When Shresth called that day, I could hear the exhaustion in his voice before he even spoke. His words were slow, dragged down by the weight of a long day. I imagined him at his shop—sweat clinging to his forehead, shirt sticking to his back, hands stained with the remnants of work. And yet, here I was, standing on my balcony, phone pressed to my ear, heart racing with questions I had been holding back for days.
"Shresth," I began, my tone sharper than I intended, "did I ever force you to talk to me? Did I ever convince you that you had to keep this bond? It was your choice, right?"
He didn't reply right away, and the silence made my chest tighten. I took a breath and continued, "Because lately… it feels like I've been forcing you to stay. And I hate feeling this way. If I'm troubling you so much, you could have just told me—'Charu, I don't want to talk to you.' Be straightforward. Why the games through Priyanka? Why manipulate her, Shresth? Why?"
I hated the crack in my voice, the way my words trembled between anger and heartbreak. I didn't expect this from him. Not from him.
He exhaled, the sound heavy, almost pained. "It's not like that, Charu. Don't take it the wrong way. Me, Priyanka… we wanted good for you. Honestly, we meant no harm."
No harm.
The words felt like ice against my skin.
What he didn't understand was that betrayal doesn't always scream—it sometimes whispers in the form of protection you never asked for.
If that was his truth, why didn't he just say it earlier? Why not tell me, Charu, there's no chance for us. I will wait for Samriddhi, and you should move on. Why create a tangle of half-truths and secret conversations?
I steadied my voice. "Shresth, choice is yours. I'll fix my fight with Prem and Priyanka—they're my best friends. But you… you tell me what will happen to our bond."
In the end, we settled on being "just friends."
And for that hour, we spoke as though nothing had happened—about family, about little things we usually overlooked in the middle of our endless fights. But my heart was far from convinced. He had hurt me. And yet… I forgave him. I always forgave him.
Later that evening, I called Priyanka. I confessed my share of mistakes but told her she should have known better. "You said I was a priority, not Shresth. And this… this is how you protect your friend?" My voice broke. "If I found out, of course I'd feel bad. Really bad."
I spoke to Prem too, admitting I shouldn't have shared our private group chats with Shresth. But my disappointment in what Priyanka had done overshadowed everything.
From that day, I promised myself I'd keep my hopes low when it came to him. But who was I kidding? Shresth wasn't just one person—he was thirty-five different personalities. And I loved each of them without realizing it. Everything about him drove me insane: the way he laughed, the way he cared, the way he avoided eye contact when hiding something. I fell in love with not only him but with every habit, every relationship he held, every piece of his chaotic world.
And yet, my self-respect was slowly slipping away. Why was I holding onto a bond that threatened to shatter my oldest friendships? Maybe because losing him felt worse than losing anyone else.
My insecurity grew. I had seen the truth in those chats—he had feelings for someone else. And I kept asking myself, Why not me? Is there something about me he doesn't like? That thought ate away at me, quietly, like rust on metal.
Still, here we were. A year later, after so many ups and downs, after countless fights and unexpected meetings, we were still here. We had been caught by our parents more times than I could count, but somehow, we always escaped. Every meeting, every coincidence—it almost felt like God had planned it.
And maybe, just maybe, He had.
Coming soon- Tied by Revenge.
A contract marriage of hate and desire.
He was the man I swore I would destroy.
And yet… I woke up one morning wearing his ring.
Aaron Vance wasn't just my enemy—he was the man who had ripped apart my world with a single ruthless decision. I hated him with every breath… and he knew it. Which is why he smiled when he handed me the marriage contract.
His conditions were cruel. His touch, crueler.
But my revenge demanded I play his wife.
Now, I live in his house, eat at his table, and sleep just a door away from him. Every glance is a challenge, every conversation a battle, every accidental brush of skin a war I'm dangerously close to losing.
Because somewhere between the hatred and the games, my heart forgot the plan. And his eyes—dark, unreadable—are starting to burn with something far more dangerous than revenge.
In this marriage, there will be no winners.
Only one truth remains—when love and hate collide, someone's bound to get destroyed.
"You can't destroy me, sweetheart," he whispered, his breath a warning against my skin. "You married me. Now you
belong to me."