Avani’s POV:

I am his girlfriend now.

The words feel like a brand burned into my skin.

It’s been six days since he stole me from the street outside the girls’ hostel.

Six days since he carried me unconscious into his penthouse, tied my wrists with his college tie, and fuck me while the camera recorded every sob, every plea, every tear that rolled into my hair.

Six days since I broke completely and whispered, “I’m yours,” just so the video would never see the light of day.

Six days of pretending the world didn’t end that night.

He changed everything in a single heartbeat.

My old phone? Smashed in front of me, pieces swept into the trash like my old life.

Replaced with a rose-gold iPhone that has only his contact, his location tracker, and an app that mirrors my screen to his phone 24/7.

My hostel room? Packed up while I sat in the passenger seat of his car, wrists bruised from the zip ties he’d used “just in case I tried to run.”

My clothes? He stood in my tiny dorm and threw every hoodie, every kurti, every piece of me into black trash bags.

“If I see you in anything baggy again, I burn it while you’re wearing it,” he said, calm as ordering coffee.

Now my wardrobe is his.

Tight dresses that end mid-thigh.

Crop tops that show the bruises he leaves on my ribs.

His hoodies—because he likes seeing his name stretched across my chest like a claim.

His bite marks on my neck that no amount of concealer can hide.

Today is the first day the entire college will see the new me.

I stand in front of his bathroom mirror at 6:45 a.m., staring at a stranger.

Black crop top. High-waisted ripped jeans that hug every curve he loves to bruise.

Hair forced into loose waves because he said “I want to be able to grab it easily.”

My neck is a map of his teeth—dark purple, fresh from last night when he pinned me against the headboard and made me say “I love you” between sobs.

He walks in behind me, shirtless, grey sweatpants hanging low, tattoos flexing as he moves.

His arms slide around my waist from behind, hands splayed possessively over my bare stomach.

“Look at you,” he murmurs against my ear, teeth scraping the newest bite mark. “Perfect little girlfriend. Everyone’s going to know exactly who you belong to now.”

I want to scream.

I want to drive my elbow into his throat and run until my lungs give out.

Instead I force the smile he trained into me with threats, with fists, with that fucking video.

He spins me around, cups my face like I’m something precious, and kisses me slow and filthy right there in front of the mirror.

His tongue invades my mouth. I taste blood where he bit my lip last night when I was too slow to say “yes, sir.”

I kiss him back because I have no choice.

The drive to college is torture in a matte-black G-Wagon that costs more than my entire colony.

His hand never leaves my thigh—fingers digging into the bruises, sliding higher every time the car stops at a signal.

If I try to shift away, his grip tightens until I whimper.

He parks in his reserved spot—right in front of the main gate, because the principal is terrified of his father.

The second he kills the engine, phones come out.

Cameras flash.

People gather like sharks smelling blood.

He gets out first, walks around, opens my door with that fake gentleman smile the world falls for.

Then he pulls me out and kisses me in front of everyone.

Hard. Possessive. No space for Jesus or air or dignity.

His hands slide down to my ass, squeezing in front of two hundred staring students.

People whistle. Some cheer. Some record.

I hear the whispers before we even reach the canteen.

“That’s the scholarship girl from the party.”

“No way—Aryan Khanna’s girlfriend?”

“Guess she finally spread her legs for the right price.”

“I knew she was just playing hard to get.”

“Look at those hickeys—damn, he marked her good.”

I want the ground to open and swallow me whole.

He keeps his arm locked around my waist the entire morning like an iron chain.

Forces me to sit on his lap in the canteen while his friends slap his back and grin like he won the lottery.

Feeds me bites of his avocado toast with his fingers, then licks them clean while staring into my eyes.

Makes me laugh at his stupid jokes even when all I taste is bile.

Every second I hate him more.

Every second I’m more terrified of what he’ll do if the mask slips even once.

Rohan watches from across the canteen.

I feel his stare like a brand of its own.

His jaw is clenched so tight I’m scared it’ll break.

His fists are white on the table.

He looks one second away from crossing the room and putting Aryan in the ground.

I want to run to him.

I want to fall at his feet and beg him to kill Aryan and set me free.

But I can’t.

Because if I do, the video goes viral.

My father loses everything.

My mother sees her daughter begging on her knees.

My life ends in ways worse than death.

So I smile.

I lean into Aryan when he pulls me closer.

I let him kiss my neck in front of everyone like it’s normal.

I let him slide his hand under my crop top under the table and pinch until I gasp.

Because I am his girlfriend now.

And every night I go back to his penthouse like a lamb to slaughter.

I strip when he says strip.

I kneel when he says kneel.

I spread my legs when he climbs over me and growls, “Good girlfriend.”

Some nights he’s slow—makes me come while I cry because my body betrays me every single time.

Some nights he’s brutal—fucks me until I bleed again, then kisses the tears off my face like they’re his reward.

Last night he held me after.

Arm locked around my waist like a prison bar, lips against my ear.

“I love you, babygirl,” he whispered while I stared at the ceiling and felt myself die a little more.

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Because the scariest part—the part that keeps me awake when he finally falls asleep—isn’t the pain anymore.

It’s the way my body stops shaking when he holds me.

It’s the way my tears dry faster when his arms are around me.

It’s the way, for one terrifying second before the hate floods back, I almost feel safe.

I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anything in my entire life.

But I’m starting to be more afraid of the day I stop hating him completely.

Because then he’ll really have won.

And there will be nothing left of me to save.

End of Chapter 5

To be continued....