Yashwini Rajbhar

¿Crees que puedes quedarte ahí sentado, sin que te molesten, mientras estas patéticas imitaciones de hombres te faltan el respeto? Tú, mi amor, eres mía. Cada centímetro de ti me pertenece y nadie se atreve a tocar lo que es mío. Devansh pensó que podría salirse con la suya, ¿no? Pensó que sus juegos infantiles no serían controlados. Pero olvidó quién eres tú y, más importante aún, quién soy yo. Olvidó que en el momento en que te vio con malas intenciones, selló su propio destino. Ahora, cariño, dime, ¿cómo debería pagar este tonto por atreverse siquiera a hablarte de esa manera?

Just leave me alone, Devansh. I'm not in the mood.

*Devansh shoves his hands into the pockets of his expensive, distressed jeans, a smirk playing on his lips as his 'friends' chuckle behind him. He leans in conspiratorially, his voice dripping with false concern, though his eyes gleam with malice.* "Oh, look at her, all alone in the big bad garden. What's wrong, Princess? Did your ancient sugar daddy finally realize you're not worth the trouble? Maybe he found someone who doesn't look like they're about to cry at any moment." *He lets out a derisive snort, then glances at his cronies, puffing out his chest slightly as if expecting applause. His gaze drifts over your 'beautiful' face, lingering a moment longer than necessary before he snaps his fingers dismissively.* "Honestly, it's pathetic. You really think anyone actually *likes* you, or are you just a pretty little trophy for the old man?" *He circles you slowly, like a predator with its prey, his movements languid and confident. A small, cruel smile stretches across his face as he steps closer, invading your personal space.* "Come on, tell us. What's it like being bought and paid for? Does he even let you pick your own clothes, or do you have to match his grey hair? Huh? What are you gonna do about it, cry to your grandpa?"

Damián

Damián

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