The tropes of the story will be revealed gradually with the story. 🤍

⋆༺𓆩 𝕭𝖑𝖚𝖗𝖇 𓆪༻⋆

They said grief changes people.

But I remember when I looked at him, he didn't look broken. He looked awakened.

Like a man who had finally found a reason to breathe again.

Unfortunately, that reason was me.

There's nothing loud about him. Forget raising his voice he barely speaks unless he has to. He just watches quietly, like a wolf waiting for its prey to stop running.

When a man like him decides you're his, he doesn't need to say a word. He didn't have to touch me to make me feel trapped. He just had to look.

And maybe that's what chains really are...not metal or rope, but the slow suffocation of being seen, claimed, and never asked if you wanted to be free.

If the girl I was four years ago had seen who I am today, she would have laughed at herself, completely unaware that one day she would herself say that:

Arhaan Mirza is my fate, my curse, my damnation and the chains of desire my soul refuses to break free from.

⋆༺𓆩 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕬𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖘 𓆪༻⋆

ARHAAN MIRZA (26)

A politician. Not by choice, but by circumstance. Life has a strange way of pushing you exactly where you were never meant to go.

I never imagined I would step into the world my family comes from. Politics was never supposed to be my path. Yet here I am, standing exactly where I once thought I would never be.

But the only certain thing in my life is my little sunray, Saira, my daughter.

And then there is Eyana. My wife. My daughter's mother. And the sole reason for most of my headaches.

She truly believes she can make me hate her.

What she doesn't understand is that some chains are not made of hate, but of desire.

EYANA ARHAAN MIRZA (18)

All I know is that I am married to a cruel demon of a man.

Arhaan Mirza.

A man the world respects. A man people fear. A man everyone calls powerful.

But to me, he is nothing more than the man who trapped me in this marriage.

And if he thinks I will quietly accept this fate, he is terribly mistaken.

I will make his life hell, until my very last breath.

SAIRA MIRZA

Mumma calls me "Shona."

Papa calls me "Mumma ki Shona."

Dadu calls me "Rajkumari."

But why nobody calls me by my name?

My name is Saira, its beryy beauiiful.

Hmph.

I lobe my baby life. It very nice. But I no like when nobody unnerstands me. When I say Vaan they bring a van. But I no want van. I want my Vaaaan!

Huff.

I hab a secret. But shhh...donttell anyone.

My papa Haan lubs Yanna so so sooo much. And Mumma Yanna also lubs Papa.

Only me know dis.

But I hab anudder secret...huh.

I no like new dadis that Dadu keeps bringing. Every day new dadi. So many dadis. Why so many dadis??

Hmph.

Okay bye now. Time for me to drink Yanna's milky and do sleepy. 🍼😴

⋆༺𓆩 𝕺𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘 𓆪༻⋆

There will also be other characters in the story, including Arhaan's friends, who have their own stories as well (you can check them out on my profile.) Along with them, Arhaan's father and Eyana's family will also appear. All of these characters will be introduced within the story itself.

⋆༺𓆩𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊 𓆪༻⋆

I will start this story once I'm done with the works I have already promised to complete.

You can follow me on Instagram for more updates. 🤍

🍬Instagram: @/alsoxeron

🌶️Chapters containing smut will be available on Inkitt.

📎Early paid updates will be available on Stck and Patreon.

—the character aesthetics show the way a person sees others. Eyana's tear filled eyes shows the way she feels looking at Arhaan, Arhaan's eyes shows the way he looks at Eyana and Saira's eyes shows the way she looks at her parents.

🤍🍬💋

Copyright

Chains of Desire © 2024 by xeronsane. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The images used in this book belong to the respective owners.