Angol
Stories are not always born from love- some are carved from silence, from one forbidden gaze that refuses to fade. He saw her once... just once. And that single moment was enoughobsession. But obsession has a cost. It does not knock, it invades. It bends fate, breaks reason, and turns men into emperors-or monsters. In a world where politics is a battlefield and loyalty is nothing but a mask, their bond became both a weapon to bind his soul in chains of and a wound. This is not a tale of hearts meeting gently. This is a tale where power breathes, shadows whisper, and destiny writes in fire and blood.
The early morning mist still clung to the air, a cool shroud around her as they deposited her back in the area. The faces of her captors were a blur, their motives a dark, unfathomable void. She was free, yes, but the freedom was a heavy cloak of fear, not a light embrace of relief.
Her legs, unsteady from the ordeal, carried her mechanically towards the only sanctuary she knew - her home. Each step was a battle against the trembling that wracked her body. As her knuckles rapped against the familiar wood of the door, a wave of terror washed over her, making her teeth chatter uncontrollably.
Tears, hot and ceaseless, streamed down her face, blurring the world into an amorphous nightmare. She clutched the shawl tighter around her, a eager attempt to conceal the disarray of her being, both inside and out.
The click of the latch echoed loudly in the pre-dawn quiet, and the door creaked open. Her mother stood there, her eyes still heavy with lack of sleep, but as they landed on her daughter, a gasp escaped her lips, quickly followed by a silent scream of recognition and horror. Her mother's gaze swept over her, from the tangled hair to the bruised knees, and then her own tears began to fall, mirroring her daughter's. But in her mother's eyes, a different fear flickered - a silent question about her husband, her father. A shiver, colder than the morning air, ran down her mother's spine as she contemplated the man she called her husband and the chilling implications for their family.
"Koun hai?" A deep voice boomed from within, slicing through the tense silence. It was her father.
Before he could step further into the doorway, her mother, with a surge of protective instinct, pulled her inside. But it was too late. Her father's gaze, sharp and accusing, landed on her disheveled state. A vein throbbed in his temple, and his eyes, usually stern, now blazed with a terrifying fury. With a guttural roar, he shoved her mother aside. She stumbled, falling hard to the floor with a pained cry.
He lunged forward, his strong hand clamping around her wrist like an iron vise. He dragged her through the hallway, ignoring her mother's whimpers, and practically threw her into a nearby room. Then, without a word, he raised his hand and slapped her, the blow resounding through the small room, leaving a burning sting on her cheek and a deeper ache in her soul.
