Broken I

A/N : I had no idea of posting this chapter today, but I wanted to clear who arna is! So, There you go the truth about her.

ARNA

As I stepped out of Aryan's office, still reeling from whatever had just transpired inside, I was abruptly ensnared by my mother's grasp. Dread washed over me as I found myself face-to-face with the person I loathed most in the world.

"Ena pannitu vara ?" Her words sliced through the air like icy shards, her tone chilling me to the bone.

I stuttered, attempting to form a coherent response, but fear constricted my throat like a vice.

She brandished a heated spatula, its ominous glow casting eerie shadows across her stern features.

"Ippidi ketta pathil varatho ?" Her question hung in the air, loaded with accusation, as she closed in on me, the spatula inching dangerously closer.

Every instinct screamed at me to retreat, to flee from the impending danger, but her piercing gaze held me in place like a deer trapped in headlights.

"Ethuku odura ? Enkitta irunthu thapichuruviya nee ?" Her voice rose with each word, dripping with venomous fury, her eyes ablaze with a rage that threatened to consume everything in its path.

"Sorry na ethuvum pannala," I whispered, tears welling up, my voice barely audible amidst the turmoil within.

The memories of such moments, etched in pain, lingered like shadows, haunting me relentlessly. No amount of strength could shield me from the crippling weight of such past experiences.

"Nee Inga enna pandran nu kettan Arna ? Unga athai eppidi vittu una ?" She roared.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry with fear. "Hridhan nu ku Inga vela kedacha nala Inga apartment la stay pannirukom..." My words faltered, stumbling over each other in a desperate attempt to escape the wrath descending upon me.

"Ohh un purushan vellaiku poita nee Evan koodaiyo thirunchutu irukka. Appidi thana ?" Her voice pierced through me, a relentless barrage of accusation and disdain, leaving me gasping for air amidst the suffocating pressure of her fury.

Nirmala, my mother. The name sticks in my throat like bile, a bitter reminder of all that she represents. To call her "mother" feels like an insult to the very essence of that word. She's the architect of my suffering, the puppeteer pulling the strings of my existence.

In her own twisted narrative, she's the queen without a crown, ruling over her domain with ruthless efficiency.

She wanted me to follow in her footsteps, to tread the same dark path she walked without remorse. Prostitution.

That's why I fled into the arms of marriage at the tender age of twenty, seeking refuge from her relentless tyranny. Little did I know, I was merely leaping from one inferno into another.

The first year was a blur, a haze of pain and degradation as I stumbled through the labyrinth of my own despair. I endured horrors I never thought possible, sacrificing pieces of myself on the altar of survival.

But the consequite year wasn't the same. I met her.

Just because I met her.

Damini Russo.

We met by accident but destined to be one. The enigmatic figure lurking in the shadows behind every politician, every governmental decision. Damini, the puppet master pulling the strings of power with a deft and ruthless hand.

It was a revelation, discovering the truth behind the facade of politics. The politicians, mere pawns in a grander scheme orchestrated by her family. They wielded power like a weapon, shaping the fate of nations with a casual flick of their fingers. And the people, oblivious to the machinations of their rulers, mere playthings in the game of power and deceit.