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Chapter One: The Final Page

Rain slammed against the windows of Aanya Sharma’s tiny apartment in Delhi, wind howling like a warning. But she didn’t flinch. Curled up in a blanket, her eyes were locked on her tablet screen, completely absorbed.

She had been reading Mafia Obsession nonstop for two days — a dark, addictive romance about an Indian doctor, Dr. Rhea Sharma, and a dangerously charming Russian mafia boss, Damien Orlov.

And now, she was on the final chapter.

Her fingers trembled as she read the final lines:

> "Rhea collapsed in Damien’s arms, whispering his name. Her blood soaked his shirt. Damien kissed her forehead... and pulled the trigger."

The tablet screen faded to black. THE END.

Aanya sat in stunned silence. The cold seeped into her bones, but her heart was burning.

“No,” she whispered. “That’s not how it should’ve ended.”

Rhea had been kind, brilliant, innocent. She had healed Damien, trusted him, loved him. And he had murdered her — the one person who actually cared.

Because he was obsessed.

Because he couldn’t control his madness.

Because in the end… he was never the hero.

Aanya slammed the tablet shut and threw it across the bed. The tea on her desk had gone cold. Her hands curled into fists.

“She never even saw it coming,” she muttered. “She thought he was saving her.”

Outside, thunder cracked so loud it rattled the windows. A gust of wind pushed open her half-latched window. Rain sprayed into the room.

“Damn it,” Aanya muttered, rushing over to shut it. The moment her fingers touched the pane—

CRACK!

A blinding flash of lightning exploded across the sky. In the same instant, a searing jolt surged through her body. The world around her blurred and twisted, spinning in a vortex of blinding white and deafening thunder.

Then—silence.

---

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Aanya’s eyes fluttered open.

The sterile scent of disinfectant filled her nose. The ceiling above was unfamiliar — white, fluorescent-lit, and far too clean.

She gasped, bolting upright.

“What the—”

She was lying on a hospital bed. Her clothes were gone, replaced with light blue scrubs. An IV drip was connected to her arm.

Where was she?

Footsteps echoed outside the room. A sharp knock, then a voice.

> “Is the new intern awake?”

The door opened, and in walked a woman in a white coat, holding a clipboard. Her hair was tied in a neat ponytail. She looked professional, elegant, and kind.

Aanya’s breath caught in her throat.

Dr. Rhea Sharma.

“No way…” Aanya whispered.

The woman frowned. “Are you okay? You’re the intern from Delhi, right? You fainted during orientation. Do you need a minute?”

Aanya stared, heart pounding.

This wasn’t cosplay. This wasn’t a hallucination.

Rhea’s voice. Her face. The way she spoke — everything was exactly as described in the book.

She was inside the story.

“No, I’m fine,” Aanya mumbled, struggling to sit up. “Just… a bit light-headed.”

> This is the scene where she meets Damien, Aanya realized. He’s about to come in, bleeding from a gunshot wound. She saves him. And everything goes downhill from there.

Aanya’s palms turned cold with sweat. Her mind raced.

She knew how this story ended.

And if things played out the same way — Rhea would die. At the hands of Damien Orlov.

But now Aanya was here. She wasn’t a side character in a book anymore — she was a living part of the story.

> “You okay?” Rhea asked again, gently this time.

Aanya looked at her — really looked at her. Alive. Compassionate. Trusting.

She couldn't let her die.

> “Yes,” Aanya said, determination hardening in her voice. “I'm fine. And I think I’m right where I need to be.”

Outside, the doors burst open. Voices shouted.

> “Gunshot wound! Male, early thirties, bleeding heavily!”

Aanya turned.

She knew exactly who that was.

Damien Orlov had entered the story.

And this time, she wasn’t going to let it end in blood.

---

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Chapter Two: The Monster in the Room

(Excerpt – 700+ words)

The ER was chaos.

Nurses scrambled. A gurney burst through the double doors, wheels screeching. A man lay on it, unconscious, blood soaking his dark shirt. His face — pale, sharp-jawed, disturbingly beautiful — was twisted in pain.

> “Gunshot wound, left abdomen! Pulse irregular!”

Aanya stood frozen behind Dr. Rhea Sharma.

And there he was.

Damien Orlov.

Exactly as described in the novel. His ink-black hair fell over his forehead, and blood trailed down his ribs. But even unconscious, his presence pulled like gravity.

Rhea didn’t hesitate. Her voice became sharp, commanding. “Get me two units of O negative. We need the OR now.”

She ran beside the gurney. Aanya was about to follow — then she paused.

This was the first moment.

The moment Rhea saved Damien’s life. The moment the obsession began.

Aanya’s mind screamed: Don’t let her go. Stop her. If she never meets him—

But no. That wouldn’t work. If she changed too much too soon, it might alert Damien. He wasn’t aware this was fiction — but he was dangerously intelligent.

She couldn’t make him suspicious. Not yet.

---

Three hours later, the surgery was over. Damien survived.

Rhea walked out of the OR, scrubbing her hands, her eyes tired but proud.

“He’ll live,” she told Aanya, smiling faintly. “We stabilized him.”

Aanya tried to smile back, but her stomach twisted. She already knew how this would go. Damien would wake up, obsessed with the woman who saved him. Rhea would mistake his intensity for passion. And slowly, his obsession would turn fatal.

> Unless I change the script.

---

Later That Night…

Aanya stayed late at the hospital, pretending to work. But really, she waited.

She knew what scene came next. Damien would wake up. Ask about Rhea. Begin to obsess.

She had to be there first.

When she slipped into the ICU, the room was dimly lit. Damien was still asleep — but restless, his head twitching side to side. His hand moved slightly. His eyelids fluttered.

She moved closer, holding her breath.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

Icy blue. Sharp. Unblinking.

He stared straight at her.

> “Who are you?” he rasped.

His voice was hoarse, low — but alert.

Aanya kept her expression neutral. “I’m a medical intern. You were shot. We saved you.”

He watched her for a long moment. Not blinking.

Then he asked, “Where’s the woman?”

“What woman?”

“The one with the soft hands.” His voice dropped. “She touched my chest. She stopped the bleeding.”

Rhea. He remembered her touch.

Aanya’s throat tightened. “She’s resting. She worked on you for hours.”

He blinked, slowly. “She saved me.”

“Yes.”

“I want her name.”

Aanya hesitated. She could lie. Redirect him.

But that would be risky.

She gave in. “Dr. Rhea Sharma.”

Damien repeated the name quietly, like a secret. Like a vow.

Aanya’s heart sank. It had begun.

---

As she left the room, her mind was already racing.

Damien didn’t know he was a character in a story.

To him, Rhea was real. Love was real. Obsession was real. And death was just part of the game he played to protect what he wanted.

> He’s a living, breathing villain who thinks he’s the hero, Aanya thought.

But she was the reader — the one who had seen the truth behind the romance.

And now she had one mission:

Keep Rhea alive.

And don’t let the monster fall for the wrong girl this time.

---

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Chapter Three: The Obsession Begins

The next morning, the hospital was buzzing about the mysterious mafia man who had survived a near-fatal gunshot wound.

Aanya kept her head down, moving quietly through the halls. But her mind was racing.

Damien Orlov had asked for Rhea. Remembered her touch.

> It’s starting, she thought grimly. He’s already forming the bond. The obsession.

She glanced down the corridor toward the ICU. His door was closed. Armed guards stood outside. No one got in without clearance.

> In the novel, he pulls strings to get Rhea transferred to his private care team. Within days, he becomes her shadow.

She had to stop that.

But first, she needed to know what version of Damien she was dealing with. The early chapters painted him as cold, unreadable. But the reader knew what lay beneath — his paranoia, his need for control, his trauma twisting into something dangerous.

> He doesn’t know this is fiction. He believes in what he feels. That’s what makes him lethal.

“Intern Sharma,” a familiar voice called.

She turned to see Rhea approaching, clipboard in hand. Her face was bright, unaware of the storm that hovered just beyond.

“Hey,” Rhea said cheerfully. “Guess who requested me personally for a follow-up consultation?”

Aanya froze.

“Don’t tell me…”

Rhea laughed. “Our mafia prince, of course. He actually remembered my name.”

Aanya tried to smile. “That’s… something.”

“Creepy or charming?” Rhea asked with a wink. “Be honest.”

Aanya didn’t respond.

She wanted to grab Rhea by the shoulders and yell: It’s creepy. It’s dangerous. He’s going to ruin you.

But how could she explain any of this?

So instead, she said calmly, “You should be careful with men like him. Trauma doesn’t make people noble, Rhea. Sometimes it just makes them violent.”

Rhea blinked, surprised by the sharpness in her tone. “You sound like you know him personally.”

> I do, Aanya thought. I’ve read his whole life like an autopsy.

“I just know the type,” she said aloud. “Be careful.”

---

ICU Room 14

Damien sat upright now, pale but alert, dressed in a black silk robe. A glass of water sat untouched by his bed.

When Rhea entered, he didn’t smile — he simply watched her. Every movement. Every word. Like he was memorizing her.

“Doctor Sharma,” he said softly.

His accent was Russian, but smooth. Controlled. Dangerous in its calmness.

“You saved me.”

“It was a team effort,” she said, smiling politely. “But I’m glad you’re recovering.”

“I remember pain. And then… your hands. Your voice.”

Rhea paused, her smile faltering. “I was doing my job.”

“You cared,” he said.

She didn’t respond. Just checked his IV line.

Damien tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing.

“There was someone else in the room last night. Another girl. Young. She didn’t look afraid of me. Most people are.”

Rhea nodded. “That would’ve been Aanya. She’s one of our new interns.”

“Intern.” Damien repeated the word like it was a title.

Rhea finished her checks. “You should rest. No more business calls, and definitely no cigars.”

But Damien didn’t hear her anymore. He was staring out the window, a strange expression on his face.

> “Aanya…”

---

Hospital Courtyard – That Night

Aanya sat under the covered walkway, reviewing files and pretending not to be watching.

She knew Damien would try to leave his room soon. He’d want control. Information. Power.

Footsteps clicked against the stone path.

She looked up.

He was there.

No guards. No doctors. Just him — pale, wounded, but somehow still imposing. The rain had started again, lightly misting the air.

“I hoped I’d find you,” Damien said.

Aanya stood slowly. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“You knew I would come.”

She didn’t deny it.

“You look at me like you know who I am,” he said, stepping closer. “Not just my name — but the real me. As if we’ve met before.”

Aanya’s heart pounded, but her voice stayed calm. “I know what kind of man you are.”

“Do you?” he asked softly. “Then tell me… what do you see?”

“I see a man used to getting what he wants. A man who doesn’t know the difference between obsession and love.”

Damien’s jaw tightened. “Obsession is honest. It doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not.”

He stepped even closer.

“You’re different,” he whispered. “You don’t want anything from me. That’s rare. That’s… fascinating.”

“I’m not a puzzle for you to solve,” Aanya said, stepping back.

“But you already solved me,” he murmured. “Didn’t you?”

Lightning flashed.

And just like that… the game had changed.

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