𝐏 𝐑 𝐎 𝐋 𝐎 𝐆 𝐔 𝐄

Not every stalker wants your love.

Not every villain learns to care.

This isn't the story where he saves her.....

It's the one where they ruin each other.

Betraying. Bleeding. Burning. Remembering.

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She was running again. Barefoot and bleeding, she forced herself forward while the ground beneath her feet twisted into something horrifying. It no longer felt like earth or stone.

Every step landed on flesh, shattered bones, and fragments of memories that clung to her ankles like they wanted to drag her down with them. The walls around her pulsed slowly, breathing like living things as they closed in tighter and tighter.

The screams surrounding her were not distant echoes. They were hers.

They came from the past. From nights she wished she could tear out of her own mind.

Fire crackled nearby, and the sound resembled cruel laughter. Chains scraped against the floor behind her, dragging heavily like a second spine attached to her body. Figures emerged from the darkness around her.

There were too many faces to count. Men wearing white gloves smiled with rotting teeth while hooded figures stood behind them, chanting in a language she never understood.

Even now, those words still seemed to vibrate somewhere deep inside her blood, as if her body remembered every syllable even when her mind tried to forget.

Their eyes followed her with terrifying devotion. Some stared at her with obsession. Others looked at her like she was something sacred. Something they would destroy just to worship.

She ran faster. Her lungs burned so badly that every breath felt like inhaling broken glass. The skin beneath her feet tore open more with every step, leaving streaks of blood behind her, but she kept running anyway.

Because ahead of her, hidden beneath a crushed table surrounded by debris, a little girl was trembling violently. The child curled into herself while soft whimpers escaped her shaking body.

She recognized that girl immediately.

The child had her eyes.

Fear tightened painfully inside her chest as she reached forward desperately, trying to pull the little girl away from the nightmare surrounding them. Her fingertips almost touched her.

And then someone grabbed her from behind. She screamed instantly. Panic exploded through her body as she kicked and struggled with everything she had. Every instinct inside her screamed the same thing over and over again.

Not again. Not again.

But then she realized something was wrong. The grip did not hurt. It steadied her instead.

Strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist and pulled her backward against a solid chest. The warmth of his body surrounded her like armor closing around exposed skin. His breathing trembled softly against the side of her neck, uneven and desperate.

One of his hands moved carefully to her jaw, gently turning her face toward him as if he needed her to focus on him alone.

"I got you... I'm here..." His voice sounded rough and broken, like every word was scraping its way out of his throat.

"I.. love you." A shaky breath left him before he whispered again.

"Forgive me... please.." His grip tightened slightly around her, almost frightened.

"Please, baby... just stay with me..." He spoke like a man begging for mercy. Like every sentence cost him another piece of himself.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," he whispered again, his voice cracking completely now. "I should've never... I didn't want this... I swear I didn't..."

Her breath caught painfully in her throat. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run, but she could not move. His scent surrounded her completely, painfully familiar in a way that terrified her more than the nightmare itself. She could feel the trembling in his chest against her back. It felt real. Too real.

He kept whispering things she could barely understand. Maybe they were apologies. Maybe promises. Maybe confessions from a man standing at the edge of destruction.

She did not know. But her hands moved on their own.

Her trembling fingers slowly curled against the fabric of his shirt. The material felt warm beneath her palm. Wet too.

Confused, she pulled her hand back slightly and stared at it.

Blood.

Her entire palm was covered in it. Her eyes widened instantly, and her lips parted in shock. For one horrible second, it felt like her heart completely stopped beating. A gasp escaped her mouth, but no sound followed.

Slowly, she looked up at him. There was no anger on his face. No panic either.

What she saw instead was something heavier. Something that looked painfully close to resignation. Like he had already accepted a fate he never wanted. And still, he refused to let her go.

"Don't cry," he mumbled weakly, and for a second it almost looked like he was trying to smile. "I didn't want it to end like this... Forgive me... for what I've done... I'm sorry, Amore..."

His knees weakened suddenly beneath him. His body dropped slightly, and she stumbled forward with him in panic.

"No..."

The word left her mouth as nothing more than a trembling whisper. Cold paralysis spread through her chest so violently that she could barely think. It was the same horrible stillness that appears when pain becomes too heavy for the heart to process properly.

"I love you... I'm sorry... don't forget me... please..."

His forehead pressed gently against hers while he spoke, like he was trying to hold onto the moment for one second longer. Like he could not bear the idea of goodbye.

And then the gunshot came. The sound exploded through the air violently, tearing through the moment like the sky itself had cracked apart.

She screamed.

The sound ripped from her throat with so much pain that it barely sounded human anymore. She screamed like the entire world had died in her arms.

And then she was awake.

She shot upright in bed with a violent gasp, her entire body drenched in sweat. Her throat burned raw from screaming, and her chest rose and fell in harsh, broken breaths while her terrified eyes searched the darkness around her.

It was only a dream. Another dream.

Her trembling fingers dug into the bedsheets beneath her, gripping the fabric so tightly her knuckles hurt. But her palm still felt wet. And his scent still lingered against her skin.

Her entire body shook violently as she struggled to breathe properly. She clawed weakly at her chest as if she could rip the pain out of herself by force. But her body remembered him.

Her skin remembered. Her lips remembered. And her heart no longer knew what was real anymore.

"Who the hell is he..." she whispered shakily to herself. Her burning eyes filled with frustration and fear. "Why do I keep seeing him...?"

She still could not remember his face clearly. But he felt familiar. Far too familiar.

Dragging herself out of bed, she forced her weak legs toward the bathroom and flicked on the light.

The mirror greeted her with the truth she hated most.

Bruises covered her ribs in dark shades of purple and blue. Her hip remained wrapped in bandages, swollen badly beneath them. Thin scratches stretched across her skin beneath the straps of her tank top, looking disturbingly close to claw marks. Red fingerprints still lingered faintly near her collarbone.

She stared at her own reflection with growing disgust.

She hated this body. Hated this face.

Hated every inch of skin staring back at her. Her nails dug sharply into her own arm as bitterness twisted through her expression.

"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath.

For one dangerous moment, it looked like she might smash the mirror apart with her bare hands. The rage in her eyes darkened violently before she forced herself to stop. Not yet.

Instead, she simply stood there breathing heavily while staring at her reflection like she no longer recognized the girl looking back at her.

Outside, thunder rumbled through the storm. The lights inside her room flickered once.

And across the street, hidden deep within the darkness, someone watched her.

Always watching.

His hand pressed tightly against the cold window while his breathing fogged the glass in front of him. His eyes remained locked onto the faint light still glowing from her room.

"He's gone now, Angel," he whispered through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with obsession. "He'll never take you again. You're mine. I'll have you soon."

But he didn't know the truth. He was not the only one watching her.

Further back, hidden deeper within the shadows, another figure stood completely still. His attention never left her window for even a second.

He carried the weight of failing her once before, and he had no intention of allowing the past to reach her again.

And still, neither of them understood what they were truly chasing.

She was not just a girl trapped in nightmares.

She was a storm waiting to destroy everything around her.

And no matter who came after her, her life still belonged to him.

Whether it became love, hatred, obsession, or fate itself, none of it would stop what was coming.

Because he was coming.

And so were they.

__________________________

Elsewhere, the air was thick with death and smoke. The room reeked of smoke, blood, and burnt flesh.

Only minutes ago, men had been screaming loud enough to shake the walls.

Now the room had fallen into silence. The only sounds left were the faint crackling of fire somewhere in the corner and the weak choking breaths of the few who had not died yet

In the center of it all, he sat calmly on a chair that somehow remained untouched.

One leg rested over the other while he leaned back into the chair with complete ease, as if he were sitting in a quiet lounge instead of a massacre. A cigarette burned lazily between his fingers, smoke curling upward with every slow breath he took. The other playing with a silver ring that didn't match anything he wore.

Near the corner, one of the men was still alive. Barely. He dragged himself across the floor using only one arm, leaving a thick trail of blood behind him. His other arm was gone completely, torn off somewhere during the chaos. His fingers shook violently as he tried to pull himself farther away from the bodies around him.

"Still breathing?" he asked quietly. Almost bored.

One of his men raised a gun, but he waved it off. He walked over to the dying man, his shadow falling over the mangled body like a shroud. Without a hint of exertion, he brought his boot down, crushing the man's windpipe. He watched with a vacant, clinical interest until the frantic gurgling faded into a dull rattle, then nothing.

"Clean this up. Burn whatever's left. And send his family the wrong body."

None of the armed men looked surprised. None of them hesitated. They simply lowered their heads slightly and moved immediately to carry out the orders. Around him, obedience was survival. Even the smallest delay could become a death sentence if he noticed it.

He walked past bloodstained money, shattered glass, and a few gold watches tossed carelessly into a pile. None of it mattered. He didn't spare them a glance. Wealth was a utility he had long ago perfected, It was not something he chased anymore. It was simply a tool that followed wherever he went.

Outside, a line of black SUVs stretched across the street. Armed guards stood beside every vehicle. The moment they heard footsteps, their postures straightened automatically. Several men lowered their heads respectfully while others adjusted the weapons strapped to their bodies.

"And send a gift to the mayor's widow," he added casually as he reached the exit.

"The widow, sir?" his second-in-command dared to ask. "The mayor is still alive."

He paused, the silhouette of his frame framed by the cold moonlight outside. He didn't turn around.

"Not by the time the flowers arrive," He replied calmly. His voice remained quiet, but every word carried absolute certainty.

"He has a habit of using too many words. I've decided I don't like his voice anymore."

A chill passed through the men standing nearby. He resumed walking toward the waiting SUV as if the conversation had meant nothing at all.

To him, it probably did not. Powerful men rose and fell depending on whether he found them useful or irritating.

For him, it was never personal.

It was simply entertainment.

_______________________

The past is buried

But not deep enough.

Blood. Love. Revenge. Madness.

This time,

It all comes crashing down.

This isn't just their story-

It's a war.

~Welcome to the madness ~

Shall We Begin...?

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A/N:-

Not gonna lie... I'm still debating if I should write this story. Sevda is long, twisted, and will probably eat my brain alive.

Your support means everything. If you'd l

ike to see this story continue, please don't forget to follow, vote, and comment. Every bit of feedback keeps me motivated to bring you the next chapter.

Thank you for reading, and welcome to SEVDA!~

-Author NJ