ARNA

I fucking hate him.

Anger sheeted over me, thick and suffocating, more potent than fear or confusion. I was certain I was right—he wasn't the hero. He was the villain dressed in medals and honor.

But the questions clawed at me.

Why ? Why had he pulled me out of Central Prison ?

Why would he claim me as his wife of all things ?

Why save me from death... only to throw me into something far worse ?

My brain throbbed, every nerve wired with panic, confusion, and rage. I sat in silence, the kind that screamed louder than words, as the car sped through narrow lanes. He was driving just the two of us—for the first time since I'd met him. Not the 'n'number of eyes always watching me.

He drove like he was fleeing from something, or maybe hunting it. There was no care for rules, no glance at the red lights he blew through.

Stupid of me to think he would follow rules. Not after what I'd just witnessed.

Sector 17 wasn't for humans. It was for monsters like him. Born from blood, bathed in secrets. And I was trapped right in the center of it all.

I needed to get out. Run. Vanish. But where?

Every inch of this land breathed his name. His word was law. His orders. His power, absolute. I was nothing but a shadow under his thumb.

Holy crap.

Never—not in my darkest nightmares—had I imagined I'd be caught in something like this.

I used to wish Rayan had never gone into Sector 17. He could have been here with me. But the Arxline's law demanded one from every family. Rule One: send a one from each family. Sacrifice someone you love so the system keeps breathing. If they are gone. Send a replacement.

And so they put my name on the paper.

Our country had always been wealthy. We had everything until the Arxline came and imposed their rules. They were selfish, greedy, never satisfied. They tried to conquer other countries, waging war after war. Once, there were more than twenty-two sectors. After their endless conflicts, only eighteen remained.

Sector 17 and 18 are completely off-limits now, forbidden to all.

They've killed our people. Thousands died in the wars. Army bases are empty shells — men and women lost, gone. There aren't even enough people left to clean the shoes of those in power.

And then came the iconic Rule : One person from every family, dragged to the government. To serve. To clean their shoes. To be nothing but a tool for their selfish empire.

No one could escape. They dragged you in, even if you screamed no. There was no "no." Only what the government demanded: yes. Always yes.

Sector 17 is the Arxline training sector. Once you're in, there's no way out. At least, that's what the country says. From the outside, it looks like any other sector — shops, roads, ordinary life. But the borders are sealed, guarded by armed soldiers. Anyone who tries to escape is shot without mercy.

They expect obedience. They expect us to bow whenever their names are spoken.

But I am not here to bow. I am here to find.

The car jolted to a stop, snapping me out of my thoughts. My heart lurched in my chest as I looked up.

It wasn't what I expected.

The building rose ahead tall, featureless, and brutally symmetrical. Concrete and glass, no warmth, no welcome. It looked more like a command post than a home.

Maybe an apartment complex. Or staff quarters. I couldn't tell.

It loomed over the skyline, cold and unyielding, a perfect reflection of Sector 17 itself—its order, its silence, its rules.

If I wasn't mistaken, this was where the staff lived.

When we first entered the gates of Sector 17, they'd assigned us shared rooms—no privacy, no choice. Just another reminder that freedom here was a privilege you didn't own.

He circled around the car and opened my door without a word, the metallic click oddly sharp in the stillness.

"Don't expect things like this from me again," he muttered, his voice low, almost like a warning.

I stepped out, stiff and guarded. "I didn't expect anything from you," I snapped, my tone sharper than I felt.

He turned sharply, eyes narrowing—a silent flash of something unreadable crossing his face. I tried to hold his gaze, keep my expression neutral. A challenge. A defense.

"No words till we reach the room," he ordered, curt and final.

I didn't protest. Couldn't. Somewhere deep inside, fear had already anchored itself. After what I'd witnessed, my mind wasn't ready to test limits again. Maybe.

I'd been in Sector 17 for days now—long enough to attend theory classes, but barely a day into practicals when it all went wrong. One mistake. One blood-soaked decision. Straight to Central Prison.

The brutalities we studied in theory always felt distant—hypothetical. Not anymore. Not since him.

He walked ahead with that signature air of command — calm, assured, and utterly untouchable. The guards at the corridor straightened as he passed, offering crisp salutes. He acknowledged them only with a curt nod, his eyes unreadable.

Their gaze, however, slid toward me.

"Stop ogling," he murmured, the edge of amusement threading through his low voice.

Before I could even look away, his hand found my wrist — firm, possessive. He drew me closer until I could feel the heat radiating from him, his stride never faltering.

"You're imagining things," I said, though my voice came out softer than I intended.

He glanced down at me, and for a fleeting second, something dangerous flickered in his eyes — something that wasn't entirely irritation.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. He guided me in, pressed a button I didn't catch, and the doors slid shut.

Silence filled the small space — humming, tense, alive.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked finally.

He didn't reply. Same usual silence.

I swallowed hard. A kidnapping? A setup? In Sector 17, both were entirely possible.

And with Hridhan, I wasn't sure which would be worse.

He stepped out, dragging me along with as if I couldn't walk on my own. He stopped in front of a steel-gray door, swiped his ID, and stepped inside. I hesitated, just for a breath, then followed.

The door clicked shut behind me.

A second later, the lock turned.

"Why did you lock the door ?" I stammered, my voice thin in the charged silence.

He didn't even glance at me. Just kept walking, calm and casual, like he hadn't just locked a stranger in his room.

"My door. My lock. My wife. Mine to do whatever I wish," he said simply, as if that justified it.

Wasn't this kidnapping? Or at the very least, illegal detainment?

He dropped onto the couch, legs crossed, arms loose at his sides—completely at ease. Like this was his kingdom, and I was just a mild inconvenience that wandered in uninvited.

I didn't move. I couldn't. My limbs were wired with tension, unsure whether to bolt or scream.

I watched him, eyes tracing his features—against my better judgment. Dark brown eyes, so deep they almost passed for black. Deceptive, even in color.

A sharp nose. A strong jaw.

And then my gaze dropped lower, to—

No. Abort mission. I tore my eyes away the moment they reached his mouth.

"You're not my type," he said, voice dry, smug—as if I'd just confessed to fantasizing about him.

Hell. Ew.

"No pretty imaginations about me," he added, as if my mind hadn't already filed a restraining order against the very thought.

I rolled my eyes, the irritation clawing at my skin.

"You're not even pretty," I snapped. "How would imagining you ever be pretty ?"

He smirked—of course he did. "I knew it. You've got a big mouth," he said, voice lazy with amusement. "Can't keep it shut for five minutes."

"I didn't ask you what you knew about me, did I?" I retorted, my anger running back to the surface.

He shrugged. "Wasn't asking. Just stating facts."

"Ah, the lawbreaker talking about facts. How poetic." I folded my arms, voice sharp. "You kidnapped me. You're holding me here. This is illegal."

He just watched me—face unreadable, but vaguely amused, like my outrage was an unexpected form of entertainment.

Silence thickened the air.

"Jerk," I muttered under my breath, unable to help myself.

"Correct," he replied. "Also, ms.mistake."

That word made me freeze.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" I asked, voice rising.

"I mean," he said, tilting his head, "you're calling me a kidnapper. When in reality, I saved you. You have mistaken me, mistake. You should be grateful."

"Grateful?" I laughed—harsh, disbelieving. "I didn't ask you to save me. I don't need your help."

"Fine," he said casually. "Then walk out. Tell the cameras you hate me."

I stopped breathing. Maybe.

Cameras.

Every floor in Sector 17 was monitored—every hallway, every breath, every misplaced look. I knew that. Everyone knew that. The Tech Oversight Department watched everything, streamed everything live to the Command Heads. Words alone wouldn't save me.

"They'll kill you in minutes," he said, as if reading my thoughts. "Or maybe seconds. Hard to say."

He leaned back, eyes half-lidded. "Go ahead. Just walk to the lower floor and announce your freedom. I promise not to listen to your screams. At least I'll get some peace when you're gone."

His voice was calm. Indifferent. Like he was talking about ordering tea instead of offering me death.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

He was testing me. Daring me.

And the worst part?

He wasn't bluffing.

I stood there, my thoughts unraveling, looping over themselves in spirals. I couldn't go. Not yet. Not until I found my brother. Not until I got the truth.

Not until I understood why this monster had saved me.

He looked at me then truly looked as if expecting an answer. I met his gaze, forcing my voice to steady.

"What do you want from me ?" I asked. No circling. No games.

Because monsters don't save girls from execution without a reason. And he—Hridhan—was no saint. He was a sinner.

There had to be a catch.

He stood slowly, his height suddenly more imposing when matched with silence. He took one step closer, and his voice came low, cold, laced with something unholy.

"Not from you," he said.

His eyes darkened.

"But you."

"I'm not an object," I hissed, my voice rising, laced with fury and exhaustion. "You can't own me. You can't buy me. I am not a property. Get that into your non-existent heart and mind, you heartless bastard."

His eyes narrowed, just slightly. Not with anger—no, that would've been too human.

He looked at me like I was something wild. Loud. Predictable.

"I never said I own you," he replied, voice calm, almost bored. "And believe me, I wouldn't wish to own something that falls so far below my standards."

As if he thought himself a Greek god. That's disagree to Greek gods themselves.

I exhaled slowly, biting down on the words threatening to slip from my tongue. My thoughts screamed over each other. I didn't want to stay here—not in this place, not with him.

Staying here with him is dangerous.

But leaving? That's suicide.

And options? I have none.

Fucking fate had played its cards well.

"Why did you save me ?" The words slipped free, low but sharp. I hadn't meant to say them aloud, but the question had been clawing at the back of my mind, demanding to be answered.

"Arna," he said quietly, though the edge in his voice cut clean through the air. "I know you're eager to talk to your handsome husband, but that can wait. I didn't come here for small talk — I came here for work."

He leaned in slightly, his gaze locking on mine. "Until I'm done. No questions, no interruptions. Be a good girl, and stay quiet. Got it ?"

____________

Aaaand that's a wrap for now 😌

We're still in surprising mode, so yeah... enjoy the chaos while it lasts.

For easy understanding:

Country: Arxline

State: Sector 18

Hope the setting's clear now.

Now go hydrate, and I'll see you in the next chapter 😌💖