Claimed By Power

The clock ticked away slowly, each second more agonizing than the last. Kyra sat in the corner of the room, her knees pulled to her chest, staring at the floor, as if hoping the ground would swallow her up and take her far, far away from this nightmare. The weight of Advik's words still lingered in the air—*“You’re going to be mine, no matter what.”*

His threat replayed over and over in her head, drowning out every rational thought. Her heart pounded in her chest, the fear gnawing at her insides. How had it come to this? How had she gone from trying to live her life, to being trapped in a situation where her every move was controlled by him?

She had no choice now. The words were out of her mouth before she even realized it—her agreement to marry him, under duress, under threats to her family’s safety. There was no escape from the trap he had set.

And now, Advik wanted her to prepare for the wedding.

She didn’t hear him enter the room, but when she looked up, there he stood—tall, imposing, his dark eyes locked on her with the same cold intensity that always made her feel small.

"You know what you need to do," Advik said, his voice smooth, but laced with an undeniable command. There was no warmth in his words, no tenderness. There was only an order, a demand. "Get ready. The wedding is in two hours."

Kyra froze. The idea of standing in front of everyone, dressed in bridal clothes, married to a man she despised, was unbearable. The thought of Advik’s hand on her, the cold touch of his control, made her stomach churn.

"I… I don’t want to do this," she whispered, her voice shaking. The protest left her lips before she could stop herself, and she immediately regretted it.

Advik’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped toward her with slow, deliberate steps, his gaze never leaving hers. He was a predator, and she was his prey.

"You don’t get to choose," he said, his tone dangerously calm. "You will do as you’re told. Now, go to the closet and change. I’ve already arranged for your clothes."

She flinched, her hands trembling as she slowly stood up, the weight of the situation crashing down on her. She wanted to scream, to fight him, but she knew she was powerless. He had already cornered her into this corner of helplessness.

"I won’t wear… what you want," Kyra tried again, finding the strength to push back, even if it was just a little. "I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want any of this."

Advik’s lips curled into a cold smile, and for the first time, Kyra could see the full force of his power in his eyes. It wasn’t anger she saw—it was something darker. He was used to getting what he wanted, and this, to him, was just another conquest.

"You think you have a choice?" he asked, his voice quiet but filled with menace. "You think you can defy me and get away with it? If you don’t do as I say, I will make sure your family regrets it."

The words were like a slap to her face. She closed her eyes, the fear threatening to overwhelm her. She couldn’t risk anything happening to her family. Not when they were so vulnerable.

Her resolve shattered. She stepped toward the closet, her heart heavy with defeat. "I’ll do it," she whispered, the words tasting like ash on her tongue.

Advik watched her, his expression unreadable. "Good," he said, voice low. "Make sure you look perfect. This is not just any wedding, Kyra. It’s the beginning of your life as mine."

She didn’t look at him as she picked out the clothes from the closet—a deep red saree, the fabric thick and heavy in her hands. The silk glinted in the light, but all it felt like was a prison waiting to encase her.

As she changed, she could feel the heat rising in her face, the embarrassment, the anger. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to be his possession, his trophy, a mere decoration at his side. But what choice did she have?

When she finished, she stood in front of the mirror, the saree draped around her. The fabric hugged her curves, and for a moment, she barely recognized herself in the reflection. The woman staring back at her was someone she didn’t recognize—a woman trapped in a world of manipulation and control.

Advik stepped into the room without knocking, his gaze taking her in with a sharp, assessing look. His eyes lingered on her figure, and for a brief moment, Kyra thought she saw something like approval flicker in his gaze, though it was quickly masked by the cold exterior he always wore.

"You look… perfect," he said, the words laced with an arrogance that made her blood boil.

Kyra didn’t reply. There was no point. Nothing she said would matter. Not now.

Advik took a step closer to her, his hand reaching up to adjust the fabric of her saree, his touch cold, calculated. "This is how you’ll present yourself from now on. No more arguing. No more fights. You’ll be what I want you to be."

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she swallowed them down. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her weak, not again.

"I won’t be your puppet," she muttered under her breath, her voice low.

Advik leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "You already are."

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