Ram. Sidharth was just an obsession, something latched onto over time. I was so fascinated by my parents' love story that ended up hurting two important people-Sidharth and Ram." Siya's voice was filled with guilt.

"Your dad is awesome. Tell him, I love him," Sana joked, giggling.

"You should fear my mom before saying that." Siya smirked.

"She's possessive?" Sana asked, amused.

"Nah, obsessed,"' Siya replied with a playful grin. "Both my parents are obsessed with each other."

"Crazy family." Sana laughed.

"Kind of," Siya admitted, laughing along. Then she shot Sana teasing look. "By the way, why are you limping?"

Sana froze for a second but quickly masked her shock with a pained expression."I slipped in the bathroom while bathing yesterday" she lied smoothly.

"Are you sure?" Siya's voice dripped with mischief.

"Yes" Sana replied firmly, before bolting into the classroom.

"Liar! You totally got laid!" Siya shouted, chasing after her, both of them laughing.

Sidharth watched everything from afar, with an unreadable expression.

---

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the vibrant glow of Sidharth’s gaming PC. The sharp clicks of his mechanical keyboard echoed in the otherwise quiet space as he immersed himself in the intense world of his game. His eyes were glued to the monitor, his jaw set with focus. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he maneuvered his character, cursing softly under his breath when his opponent gained the upper hand.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the desk beside him, the vibration cutting through the tension in the air. Sidharth glanced at it with a frown, the number on the screen was familiar. It was the call from the person he was waiting for.

Pausing his game, he snatched the phone up and answered with a clipped tone. "Yes?"

“Sir, it’s me,” the gruff voice on the other end said hesitantly.

Sidharth leaned back in his chair, his expression hardening. “I know who you are. Tell me, what’s the update? Today was the deadline, remember?”

"I... I do." There was a pause, and the man on the line sighed heavily. “Sir... we haven’t found her yet.”

Sidharth’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Three months! It’s been three damn months, and you still haven’t found a woman?” His voice rose, sharp and cutting.

“Sir, she’s not easy to track. She’s hidden herself well,” the man defended, his tone laced with unease. “We’re trying, but she’s... smart.”

“Smart?” Sidharth spat, his eyes narrowing as his jaw clenched. “She’s not smart. She’s cunning. There’s a difference. That woman is a manipulative, lying bitch who knows how to cover her tracks because she’s had years of practice destroying lives, and hiding her ugly truth from the world.”

The man on the other end stayed silent for a moment, then spoke cautiously. “I understand your frustration, sir. After everything she’s done to you... I can’t even imagine how you feel. But we’re doing our best.”

“Your best?” Sidharth let out a bitter laugh, leaning forward in his chair as he ran a hand through his hair. “Your best isn’t good enough. Do you think I’m paying you every damn month for excuses? I want results, not pity.”

“We just need a little more time,” the man pleaded.

“How much more time?” Sidharth growled. “Another three months? Another year? No. You have two months—maximum—to find her. I want her in front of me, begging for mercy, and then...” He paused, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “...I’ll destroy her. Just like she destroyed me.”

The man exhaled sharply, sensing the cold rage simmering in Sidharth’s voice. “Understood, sir. We’ll make it happen.”

“Good,” Sidharth snapped, cutting the call abruptly. "Fucking asshole."

He tossed the phone onto the bed with a frustrated growl, his chest heaving as he tried to calm himself. His fingers itched to return to his keyboard, to lose himself in the virtual world and escape the storm brewing inside him.

Settling back into his chair, he cracked his knuckles and resumed the game. But even as his eyes remained on the screen, his mind lingered on the conversation, the rage and pain bubbling just beneath the surface.

Sidharth leaned back in his chair, his fingers running through his hair in frustration. The game had lost its appeal, and he felt the fatigue of the day creeping in.

With a sigh, he stood up, stretching his tall frame before collapsing onto his bed. The mattress sank slightly under his weight as he adjusted himself to get comfortable.

Lying down, he closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. "Sleep. Just sleep," he told himself.

He needed it badly. He hadn’t slept last night, the weight of his thoughts keeping him awake. He barely managed a couple of hours this morning before dragging himself to college.

College.

The thought brought her to his mind—Sana.

Today, she wore a yellow sundress with a black leather jacket, her hair loose, cascading over her shoulders like silk. She looked radiant, effortlessly beautiful, as if the sun itself was drawn to her. And her smile—oh, that damn smile. It had a way of disarming him, creeping under his defenses and leaving him vulnerable.

Unconsciously, a soft smile formed on his lips, a warmth spreading through his chest as he thought about her. But as quickly as the smile appeared, he forced it away, masking his face with a frown.

“Stop it,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “Stop thinking about her. She’s nobody.”

He turned onto his side, gripping the edge of his pillow tightly. “We’re just fuck buddies. That’s all she is. Nothing more. Nothing less.” His tone was stern, as if trying to convince himself.

Sidharth sighed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut, willing sleep to come. He tossed and turned, changing positions countless times, but his mind refused to quiet down. Memories of Sana, her laugh, her defiance, her softness—everything about her—flashed behind his closed lids.

“Try to sleep, man,” he muttered again, frustration evident in his voice.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his body surrendered to exhaustion, and sleep took over. But peace was elusive.

Like always, the visions returned.

Dark, suffocating memories clawed their way to the surface, dragging him back to a time he wished to forget.

He saw himself—young, weak, and vulnerable. His heart pounded as the familiar face of the woman who had destroyed him loomed in his mind. Her laughter, sinister and taunting, echoed in his ears. The shame, the helplessness, the violation—it all came rushing back like a tidal wave, drowning him in a sea of despair.

“No,” he mumbled in his sleep, his body twitching as his mind replayed the horrors of his past.

Eight-year-old Sidharth sat cross-legged on his bed, engrossed in the latest game on his new PlayStation, a gift from his father. The loud sound of clicking heels “clack-clack” echoed through the hallway, and he immediately froze.

“clack-clack”

His small hands trembled as he quickly hid the console under his pillow and grabbed a random book from the pile on his bedside table.

The door swung open abruptly, revealing a beautiful woman in her early-thirties. She wore a crisp white blouse tucked into a sleek black pencil skirt, her red lips curving into an overly sweet smile.

“Baby, did you finish your homework?” she asked, her voice dripping with forced affection. Her manicured hand reached behind her to lock the door with a soft click.

Sidharth didn’t answer. He didn’t like her—never had. Her fake sweetness, the way she scolded him, and worse, her unwelcome hugs and kisses made him feel uneasy.

Clenching the book tightly, he held it up to his face, pretending to read, hoping she would leave.

The woman’s smile faltered as she approached the bed and sat down beside him. Her gaze sharpened when she noticed something off. Without warning, she snatched the book from his hands, making him flinch.

"I was reading," he said irritably, trying to convince her how seriously he was studying and how much her presence was disturbing him. "Leave."

“Done with the drama, huh?” she taunted, her tone turning cold.

“Leave me alone,” he snapped, his small voice filled with frustration.

"You were holding the book upside down," she pointed out, her smile replaced by a frown.

"No, I wasn't," he argued confidently, unaware of his innocent mistake.

The next moment, a sharp slap landed on his cheek. His face burned from the impact, and for a moment, he sat there in stunned silence.

Tears welled up in his wide, innocent eyes as he clutched his cheek. “Mumma… Papa…” he cried out, his voice trembling.

“You think I’m lying? Huh?” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom, before slapping him again.

This time, Sidharth wailed, tears streaming down his now-flushed cheeks. “Mumma!” he sobbed louder, desperate for comfort, for safety.

“She’s not here,” the woman snapped, grabbing his arm as he tried to run toward the door.

“Let me go! Mumma!” Sidharth yelled, struggling to free himself.

His small body wiggled and twisted, but her grip was firm. “Your mother isn’t home,” she said, dragging him back to the bed with force.

“You’re a monster, aunty!” he shouted through his tears. "Leave me."

“Stop crying like a child,” she barked, her tone harsh as she tightened her hold on him.

“Mumma!” he cried again, his voice hoarse and filled with despair.

She tossed him onto the bed, her movements rough. “Stop crying before I punish you, Sidharth,” she warned, her eyes narrowing.

The boy hiccupped and sniffled, his cries turning into quiet sobs. Silent tears continued to stream down his red cheeks, his small body trembling.

“Good boy,” she cooed, her tone suddenly saccharine again. She leaned in and pressed kisses to his tear-streaked cheeks, right where she had slapped him moments ago.

Sidharth recoiled, his face scrunching in disgust. He wiped the kisses off his cheeks with his small hands, his defiance making her laugh.

“My baby is so cute,” she said mockingly, pinching his tender cheeks.

“I hate you,” he spat, his voice filled with the kind of anger only a child could muster.

“But I love my baby,” she said with a wicked smile.

Before he could react, she pinned him down, holding his tiny wrists above his head with one hand. With the other, she peppered his cheeks with forceful kisses.

Sidharth squirmed, tears spilling down his face as he struggled against her hold. “Stop it! Stop it!” he cried, his voice cracking with desperation.

But she didn’t stop. Her laughter filled the room as he thrashed beneath her, powerless and trapped.

The room was silent, save for the occasional, muffled whimpers that escaped his lips. Tears welled in his closed eyes, trailing down his face as the nightmare tightened its grip.

He was trapped in the past, reliving the pain, the betrayal, the scars that refused to heal.

And even in his unconscious state, the echoes of her cruelty haunted him.

Sidharth woke up gasping for air, mumbling, "Stop."

His heartbeat raced, his chest heaved, and sweat dripped from his forehead. Sitting up straight in bed, he touched his face and felt the wet streaks of tears.

"I can’t even get a peaceful sleep," he groaned, clenching his hair in frustration and tugging hard.

Anger surged through him—anger at her, at himself, and at his miserable life.

"I need a shower," he muttered, deciding it was the only way to shake off the haunting memories and the phantom touch that still lingered on his skin.

Grabbing a towel, Sidharth stepped into the bathroom. He discarded his clothes without a second glance and stood under the shower, turning the dial to release a cascade of warm water. He avoided looking down at his body, unwilling to face what it represented.

When he reached for the soap bar with his left hand, his eyes landed on his wrist. There, faded scars of old cuts stood as painful reminders—of the times he’d hurt himself, of the moments he’d tried to escape his misery, of her.

His jaw clenched as a wave of bitterness swept over him.

"I hate you," he whispered, the words trembling with venom. "I hate you so damn much."

Gripping the soap tightly, he scrubbed his body with violent, hurried strokes, as if trying to erase her touch, her existence, from his skin. He stayed under the warm spray for nearly an hour, methodically washing away the invisible filth until his skin felt raw and his mind a little quieter.

When he finally stepped out, he wrapped himself in a bathrobe and moved to the sink. Grabbing his face wash, he squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers and rubbed it roughly over his face, his movements harsh and unrelenting.

"I hate you," he murmured under his breath, his voice breaking. "I hate you."

He rinsed his face with cold water, as if hoping it would somehow cool the fire raging inside him. After drying off, he walked into his closet, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of trousers. Shorts were out of the question—they revealed too much of him, too much of what he wanted hidden.

As he reached for his clothes, his gaze fell on the full-length mirror. He paused, staring at the reflection he often tried to avoid. Slowly, he untied the bathrobe, letting it fall to the floor.

There he stood—naked, raw, exposed.

His eyes traced the faded scars, the deep wounds, and the marks that marred his body. Some were inflicted by her, but most were his own doing, products of his anguish and self-loathing.

"This is me," he said to himself, his voice laced with a bitter, forced smile. "Broken, alone, and ugly. A man who was never loved or treated well."

He exhaled shakily, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. "No one deserves to see me like this. Not even you, Sana. Never. Ever."

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady himself. "I’m not a good person. I’m bad. I’m a bully. Your bully. Remember that, Sana. Keep hating me for it, because I... I’m not lovable. I can’t be."

His voice cracked on the last word, and he quickly looked away from the mirror, unwilling to face his own vulnerability any longer.

Pulling on his clothes with hurried movements, he left the closet and stepped into his bedroom. He sat at his desk, burying himself in his studies, desperate for a distraction from the pain clawing at his chest.

✿✿✿

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