The night in Rajasthan lay heavy with silence, broken only by the faint rustle of the desert winds. The ancient palace, lit with torches, glowed with an eerie golden hue, its marble corridors echoing with footsteps and whispers of servants too afraid to meet their master’s eyes.
Within its grand chambers resided Abhimaan Singh Rathore—Hukum, the sovereign King of Rajasthan. He was born to rule, a man with the face of a Greek god carved by divinity itself, yet beneath that angelic visage lay a merciless monster, a beast cloaked in silks and power. His reputation alone silenced rebellions, his very name sent tremors across kingdoms. But tonight, his invincible armor of cruelty bent before a single girl—the one whom fate had bound to his obsession.
She was Ishika—the Broken Heart Devil, disowned by her own father and family, discarded like a fragile doll, her soul scarred and hardened by betrayal. Yet even in her shattered state, her beauty was unearthly, luminous in a way that angered the heavens. And it was this devil beauty that had ensnared the monster king’s heart, chaining him with an obsession too fierce to be denied.
Inside the grand chamber, draped with silken curtains swaying to the desert breeze, the confrontation reached its breaking point.
“Jaan, you have to marry me by hook or by crook,”
Abhimaan’s voice, usually a thunder commanding armies, was uncharacteristically soft. His hand rose, fingers caressing her cheeks as he wiped away the rivers of her tears. His touch was tender, yet his words carried the iron decree of a ruler who brooked no disobedience.
“Take your time,”
He whispered again, brushing a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ear, his eyes drinking in her every feature as though he might lose her to the void.
“but you will marry me tomorrow at any cost. And I hate seeing your tears. Please… stop crying.”
But Ishika, her heart a battlefield of pain and defiance, shoved him away with all her might. The bangles on her wrist clattered, the veil on her shoulder slipping as she glared at him, her eyes burning with fire.
“You are a heartless monster!”
She screamed, her voice quivering with fury and despair. Her hands shook as she seized a vase from the ornate table beside her and hurled it at him. The porcelain shattered against the carved sandstone wall, shards scattering like her broken trust.
“As people say, you do not have a heart! And now you dare force me into marriage against my will! Meri marzi ke khilaaf mujhse shaadi karna chahte ho!”
Her words pierced through the chamber like daggers, echoing against the marble pillars.
For the first time in years, the mighty Hukum stood still, watching as she trembled before him, her chest heaving, her lips quivering. No enemy, no warrior, no blade had ever wounded him as her defiance did.
“Kyun kar rahe ho aap aisa, Abhi?”
Ishika cried, her voice breaking as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. She clasped her hands together in helpless pleading.
“Mujhe aapse shaadi nahi karni hai. Please, Abhi… you say you love me, right? You always listen to my every word, don’t you? Then listen to this one. Let me go. Please… jaane do mujhe.”
Her sobs raked through the silence, drowning the air with sorrow.
But Abhimaan’s gaze darkened. He moved closer, his height towering over her delicate frame. His hand rose again, not to strike, but to cradle her face as though it were the most fragile treasure in existence. His voice, low and pained, trembled like the suppressed roar of a caged beast.
“Jaan… it hurts me to see you walk away from me. It tears me apart in ways you cannot imagine. Ask me for anything—kingdoms, jewels, the world itself—but do not ask me to release you.”
His lips pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead, as though sanctifying her in his devotion, even as her tears stained his soul.
But Ishika was not moved. With the last of her strength, she shoved him away once more. Her voice, hoarse with hatred and exhaustion, rose like a curse.
“I hate you…”
she whispered, her body swaying, her vision blurring as the world tilted around her. Her voice broke, faltering into fragments.
“I—I hate you… I-I…”
Her strength failed. Her knees buckled, and before the marble floor could embrace her collapse, Abhimaan lunged forward, his strong arms catching her slender waist. Her unconscious weight fell against him, her silken dupatta slipping between his fingers like water.
His jaw tightened, his breath heavy against her temple. He gazed at her pale, fainted form, his obsession burning brighter than the desert sun.
“Sorry, Jaan,”
he whispered into her ear, his voice raw with possession and desire. He pressed a lingering kiss against her cold cheeks, inhaling her essence like a starving beast.
“But you are my obsession. And I will never let you go.”
He carried her fragile form to the bed draped in golden sheets, laying her down with a gentleness that contradicted the ferocity in his eyes. His hands lingered on her face for a heartbeat too long, memorizing the softness that drove him mad.
Summoning the servants, he stood tall once again, his aura of command returning like a storm unleashed. His eyes narrowed as they landed on the trembling makeup artist who dared not look at him directly.
“Make her ready,”
Abhimaan ordered, his voice sharp as a blade.
“Make her radiant as the queen she is destined to be. And remember—if even a single scratch mars her body… you know the consequences.”
The servants bowed low, fear drenching their souls, for they had seen before what the wrath of their Hukum meant. They scattered to their tasks, while Abhimaan remained rooted, his gaze never leaving Ishika’s unconscious form.
His heart, though he denied it, trembled within its iron cage. She was his devil beauty, his broken-heart temptress, and he her merciless beast. The world would call it madness, the poets would call it tragedy, but to Abhimaan, it was destiny itself.
This was not mere desire—it was war, obsession, the pull of fate itself. He, the monster of Rajasthan, would chain heaven and earth to make her his queen. And though she hated him now, though her lips cursed him, though her heart rebelled against his claim—he believed, with a madness only the obsessed can know, that one day, her hatred would transform into love.
Thus began the tale of an insane obsession, destined to burn through the sands of Rajasthan until it became something greater, something eternal—an immense love born from the ashes of defiance and the flames of obsession.
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