Chapter 4 - Mine Again

Aryan’s POV

>{She thought a new hostel would save her. Cute. Pathetic, even.}<

I’ve had eyes on her every second since the party. Two missed lectures, one new dorm key copied by my guy at the front desk, one fake scholarship transfer form already drafted if she ever tried to bolt farther than the girls’ wing.

She’s a mouse in a cage she doesn’t even know exists. I built it around her months ago, brick by invisible brick.

Tonight she stepped out at 9:45 p.m. like clockwork—hood up, shoulders hunched, thinking the shadows would swallow her whole. My driver killed the engine two blocks out. I was out the door before the tires stopped rolling, chloroform rag in hand like it was just another Tuesday.

One deep breath against her mouth, and she went limp in my arms. No fight. No screams. Just her soft weight against my chest, head lolling back, those full lips parted like an invitation. Perfect.

Her coconut shampoo mixed with the chemical tang, and my cock was already straining against my jeans. I carried her to the SUV myself, tossed her across the back seat like luggage, and climbed in after.

The drive to the penthouse was torture—watching her chest rise and fall, thighs pressed together in those thin leggings, completely fucking mine.

Upstairs, no guards. No interruptions. Just the two of us in my king-sized world of black silk and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a city that bends to my name.

I stripped her down to her bra and panties first—slow, savoring the way her skin flushed even in unconsciousness. Then I tied her wrists to the headboard with my college tie, the silk knotting tight enough to bite into her skin but loose enough for her to thrash when she woke. I wanted the marks. I wanted the struggle.

Phone on the tripod. Red light blinking. Recording every second.

She came to with a gasp, eyes flying open, body jerking against the restraints like a wild thing in a trap. Panic hit her all at once— the room, the ties, me sitting there on the edge of the bed, shirt unbuttoned to my navel, belt already undone.

“Aryan? No… oh God, no, please…” Her voice cracked, small and broken, as she twisted her hips away from me. The tie creaked against the wood.

I just watched her for a moment, letting the fear sink in deep. “Look who came back to me, babygirl. Right where you belong.”

She started crying then. Not the quiet tears from the party—these were ugly, gut-wrenching sobs that ripped out of her like she was drowning from the inside.

Her chest heaved, shoulders shaking so hard the headboard rattled, and fat tears streamed down her temples, soaking into the pillow like blood from a fresh wound. “Please… Aryan, don’t… I can’t… I can’t do this again. It hurts so much… please, I’m begging you…”

Her words hit me like fuel on a fire. That raw desperation, the way her voice broke on every syllable, hiccuping through the sobs—it made my blood roar. I climbed over her slowly, straddling her hips, pinning her down with my weight alone. She bucked under me, legs kicking uselessly, but I caught her thighs and forced them apart, knees digging into the mattress on either side.

“Shh, baby. You left me starving. You think you can run and I’ll just forget how tight you felt? How you screamed my name?” My hand slid under her hoodie—cold fingers against her warm stomach first, then higher, cupping one breast through the thin lace bra. She arched away, a fresh wave of sobs choking her, but her nipple hardened under my thumb anyway. Traitorous little body. I squeezed hard, rolling the peak until she whimpered, tears pooling in the hollow of her throat.

“No… no, please stop… I hate you… I hate this…” She was gasping now, breaths coming in sharp, ragged bursts between the cries, her face a mess of snot and saltwater, eyes swollen and red like she’d been breaking for hours already.

Every sob pulled something deeper out of her—a child’s plea mixed with a woman’s terror, the kind that twists your gut if you have a soul. But I don’t. Not for her. Not when she’s this beautiful in ruin. Her lips trembled, forming silent words over and over—“Mama… help… please…”—like she was calling for ghosts that would never come. It broke her open, that crying, stripped her down to the fragile core I’d always wanted to crack. Sobs turned to wails, body convulsing under me, the kind of emotional shatter that leaves you hollowed out, echoing with nothing but pain.

I ripped the hoodie open then, buttons pinging off the nightstand like spent bullets. Her bra came next—snapped at the front, spilling her tits free, pale and perfect, heaving with every cry. She turned her face into the pillow, muffling the sounds, but I grabbed her chin, forced her to look at me. “Eyes on me, Avani. I want to see you break.”

Fresh tears flooded, spilling hot over my fingers.

“Why… why me? What did I do? Please… I’ll do anything… just let me go…”

Her voice was a whisper now, hoarse and splintered, the fight leaking out with every drop. She was unraveling—chest caving in on itself, breaths hitching like she couldn’t catch enough air, the emotional weight crushing her until she was just a trembling shell, whispering nonsense through the sobs.

“It hurts… everything hurts… I can’t breathe… Aryan, please, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” Sorry for what? For existing? For making me this obsessed? For being the only one who ever made me feel like I could destroy something pure and keep the pieces?

Her crying didn’t stop me. It fed me. I yanked her leggings down her thighs, panties following in one rough tear, exposing her completely. She was soaked—not from want, but from the raw terror, her body’s betrayal slick against my fingers when I shoved two inside her without warning. She screamed then, a guttural sound that tore through the room, body bowing off the bed as another sob ripped free. “Stop! It burns… please, God, make it stop…”

I didn’t. I lined myself up, thick and aching, and forced inside her inch by brutal inch. She was tighter than the first time, clenching around me like a vice, every sob making her flutter and grip. I groaned, low and filthy, burying my face in her neck as I bottomed out. “Fuck, yes… cry for me, baby. Let it all out.”

She did. Oh, she did. The tears didn’t stop—cascading in rivers now, soaking my shoulder, my chest, mixing with the sweat as I started thrusting. Hard. Deep. Punishing every inch of her until the bedframe slammed against the wall like a heartbeat. Her cries turned animalistic, wordless wails that echoed off the windows, her whole body shuddering with the force of it—emotional, physical, a total collapse.

“No… no more… I can’t… it’s too much… please, Aryan, I’ll die… I swear I’ll die if you don’t stop…” Her voice cracked into nothing, just wet, choking gasps, fingers clawing at the tie until her nails split and bled. She was gone, lost in the storm of her own breaking, every thrust pulling another layer of her soul out through those endless tears.

I could feel it—the way her resistance shattered, not into submission, but into something deeper, a fractured surrender where hate and hurt bled together.

I fucked her through it all, chasing my own release in the wreckage of her sobs. When I came, it was violent—spilling deep inside her with a growl against her throat, marking her from the inside out. She went limp beneath me then, cries fading to whimpers, body twitching with aftershocks, tears still leaking silently now, like the well had finally run dry but the hurt lingered in every shallow breath.

I stayed buried in her after, brushing those soaked strands from her face, tasting the salt on her skin with a kiss to her temple. Mock tender. Real enough to twist the knife. The phone had caught every second: her face contorted in agony, my handprint blooming on her breast, the slick sounds of me ruining her while she begged like her life depended on it.

I pulled out slow, grabbed the phone, and hit play on the rawest part—her voice, wrecked and pleading: “Aryan, please… it hurts so much… make it stop…”

She flinched, fresh tears welling up as she curled into herself, knees drawing up like she could hide from the screen.

I leaned in, voice low and unyielding. “Here’s how this works now, babygirl. You are my girlfriend. From this second. You smile when I touch you in the halls. You sit on my lap in the canteen, legs spread just for me. You come to this penthouse every night after dark, ready and waiting. One wrong look, one whisper to Rohan or your little friends, one tear in public, and this video hits every phone in college. Your parents get the director’s cut. The scholarship board sees their golden girl choking on my cock while she cries.”

She was shaking, a full-body tremor, eyes glassy and distant like she’d checked out to survive. “I… I can’t…” A whisper, barely there, another sob bubbling up from nowhere.

“Say it,” I snarled, grabbing her chin again, forcing her gaze to mine. “Say you’re mine.”

The words came out shattered, through lips that trembled like leaves. “I’m… yours. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

I smiled, pulling her into my chest, wrapping my arms around her broken form. She didn’t fight it—just lay there, spent and sobbing quietly into my skin, the emotional flood finally ebbing into exhausted hiccups. I held her like that until her breaths evened out, until sleep claimed her in fits and starts, body still twitching from the trauma.

Tomorrow she’ll wake up bruised and owned. She’ll walk into college on my arm, that fake smile plastered on, while inside she’s still crying the tears I wrung out of her tonight.

Because now it’s not just her body I’ve taken.

It’s her choices. Her secrets. Her goddamn soul.

Run all you want, Avani. Scream, beg, shatter into a thousand pieces.

You’ll always end up right here: under me, full of me, crying my name like it’s the only word you know.

And fuck, does it feel good.

End of Chapter 4.......

[She’s his girlfriend now. 

In front of the whole college. 

And she’s smiling while dying inside.]

To be continued....