≿━━━━༺ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 ༻━━━━≿
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"Sure about that, Princess?"
Thats what he'd texted me, almost instantly.
As if he was waiting, as if he knew what my reaction would be. He just knows everything about me, doesn't he?
And that's exactly what scares me.
I spent more time looking at the text than I should have. The three words felt all too familiar, taunting, and felt like hands around my throat. I didn't respond. I wouldn't respond to it. That's specifically what he wanted.
What if he knows me more than the facade I put on in public eye? On the surface...
And maybe he does. Maybe he always did.
That's exactly what makes him dangerous.
Not the knives.
Not the Guns.
Not the rumours.
I didn't intend to call her. I simply hovered my thumb. Then pushed.
Then it began to ring.
Absent mindedly, of course.
In the darkness, the screen glowed against my face. Just one ring. Two. Three—
"Ty slishishʹ sebya? It's six in the bloody morning here, Ri."
Mara's voice was sharp, accent heavier when she was half-asleep.
I could hear wind. And the soft hum of Saint Petersburg, Russia, beyond her windows.
"I wouldn't call if it wasn't important, besides its Sunday, sleep more later"
My voice was low. Flat. More tired than I wanted it to be.
Silence.
A flicker of uneven breath.
Then her tone shifted instantly.
"What happened?"
Gone was that whining. In came the Impeccable Russian mafia heiress, with that heavy Russian accent.
"I have a fucking stalker, Mara."
Pause.
"He's been watching me for a good fucking time now. Cameras. Texts. I don't know how. Or from where."
I didn't want to say more.
I didn't want to sound scared.
"And you're telling me now?" Mara exhaled, sharp. "Do you want me to fly there and kill someone, or just scare him into pissing his pants first? or I can just do both"
"Nahh," I muttered, lying through my teeth. "Not yet."
She was silent again.
Then—"You want Papa's men to trace him."
Not a question, but more like an order.
"Yes."
"Give me the number he texted you from. We can't find out directly. Might take time."
"Good." I bit the inside of my cheek. "I don't want him to know I'm onto him."
Another pause.
This time softer: "Raya..."
"I'm fine," I cut her off.
She didn't believe me. But she didn't push.
"I'll get back to you."
The call ended before I could thank her.
Not that I ever needed to. Mara would kill for me. Burn for me. No questions asked.
I tossed the phone aside and sank back into the bed, exhaling slow.
But nothing about the air felt calm at all.
Even the silence had eyes, everything did.
I threw the phone on the bed. Mara will take care of it. She did it each and every time.
even from the city of Saint Petersburg. Half-asleep, even.
Still, something felt off in the room.
Now, sunlight was streaming in through the gauzy curtains, creating pale stripes on the floor. Sunday mornings were meant to be quiet. lazy. On days like that, I would go argue with Riv about breakfast or browse through playlists.
Rather, I was pacing my room as if I had a burning sensation beneath my skin.
I balled my fingers into fists.
The text still flashing through my head.
And Nirvan.
Why the hell did my thoughts keep clinging back to him?
It didn't make any sense at all.
I barely knew that Man. We'd only ever been in the same space because of Nyra, that too, not for long. And even then, he was distant. Detached.
The kind of presence you notice because it's impossible not to.
Like gravity.
But stalking me? Like Texting me?
No.
It didn't add up at all. He barely looked at my direction.
I shook my head, scoffing under my breath.
"Get a grip, Bitch"
I muttered a curse, at myself.
Still, my stomach twisted, in a painful and weird spiral.
Because if not him—then who? Who the fuck had the balls to stalk the daughter of a fucking billionaire and not get caught?
I crossed the room, opened my drawer, and pulled out the bottle.
Tiny white pills. Prescribed by Sharanya, months ago.
For what? Anxiety? Sleeplessness? I never asked cared enough to ask.
Besides, Me going to therapy so that the others around me don't have to, was already enough charity.
And I was doing this for Riyana, or as I like to call her, Yana, anyways.
I chased them with the glass of water I had left on the nightstand after shaking two into my palm and popping them into my mouth.
It wasn't even 9AM.
And already, I needed to shut my fucking brain up.
"Urghh, Gnarly."
I muttered to myself, feeling annoyed at the weather.
The sun attacking my eyes directly.
I sighed.
I need a shower.
My skin was scalded by the shower, as it was supposed to.
It was failed.
Wrapped in a towel, my thoughts coiled around the mirror in lazy spirals as I stepped outside. My thoughts hadn't stopped. Not with the pills starting to dull the edges, not even with icy cold water.
I put on my favorite Hello Kitty Kuromi pajamas. Naively cute and pastel. They still had a slight scent of the expensive softener Yana had sprayed all over the house.
A soft sigh escaped my mouth.
Aarik had always made fun of these. Said I looked like a "satanic six-year-old."
But whatever. He still stole my food, so I win.
I glanced at the time—8:54AM.
And it hit me.
Sunday.
Which meant I had to go downstairs and pretend I didn't hate every single soul breathing in this world.
"Urghh... annoying," I muttered again, dragging my feet to the door.
It's Sunday, it's supposed to be a lazy day for me, supposed to be isolated and in my own world for me.
The Arora Mansion was too perfect for its own good. All glass and white marble, high ceilings, wide halls, a private beach for no goddamn reason. A rich people fantasy no one asked for.
I padded down the stairs barefoot, floor cold against my skin, giving me a moment of reality.
The sun was gone.
Just... gone.
And in its place? That heavy, silver light. The kind that told you rain was coming—and it wasn't asking permission. Not like it needed any.
I have always loved this weather.
I haulted at the base of the staircase for a second, eyes scanning the curated chaos.
Curated, yeah.
Rey—Reyaan—was on the living room couch, one leg tossed lazily over the other, expensive watch catching the dull light. He looked like he belonged in a Vogue spread. Cold. Crisp. And impossible to talk to without wanting to slap something.
Riv—Rivaan sat at the dining table across the room. He was eating cereal, shirtless, as if he owned the sun. He was arguing with Aarik, who was wearing the dumbest concentration face and had a laptop open in front of him. I know what he's watching, some edit of a new car, probably.
Aarik. My actual brother. The youngest. Obviously.
Riyana—Yana-my father's second wife, aka the top advocate in the country and walking definition of intimidation mixed with fashion—was still upstairs, probably in one of her thirty designer suits, preparing to ruin someone's legal and personal life.
And Dad? Dad was outside, pacing the garden with a phone glued to his ear, like always. Classic Viren Arora. Always closing some deal while the sky collapsed behind him. He's always been like this after mom's death, so it didn't really matter anymore.
Even his marriage with Riyana, who already had two sons from her Ex- Husband, was for the sake of me and Aarik, our grandparents thought that it'd be best if he remarries. That...wasn't what hurt.
What truly hurt was that all of this happened while I was away in my boarding school in Switzerland, 16 or 17 at best, unaware of what was happening, and no one thought they could at least tell me what was happening.
I looked past them all, toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.
That's when I saw it.
The rain. Just starting.
Soft. Slow. Dangerous.
My skin prickled.
Time for rain.
Time for... him.
*****
The servant has been serving various items at the breakfast table for the past ten minutes.
None of them registering to me, and I'm pretty sure that Riv is in the mutual state as me.
The rain was falling harder now.
Like a secret, gentle at first. Then suddenly—silver sheets on glass.
It made the beach view hazy and surreal. or terrifying.
My kind of weather.
I stood still for a second, just watching the water lick the edges of the infinity pool and creep into the shoreline. The sky looked bruised. And the ocean? Quiet. Too quiet.
"Raya, move your overdramatic ass here. We're starving," Riv's voice rang from the table.
Slowly, I turned. I squinted at his foolish grin. With his hair perfectly dishevelled and a spoon dangling out of his mouth, he was relaxing like a Greek god who had discovered Instagram. Disgusting.
"I hope your cereal turns soggy before you can finish your narcissistic stupid little monologue," I said sweetly.
"Ouch," he placed a hand over his heart. "I see therapy is working wonders."
Aarik almost fell off his chair laughing, choking on his juice. Idiot.
"Shut up, fetus," I muttered, plopping down into the plush seat next to him. He grinned idiotically at me with the same smug little face I used to kiss back when he was a baby. Unfortunately, he grew up to be a tech prodigy with a messy room and more sarcasm than sense and basic manners.
Soon after, Dad came up, the phone finally dropped from his grasp. After giving Riyana a nod and sharing a quiet update about some court drama, he shot the rest of us a single, icy, robotic, and effective look.
Then he sat at the head of the table like the CEO or root of our problems.
And then there was Rey.
Quiet. Unreadable. He flipped through the papers next to his plate as if this family circus were less significant than world politics. At the corner of his mouth, however, the tiniest curl was visible.
The kind of smirk that said: I hear everything. Even what you don't say out loud.
Riv was already ranting again. Loud. Something about how I allegedly burned his vintage Nirvana tee in boarding school and blamed it on Aarik.
My fingers brushed the rim of the glass of juice in front of me, causing me to stop. The air felt heavier for some reason, the way the sky changed, darkened. tightened its grip.
I didn't drink. Just sat there. Staring at the glass.
Feeling it.
The change.
Riv whispered something to Aarik that still made him laugh. Red pen in hand, Riyana opened the morning case file. Silently, Dad flipped through his tablet's headlines. Rey, meanwhile, was observing the rain. Only the rain.
I forced my shoulders to relax. Forced the breath back into my lungs like I wasn't suddenly shivering or freezing.
"Alright, I'm done," I muttered, pushing the chair back and standing.
"You've eaten exactly two spoons of yogurt," Riyana said, her voice laced with genuine concern.
"Gotta go panic in peace, y'know?"
She didn't respond. She never did when I got like this. I could appreciate that.
The Kuromi pajamas brushed my ankles as I walked barefoot across the marble floor away from the table. Behind me, the low chatter and gentle clatter of silverware diminished.
Toward the window.
Toward the rain.
The sky was slate grey now, thunder rolling in deep waves. The beach, blurred by mist, looked like a painting smudged by grief.
And in the distance—behind the trees that lined the estate's perimeter—I saw it.
A shape.
A shadow.
Gone in a blink.
No movement. No sound.
Just... the suggestion of someone there. Watching.
Or at least I felt there was someone.
I stepped closer, hand pressed to the cool glass, eyes narrowing.
Maybe I imagined it.
Maybe the pills hadn't kicked in enough.
Or maybe...it was something different.
I turned quickly, leaving the window behind, and made my way upstairs.
Just as I reached the door to my room, another message popped up.
"Leaving your food unfinished is bad manners Princess, especially when you know you're going to need a lot of energy later"
≿━━━━༺ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 ༻━━━━≿
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