3 brothers, 3 women and 3 stories
The vicious love of royals is a combination of 1 family and 3 vicious romances
1. THE VICIOUS BET
Daharthya Rajput, the Maharaja Sahab, ruler of Vardhgarh, the holder of immense power.
This was his identity, one...
“Our bedroom,” I declared evidently, before her feet hit the ground, entering in more than just the bedroom today. Life. Future. A step settled in the stone of more than today, a woman entering my life to be my today and tomorrow.
Flaring the rages we both withheld with each other over a conversation that was utterly required, the conclusion to our words was. We both desired, what arose between us in the name of destiny.
Samaira's, beautiful gaze captivated the room,
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Her eyes traced the carpet, leading up to the curtains, her eyes carefully kissing the chandelier lingering upon our bed longer. While she took a degree closer to the chair, her fingers grazing the edge of the sofa before she dropped it on her side. “It's ravishing,” She complimented. Her eyes were no longer sunken in the file of fastest over me when she brought it upon to face me, she halted it on my face, brief seconds before they impeded itself.
“You can always make changes for whatever you strive, it's all yours. The only requirement I have in this room is...” I began to speak but she completed for me herself, those blazing stares resting on the bed. “Bed,” She finished.
She is strangely distrustful, someone groomed to be gloomy by the hands of fate with cynical traumas that attacked her one after another. I felt her overlook of me didn't only regard the misconduct of, but more transgression of her traumas. One I want to be known of, be aware of, to be a better man.
She took her eyes away from the bed, dropping her phone on the chair, she once again pivoted to establish her look over my face. “I will do, whatever and however you want. Should I undress myself? Would you like to do it yourself?” Her sudden switch to behavioural, her take on never regaling her less soared within a momentum. And I was pummeled to gape at her, with no assertions that launch its route out of my throat.
I was utterly astonished by an individual, and how her perception immediately shifted over the vista of marriage and its regulations. “It's my duty, and I would not take a step back to what I am brought here for, to exist for a man's disposal, when he deems they own too many hormones to hold on,” She said, her words were direction to either me or her family.
It was clear abolishment of an entire society who have deemed women only for a means of “A garbage bin, in a sense,” Samaira muttered under her breath, completing what I had been contemplating.
She stepped towards the bed, and pushing herself on the front edge of the bed sat down, her hands ethically placed on her thighs, and she breathed heavily before once again finding my eyes.
A visitation of obligation it was for her. Mere duty. It made me wonder, of all those eyes bared, all those feelings were pierced under the rock of being who she was. And the idea of how baritone her pain must be when her father makes a spectacle of her on her 23rd birthday. To be brought by men like she was the most expensive showpiece in the market.
