Ananya didn't feel victorious. Not really. Revenge had tasted sharp and sweet, but the aftertaste was bitter — like ash after wildfire. She had ruined him publicly, yes. She'd taken back control.
But control didn't keep her warm at night. It didn't replace the ghost of his breath against her neck. It didn't silence the echo of his voice in her chest.
She was still his. Even after destroying him.
And he? He was unraveling.
---
Rael hadn't been the same since the leak. His name, once whispered with awe, now carried scandal. He couldn't walk the halls without feeling the weight of their stares. But what tormented him more than humiliation… was her silence.
Ananya had disappeared again — not from school, but from him. She no longer glanced his way. No longer smirked or taunted. She had erased him like he was a page she'd grown tired of.
That made him furious.
And obsessed.
He began to spiral. Nights alone in his penthouse with a glass of whiskey, replaying her voice in his head. He'd scroll through old emails, messages, that photo she took of him half-asleep with her fingers tangled in his hair. He had deleted it, and then dug through the cloud to recover it again. He hated her for what she'd done. Hated himself more for still wanting her.
---
One evening, he waited outside her apartment. The sky was a bruised purple, clouds thick like smoke. He leaned against his car, all black — shirt, coat, expression. When Ananya stepped out, she didn't freeze or flinch.
She simply looked at him.
"You're stalking me now?" she asked.
"I want answers."
"Wrong girl," she said, brushing past him. "You burned your bridges. All that's left is ash."
He followed. "You think I didn't care?"
"You cheated."
"I was trying to forget you."
"That's the worst part," she snapped. "You used someone else to forget me, and you still failed."
Her voice cracked — barely, but he heard it.
They were in her apartment before she knew why. The door shut behind them, and the tension that had brewed for weeks poured into the space like thunder.
He stepped forward. "You destroyed me."
"You deserved it."
"I'm not the only monster here, Ananya."
She grabbed his collar, yanking him forward. "Then show me. Prove we're both broken."
And then it began.
They kissed like it was a punishment — her lips biting, his tongue unforgiving. He slammed her against the door, and she clawed at his shirt. Clothes came off in angry tugs, buttons scattering like sins. Her nails raked down his back. His teeth found her shoulder. It wasn't love. It wasn't comfort.
It was war.
Their bodies knew each other too well. The way he pressed his hips into hers, the way she gasped when he pinned her wrists above her head. Their rhythm was chaos. Desperate. Every thrust a confession neither could say aloud. Her name was a curse on his lips. His was a prayer on hers.
They broke the lamp. Knocked over the books. Left bruises where fingers lingered too long.
And when it ended, they were still tangled — sweaty, shivering, hating themselves for how much they needed this.
Rael lit a cigarette and stared at the ceiling.
"Do you feel better?" he asked.
She pulled the blanket over herself, not to cover, but to protect.
"No," she said. "Do you?"
He exhaled smoke. "No."
She turned her back to him. "We shouldn't do this again."
He put out the cigarette. "We will."
Silence.
"I don't want to love you," she said finally.
"You don't," he said. "You want to own me."
She laughed bitterly. "Takes one to know one."
Their wounds were stitched together with lust. Their pain made into passion. Every kiss a blade. Every touch a bruise.
They weren't healing. They were bleeding together.
And neither of them cared.
---