Title — Goddess and Devil
Scene: Not a Choice, Something Else
“Choice,” he said, finally.
No—he didn’t say it.
He breathed it.
Spoke it like it wasn’t a word but a verdict. Not soft. Not harsh. Just absolute.
“Not a choice,” he corrected himself, voice dipped in velvet and iron. “Straight. Something else.”
A command?
No.
Not even that.
Commands implied options.
This wasn’t one.
His eyes flickered with a cruel calm, the kind that didn’t flinch in boardrooms or bloodbaths. The gun still rested beneath her chin, but his hand didn’t shake. Never had.
“Either you be my wife,” he said, tone even as steel. “And go to God—”
A pause, not of hesitation, but disdain.
“—not that I believe in one.”
Her lips parted, not in fear. Not in shock.
But something darker.
She didn’t tremble.
She didn’t plead.
She stepped closer.
A single inch, and the barrel of the gun shifted from her chin… to her forehead.
Aatharv’s fingers still held it steady, but now, it sat there like a crown of defiance. Rain spilled down her temples, plastering hair to her face, sliding between their breath.
She looked up at him, unblinking.
“Shoot,” she whispered.
One word. Soft.
But it cracked like thunder.
Her eyes were still. Certain.
Like she’d already died once before.
Like she'd already killed her soul to survive.
And he felt it.
Something ancient. Something not of this world.
Not a college girl.
Not just a killer.
But something the gods would bow to — or fear.
Then he noticed it.
She had reached his throat.
With the heels that glistened with pearls and rain, she had bridged the gap between them.
She stood tall now — her mouth a breath away from his neck. Close enough to taste his pulse. Close enough to slice it open.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
A small, silent smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. Dangerous. Not amused — aroused by her audacity.
This wasn’t a girl anymore.
This was a woman who invited death and challenged the devil with a silver watch and rain on her lashes.
“I will not shoot,” he said, voice dropping an octave lower, heat curling behind every syllable. “Because if I kill you—”
His eyes dragged across her face like a vow.
“—I won’t get to own you.”
The hand holding the gun slipped lower, slower now. It trailed down from her forehead to her cheek… from her cheek to the hollow beneath her jaw. Still holding the gun. Still safety off. Still a heartbeat away from destruction.
But his thumb…
His thumb brushed her skin like he was touching holy scripture.
And then—
He leaned in.
His lips brushed her ear.
Not a kiss.
Just air. Warm. Decadent. Damning.
“You’ll be mine,” he whispered, “by oath or by obsession. And I don't care which burns more.”
And in the distance, the sky split open with lightning.
Because even the storm wanted to see what came next.
Thanks!!! For reading
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