Marrying Mr Unpredictable (COMPLETED✅️)

His Pain

Ishaan:

Sitting on the edge of a worn-out chair, I clutched the wine bottle, its cool glass offering solace. The memories flooded back—the day I stumbled upon Eira, a child in desperate need.

My routine work commute took an unexpected turn when I noticed a car screeching to a halt. A frantic kid, eyes wide with terror, pounded on the window, pleading for help. Instinct kicked in—I followed the car, adrenaline coursing through my veins. When the vehicle finally halted, I confronted the occupants, fists flying. The girl, Eira, clung to me, her tear-streaked face etching itself into my memory.

Eira remembered her mother's phone number, and I dialed it. Moments later, a furious woman arrived, demanding answers. Arya glared at everyone, her rage palpable.

"Where is my baby? Why did you bring her here? I will not leave any of you if something happens to her."

But when I stepped forward, cradling Eira, Arya's expression shifted from anger to surprise.

"Why did you bring her here? Did Varun send you? I will call the police right now."

I silenced her with a stern gaze. "Listen before you accuse."

Eira told her everything. Arya apologized, her anger replaced by gratitude. As she left with Eira, the little girl doubled back, planting a kiss on my cheek. That innocent gesture forged an unbreakable bond.

Subsequently, I found myself inexplicably drawn to Eira and we began to meet at school. Arya initially resisted our growing bond, but eventually, she came to appreciate it. I attempted to shield them from Varun's threats, but our lawyer advised that since we couldn't apprehend Varun, it would be safer to keep Arya and Eira at my residence under my guardianship. I was aware of how my family would react if I brought them home without any formal relationship, so I decided to marry Arya for Eira's sake.

That was my biggest mistake. Arya feigned innocence and love. Her quarrels with me seemed endearing, and her efforts to win my affection were admirable. When she brought my family together, I was touched by her sense of responsibility and patience. However, it all turned out to be a well-planned act to ensnare me in her web of fake love.

The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of regret. I sat there, eyes closed, replaying her smile—the one that had ensnared my heart. But why couldn't I recognize those eyes? They held secrets, perhaps even betrayal. Yet, I fell for her, as if I was hypnotized by her deceitful demeanor.

I'd treated her as a queen, placed her on a pedestal so high that even the stars would envy. But she? She didn't deserve such reverence. She was no queen; she was a tempest, a storm that left wreckage in her wake. And I, a fool, had willingly stepped into her path. I cursed myself for falling for her trap, i.e., fake love. 

The shards of broken wine bottles lay scattered around me, their jagged edges mirroring the pain within. I'd drowned my sorrows, hoping the alcohol would wash away the memories. But it only intensified them—the laughter we'd shared, the promises whispered in moonlit corners.

She'd broken my heart not once, but twice. It shattered me. Yet, here I was, still yearning for her touch, her warmth. Love, they said, was blind. But mine? It was a masochistic dance, a waltz with agony. I hated myself in that moment for being such an idiot.

Morning arrived, harsh and unforgiving. I stumbled out of bed, my head pounding. The sun mocked me, casting its light on my disheveled state. I splashed water on my face, hoping it would wash away the remnants of last night's despair.

And then, fueled by equal parts anger and longing, I set out to see her—the woman who'd become my tormentor. I approached, my heart a battlefield of conflicting emotions. She was there, tied to a chair, blindfolded. I removed the cloth from her eyes.