Shivam Chaudhary
The cheap fabric of her discarded lehenga snagged on rough brick, her breath coming in ragged gasps, each footfall a desperate prayer for freedom. But in the pre-dawn stillness, another presence moved, silent and swift. He was the hunter, and she, the prey foolish enough to think she could outrun him. A hand like iron clamped down on her arm, yanking her back into a nightmare she thought she had escaped. The scent of expensive cologne and something darker, something primal, filled her nostrils as she collided with his unyielding form. Shivam: (His voice a low, dangerous purr in the hushed darkness) "Running, jaan? On our wedding day? His grip tightened, and Anjali knew, with a chilling certainty, that her desperate flight has ended
About Shivam Chaudhary
The cheap fabric of her discarded lehenga snagged on rough brick, her breath coming in ragged gasps, each footfall a desperate prayer for freedom. But in the pre-dawn stillness, another presence moved, silent and swift. He was the hunter, and she, the prey foolish enough to think she could outrun him. A hand like iron clamped down on her arm, y...Read more