Chapter 3

Punishment

"You love to disobey me right Jaan, let me teach you some lessons!"

"You love to disobey me right Jaan, let me teach you some lessons!"

_______

Without saying a word, Zayn stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching under his polished shoes as he made his way to her side. He opened the door and stared down at her.

"Get up," he ordered coldly when she didn't move. His voice was sharp, slicing through the heavy silence.

Still frozen in place, she trembled.

Not waiting for her compliance, he grabbed her arm — firm, unrelenting — and dragged her out of the car, leading her straight into the mansion. His grip never faltered. The hallways were eerily quiet, the only sounds echoing off the marble floor were her soft, panicked breaths and his calculated steps.

He flung open the door to his room. The dim red lights bathed the room in a dangerous glow.

"You have a habit of disobeying me, don't you, baby?" he whispered darkly, locking the door behind him with a distinct click that sent chills down her spine.

She stepped back instinctively as he moved toward her, his steps slow, calculated—predatory. Her back hit the cold wall, stopping her retreat.

"I-I'm s-sorry," Anaya stuttered, her voice barely audible. Fear clung to her like a second skin.

Her knees were weakening under the intensity of his gaze.

"Ahhnn, no sorry is going to work now, princess," he murmured, his face inches from hers, breath grazing her trembling lips.

"W-what are y-you going to d-do?" she whispered, her voice cracking with fear.

Zayan didn't answer with words. He slid his strong arm around her slim waist, pulling her flush against his hard chest. He buried his face into the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply.

"Mmm... your scent," he growled. "It drives me insane. Makes me want to do the most sinful things to you, things you can't even begin to imagine, my angel."

Anaya froze. She didn't understand him—his words, his obsession. She couldn't comprehend what he wanted from her.

Suddenly, his teeth sank into her neck—rough yet sensual—drawing a gasp from her lips.

"Ah—A-ap kya kar rahe hain?" she asked breathlessly, struggling in his hold. (W-What are you doing?)

"Zayan—."

"Don't move," he warned, his voice dark and sharp.

But she didn't listen. Her tiny hands pressed against his chest, trying to push him away.

"I said... don't. Move." he barked.

She flinched.

In a flash, he yanked off his tie and tied both her wrists together, trapping them behind her back with one hand. The other traced her thigh, pulling it up and against his hip.

He pressed himself against her, kissing and biting along her neck, leaving heated trails across her skin.

She cried.

But his mind was clouded — not with love, not even with lust — but pure obsession.

Possession.

Addiction.

"Shhh," he hushed her by pressing his index finger to her lips, his mouth brushing the other side of it, a phantom kiss she couldn't escape.

Tears streamed down her face.

"Stop crying, doll," he said blankly.

But she couldn't stop. Her sobs grew louder, her small frame shaking. There was no one to help. No one could hear. The walls of this room were soundproof—just like his heart.

"Anaya," he muttered, his voice low but dangerous as he stared into her swollen, red eyes, "stop crying."

"L-leave m-me, p-please," she begged.

Her voice broke something in him. He wanted her to beg — but not to leave. Never to leave. That thought alone twisted him with fury.

He grabbed her waist and pinched her harshly.

His anger burned.

He knew if he stayed another second, he would lose the last shred of control left in him.

So he walked out — slamming the door shut behind him.

Anaya collapsed to the floor, still bound, curling into herself. Her sobs filled the empty room as she rocked back and forth, knees to chest, tears soaking into her skin.

She didn't know what she felt anymore—fear, confusion, pain. She was too young to understand this darkness. His madness. His obsession.

Meanwhile...

Zayan was a storm.

He stood in the liquor room, downing glass after glass of whiskey, throwing the empty ones against the walls. The bottles shattered, shards covering the ground like a battlefield.

"Why can't she just be a good girl and listen to me?" he roared, rage boiling over like lava.

He destroyed everything in reach.

His hands bled. He didn't care.

She was still a child — a truth he refused to accept. His obsession had blinded him completely.

After five hours of burning in his own hell, he returned to his room.

She was still there.

Sitting on the cold floor, head buried into her knees, the tie still biting into her wrists.

His jaw clenched.

He walked to her, picked her up gently, and laid her on the bed. Her wrists were raw, red marks across her pale skin. Her cheeks were stained with dried tears.

Still, his face held no remorse.

He lay down beside her and pulled her into his chest, pressing his lips to her wrists, softly. Tenderly.

"Why do you make me do these things to you,?" he whispered against her skin.

He kissed each mark again, slowly.

"Sleep now, doll," he murmured, kissing her forehead, then burying his face into her neck.

He held her like a lover, though he'd acted like a monster.

Morning light poured through the windows, touching Anaya's soft face. She stirred, blinking slowly.

She felt a heavy arm around her waist.

Her heart jumped.

It was him.

She tried to pull away, but he only tugged her closer in his sleep.

"Mmm," he groaned, still half-asleep.

She looked at him — really looked at him — for the first time.

Messy hair. Long lashes. Sunlight dancing on his sculpted face.

He looked angelic.

Until he spoke.

"Apka he hu jee bhar ke dekh lijiye," Zayn murmured in his deep morning voice, still not opening his eyes. (I'm all yours—look at me as much as you want.)

Shivers ran down her spine.

"Uthiye... humein jana hai," she said quietly, trying to push him away. (Get up, I have to go.)

Instead, he tightened his grip around her waist.

"Arey... get awayyy!" she protested, wriggling.

"Kar sakti ho door toh kar lo," he smirked, suddenly awake and pinning her down, kissing both her cheeks. (If you can move me, go ahead.)

"Please, I need to go—college," she said, avoiding his touch.

He glanced at the clock.

"Still time left for that, doll," he whispered, trailing kisses down her jaw.

"Zayn, what are you doing?" she gasped as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

His lips grazed her ear. "We can use this time for something else."

She trembled.

Before she could answer, his lips were on her neck again.

She pushed him back. "Zayn... stop!"

"Shhhh. Just one moment," he whispered, sliding his hand under her top.

His touch made her flinch.

"I don't know what I'll do without you," he murmured.

"Please," she begged, her voice cracking. "I-I'm not comfortable."

He laughed—cold, dangerous.

She tried again to escape, but this time he grabbed her waist, slammed her back onto the mattress, and hovered over her, eyes wild.

"Zayn, please!"

"Jee, jaan?" he mocked. (Yes, my love?)

She was sobbing now, tears rolling again.

She pushed him with all her strength and ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

He didn't follow.

He just stood there... smiling.

She collapsed against the bathroom door, arms wrapped around her chest, rubbing her skin like she could erase his touch.

She cried until there was nothing left in her.

Later...

They left for college.

Zayn drove like a madman, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the road. Anaya stared out the window, expression numb.

Then it happened.

A crash.

A thud. A scream. Glass shattered. Metal twisted.

Their car collided with a truck—violently.