Chapter 55:

Kaaryaksh's POV

This woman had dragged things out of me that I'd buried years ago.

Not because she forced me to.

Because somewhere along the way, I'd stopped fighting her as hard as I fought everything else.

The things I kept locked away. The things that lived in the dark.

The demons had never allowed that before. They preferred silence. Preferred shadows. They fed on nightmares.

And yes, monsters have nightmares too.

In fact, nightmares are what make monsters.

Today, she killed some of them.

Not all. Never all.

A few finally stopped clawing at the walls of my mind, but that didn't make me whole. It didn't make me good. It didn't make me someone ready to step into the light.

Some remained.

They always would.

They followed me like a shadow stitched into my skin.

People liked to talk about moving on. About healing. About letting go.

I never understood that.

Some things don't leave.

Some things become you.

My darkness had.

It wasn't something I carried anymore.

It was something I was.

And then there was Anvaya.

The contradiction.

The fire that somehow existed beside the ruin.

The only thing bright enough to stand next to my darkness without being consumed by it.

That's how I'd exist until the end.

Half shadow.

Half her.

I wasn't afraid.

I didn't allow myself that luxury.

Fear belonged to people who lost control, and I'd spent my entire life making sure I never did.

But there had been something.

A hesitation.

A brief, unfamiliar pause before I handed her the truth.

Before I showed her the scars I'd sharpened into weapons.

The wounds I'd turned into armour.

For years, they'd been useful. Powerful. Untouchable.

And today, I'd placed them in her hands.

Given her every weakness.

Given her every blade.

Not because she took them.

Because I let her.

That hesitation still lingered somewhere beneath my ribs.

Not fear.

Just the knowledge that she now possessed the one thing nobody else ever had.

The ability to hurt me if she chose to.
I let her decide what to do with that. Either use it against me for her freedom, or choose it to stay behind.

She knew she had that option.

But she chose to stay. No words were shared. I never said her to choose one.

She chose to stay. She chose it on her own.

And now, she will never leave. She's bound to me, just like I'm bound to her.

The way she stood up for me in front of David, brought back the remnants of the child inside me who'd died long ago. My family had crushed it. I let my demons feed on its ashes. But she still found its soul.

That child was stood up for today. That child felt what love was. Maybe I was incapable of giving her something as warm as love, but there was the obsession I held for her inside me. And that'll either ruin us, or let us live.

But either way, we'll be together. No matter what.

My dreams were there when I was a human with emotions. But as my secrets were handed over to Viola, I became a monster in human skin and flesh. I didn't kill. I ruled. And people gave me their souls on their own.

They'd kill themselves on their own because they knew better than dying in my hands.

These hands which once held brushes, had learnt to hold sins. The eyes which traced the outlines on a canvas, had learnt to see people bowing down to me. The feet which danced on the floor, had learnt to crush bones and blood.

But she embraced me as how I was.

Maybe not an angel, but she was someone who controlled my demons. She knew that.

I didn't need an angel.

I needed a controller. And she was that.

Not like Viola. Not like my parents. Not like my elder brother.

But she was just herself.

And I was feeling today. Something I couldn't perceive what. Something that irritated me that I felt it but I couldn't stop it. For once, I didn't. Maybe for the first time in my life.

Snuggling more into the softness of her chest, I let my fingers curl around the bra clasp. And in a flick, they snapped open.

She gasped, slightly pushing me away.

"What are you doing, Aksh?"

My eyes widened slightly.

"What did you call me?"

She maybe got scared a bit, looking at my stern expressions. I was shocked but maybe my expressions didn't express well. I calmed down.

"Don't tense up. I just asked what you called me."

"Aksh," she whispered, smiling slowly.

I just looked into her eyes.

I've expanded it while keeping his restrained personality intact—someone who rarely feels deeply, rarely smiles, and notices the change in himself with more observation than emotion.

"Aksh."

Her name for me.

A simple nickname. One word. One syllable missing from my name.

Yet somehow, every time it left her lips, it sounded different.

Softer.

Closer.

Like it belonged to a version of me that didn't exist anywhere else.

I looked at her and found myself wondering when exactly things had begun changing.

Because they had.

Not suddenly. Not dramatically.

The change hadn't arrived like a storm. It had started as a hairline crack in stone—so small I hadn't noticed it at first. Then one crack became another, and another, until something inside me that had remained untouched for years was no longer as solid as I'd believed.

I had known it from the day she entered my life.

At first, I'd dismissed it.

People came and went. They always did.

Some stayed longer than others. Some left scars. Some left lessons.

But eventually, they all became memories.

Anvaya was supposed to be no different.

Yet every certainty I'd built around myself had begun shifting because of her.

She never demanded space in my life.

Never forced her way into it.

She simply existed.

And somehow that had been enough.

My gaze settled on her face.

Those brown eyes.

I'd spent years studying people. Reading them. Understanding what they wanted before they spoke. It was one of the reasons I was always three steps ahead.

But her eyes had never been easy to read.

Maybe because they carried too much.

They held stories.

Stories about her struggles.

Her strength.

The pieces of herself she'd sacrificed to survive.

But lately, when she looked at me, I saw something else inside them.

Stories about me.

Stories about her.

And somewhere between those two things, stories about us.

The word still felt unfamiliar.

Us.

I wasn't a man who belonged with anyone.

I had built my life around control, distance, and careful calculations.

There had never been room for something as unpredictable as attachment.

And yet there she was.

Standing in the middle of everything I'd spent years constructing.

Not destroying it.

Not demanding it change.

Simply making me question whether I'd ever wanted those walls in the first place.

The realization should have unsettled me.

Instead, I found myself staring at her a moment longer than necessary.

Studying the way the light touched her face.

The way her expression shifted when she thought too much.

The way she absentmindedly played with her fingers when she was nervous.

Details.

Small, insignificant details.

The kind I never remembered about anyone else.

Yet somehow remembered about her.

A smile pulled at my mouth.

Small.

Barely there.

Just enough to exist.

Most people wouldn't have noticed it.

I wasn't someone who smiled often.

In fact, there had been years when I couldn't remember the last genuine smile I'd worn.

Smiling felt unnecessary.

Like a language I'd forgotten long ago.

But around her, it happened without permission.

Without strategy.

Without purpose.

And perhaps that was what unsettled me most.

Not the smile itself.

Not the change.

But the fact that for the first time in a very long time, there was something happening inside me that I wasn't controlling.

Something I wasn't manipulating.

Something I wasn't calculating.

I simply felt it.

And for a man like me, that was far more dangerous than any enemy I'd ever faced.

"Call me that."

She nodded, before helping me take off her bra. I threw it on the ground somewhere and laid down between her bosoms, lowly humming in satisfaction at their warmth.

But my cock had other plans. It was harder than before now.

And maybe she'd sensed it.

"Not tonight, okay?" She murmured, running her fingers through my hair.

I met her eyes.

“Just use them,” she murmured, tilting her shoulder to push her breast closer to my mouth. “Use me this way.”

Her permission snapped the fragile leash on my hunger. I stared into her eyes for just a moment longer. Taking in the permission like a submission she gave without hesitance.

Then I took it all.

My lips closed around her nipple, and the taste of her filled my mouth. A burst of warmth, sweet and raw, flowed onto my tongue. She gasped, her back arching, her hand tightening in my hair.

Her breast was warm in my hand, soft yet heavy, her nipple already tightening between my lips. The first pull of milk hit my tongue and I groaned so low it vibrated against her chest. The taste was unlike anything I’d known—sweet, primal, forbidden—and it made something inside me unravel.

I sucked harder, sealing my mouth over her nipple, tongue dragging slow circles before lapping at the bead of milk that welled up. My teeth grazed her lightly, and she arched, a soft cry slipping from her throat. I pinned her with my hand at her waist, keeping her from writhing away, forcing her to feel every hungry pull of my mouth.

Her milk spilled against my tongue, and I swallowed greedily, drinking her down as though I’d been starved. Each swallow made my cock twitch violently, straining against the thin barrier of my pants, pressing hot and heavy into her stomach. She felt it—her body stiffened beneath me, her breath catching—but she didn’t push me away. Instead, she stroked my hair with trembling fingers, whispering my name like a prayer.

“Aksh…”

That sound made me growl, and I dragged my mouth harder over her nipple, sucking until she gasped and clawed at my back. I pulled away for only a second, long enough to bite at the swollen peak, then latched on again, pulling deep, long mouthfuls of her milk until her moans filled the room.

Her body trembled. Her thighs clenched around mine. I let her nipple slip from my mouth with a wet pop, saliva and milk glistening on her skin. My tongue darted out, lapping slowly up the curve of her breast, cleaning the trail before moving to the other side.

I didn’t ask permission this time. My lips closed over her second nipple and she cried out, back arching off the bed as if her body had been waiting for it. I groaned, sucking hard, pulling the milk into my mouth in long greedy gulps. The flavor was intoxicating, addictive. My tongue circled her nipple, my teeth tugged it, and I drank until I felt her body quake beneath me.

Her hands clutched my hair, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away. She was offering herself, and I took everything she gave. Her milk ran down the corner of my mouth and I let it drip deliberately onto her breast, only to lick it back up, slow and teasing.

“You taste like sin,” I rasped against her skin, before biting gently and sucking harder. She moaned, her nails sinking into my shoulders.

My cock throbbed painfully now, pressing into her thigh through the thin fabric. Every time she shifted, every time her body jerked in pleasure, the friction made me hiss against her breast. My hips twitched on their own, grinding faintly against her without thought, desperate for release.

I pulled at her nipple until her breath came out broken and shaky, then finally released her, kissing the swell of her breast, licking her clean. Both her nipples were swollen, glistening from my mouth, her chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm.

I raised my head, meeting her eyes. Her lips trembled, parted, her face flushed in a way that stripped me raw.

And then I kissed her.

Not soft. Not tentative. But deep, messy, consuming. The taste of her milk still clung to my tongue, and I shared it with her, our mouths colliding until her moan was swallowed by my kiss. Her lips yielded, then pushed back with equal hunger, our tongues tangling, teeth clashing.

I pressed my hardness into her as we kissed, letting her feel how hard she made me, how badly I wanted her. She gasped against my mouth, her hips shifting under me as if she couldn’t help herself.

I pulled back just enough to murmur against her lips, my voice hoarse, “You make me this way… you make me lose every bit of control.”

She touched my cheek, her thumb brushing my jawline. “Then lose it with me, Aksh.”

My chest tightened painfully. I wanted to take her, claim her completely. My cock throbbed with the urge to bury itself inside her, but I forced myself to hold back, to savor the moment. Instead, I ground against her slowly, letting her feel the weight of my arousal, while my mouth returned to hers.

We kissed until our breaths were broken, until her breasts pressed against my chest slick with heat, until my hips trembled with restraint.

Finally, I tore myself away, pressing my forehead to hers, panting. I pulled her into me, wrapping her in my arms, forcing my body to still.

She nestled into my chest, her fingers tracing slow circles over my ribs. My cock was still painfully hard, pressed against her belly, but I ignored it, closing my eyes.

For once, it wasn’t about release. It was about this—the warmth, the bond, the way she calmed my demons with nothing but her touch.

And in her arms, with the taste of her still lingering in my mouth, the monster finally let himself sleep.

•

22 September, Monday, 2025
8:40 a.m.

Anvaya's POV

"The hospital needs me urgently. See you in the evening," I said, pecking on his lips and then forehead, before waving at him as the driver drove off.

The morning had unfolded quietly after the night, settling over the world like delicate drops of dew clinging to blades of grass. When I woke, I found myself tucked securely within his arms, my head resting against his chest as though that was where it had always belonged.

The room was still caught between darkness and dawn. The sun had not yet fully broken through the curtains, but a pale, muted light had begun to seep inside, painting everything in soft shades of silver and gold. It was enough to illuminate the room without disturbing its silence.

His warmth surrounded me.

His skin was warm against mine, steady and real, and for a moment I simply lay there, listening to the quiet rhythm beneath my ear. It made me feel wanted in ways I couldn't explain, in ways I didn't even have words for. Nothing about him had ever fit neatly into words. Every feeling he stirred inside me seemed to exist beyond language, buried somewhere deeper.

Everything felt different.

Weird.

Strange.

Wrong.

And yet, despite all of it, despite every warning my mind tried to whisper, I didn't want to move away. I didn't want to create even an inch of distance between us.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze.

The moment I did, I realized he was already looking at me.

Those ashy eyes were fixed on mine, unwavering, as though he had been awake long before me, content to simply watch. The intensity of his gaze wrapped itself around me, making it difficult to look away.

He looked at me as if I were something he feared losing.

Something he feared letting go.

His eyes had never been expressive. Most people looked into them and found nothing—coldness, indifference, silence. But I had spent enough time with him to know better. I had learned to see what hid beneath the surface, in the spaces between his words and behind the stillness of his face.

I saw things no one else ever noticed.

And what I saw wasn't romance.

It wasn't tenderness.

It wasn't the kind of softness people wrote poems about.

There was nothing bright in it.

Nothing gentle.

What stared back at me were fragments of him—pieces he never showed the world. The parts he kept hidden beneath layers of control and restraint.

The darker parts.

The twisted parts.

The ones that loved with possession instead of freedom.

The ones that held on too tightly and never truly knew how to let go.

And as his gaze remained locked on mine, unblinking and impossibly intense, I realized those parts of him weren't hidden from me anymore.

They were looking directly at me.

And somehow, terrifying as they should have been, I couldn't bring myself to look away.

I was called early in the morning by the hospital. I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay. With him. Like this. But duty couldn't be neglected when I'd worked for years just to be where I was.

Reason : My presence was urgently needed.

I didn't know what came up so suddenly because I wasn't appointed any patient except for the one I examined yesterday. I was just a replacement of Mrs. Lavanya.

In minutes, I was dropped at the hospital, before I walked inside.

The moment I stepped inside, the atmosphere felt too negative. Cold against my skin, raising hair along with it.

Hospitals had that feeling of both negativity and positivity because while a new life was born in the OT, someone let go of their life in another room.

But today's negativity didn't feel like that. It was deeper. Uncomfortable.

Doctors and staff whispered amongst themselves, while some side eyed me. It was weird. Very much weird.

Shrugging off their stares, I moved inside my cabin, where Nitya waited. Sensing my presence, she looked up. But her eyes held too much worry and that didn't at all look normal. That usual smile was replaced by worry lines around her eyes. Brows furrowed as if mirroring my own confusion.

"What happened? Why're things so changed here today?" I asked, setting down my bag.

She moved closer in a quick stride, before holding me by my arms, "Listen, Ani, please don't panic about what's coming. I don't have any idea about how all these happened. Even I was surprised when I was told everything. But remember, I'm with you."

I frowned at the sudden change in her behaviour, "What the heck has happened, Nitya? Can you please tell—"

I was cut off.

"I'll tell, Ms. Shaurya."

I turned around. It was our HOD.