Adultery Love Sex And War : Age Of Darkness

[DeanWinchester00007]

                                                                                                                                                                           (CHAPTER CONTD)

THAT EVENING AT THE APARTMENT



The apartment door shut behind Hemant with a soft click. Inside, warmth greeted him—Tara tidying toys, the faint scent of fresh dal, and little Karan running toward him with arms wide.

"Papa!"

For the first time all evening, Hemant’s face softened. He knelt, hugging his son tightly—almost desperately.

"How was your day, champ?"

Karan beamed, animatedly showing a drawing of a “big robot dad” saving people. Hemant smiled. A part of him wanted to stay in that innocence forever. A place untouched by betrayal, doubt, or haunting memories of another man’s hands on the woman he once loved. The father and son duo enjoyed their time playing games in the playstation. But for Hemant , it was a hard time to really enjoy it.


The controller vibrated faintly in his palm, a distant echo of the racing car he was supposedly piloting on the screen. Karan’s giggles were a bright, sharp counterpoint to the heavy fog in Hemant’s head.

"You’re driving so badly, Papa!" 

The boy squealed as Hemant’s car veered off the digital track and slammed into a barrier for the third time. A soft, warm hand placed a cup of tea on the table beside him. 

"Long night?" 

Anjali asked, her voice laced with a sympathy that felt like a pinprick. He just grunted, his focus brittle. The real distraction wasn’t the game. It was the ghost of a green dress, the memory of silk clinging to a familiar, shapely ass, the way another man’s hand had fit so possessively on the curve of a hip that was once his to touch. His soon-to-be ex-wife’s hip.

"Where’s Mumma?" 

Karan asked, his large, innocent eyes never leaving the television screen as he expertly navigated a sharp turn.  Hemant’s throat tightened. 

"She’s staying with some aunties, her friends from work. She’ll be back in the morning" 

The lie, Sonarika’s lie he believes, tasted like ash on his tongue. He forced a smile. He knew. He’d seen them at the party, a private send-off for her life in Mumbai to move to Goa. For her ‘fresh start’. What a perfect, respectable facade. He’d walked into that massive hall and the first thing he saw was them, swaying to a Mozart piece that was too classical for the heat in their movements. That red-carpet gown, the vibrant green of envy itself. Off-the-shoulder, highlighting the heavy, tempting swell of her cleavage. The long slit that promised a glimpse of her strong, meaty thighs with every step. And Vikram. His hand on the small of her back, then lower, his fingers splaying over the silk-covered curve of her buttock, a claim made in front of everyone yet seen, he was sure, only by him.

The memory was a branding iron. He shoved it down, deep, and focused on his son’s laughter until it was time for bed.

Later, after dinner and bedtime stories, Karan finally drifted to sleep. Hemant stepped out onto the balcony with a glass of water, staring at the city lights bleeding into the dark sky.

But peace didn't come.

In the shadows of his mind, scenes formed uninvited

And then, he was there.


 *

The door to Vikram’s apartment clicked shut, a sound of finality. The party’s din was replaced by the thick, expectant silence of their sanctuary. Sonarika’s back was against the door, her chest rising and falling with a breath she’d been holding all evening. Vikram’s body pressed into hers, his hands caging her in. His mouth found the exposed skin of her shoulder, a hot, open-mouthed kiss that drew a shaky sigh from her lips.

"I’ve been waiting all night to do that" 

He murmured, his voice a low rumble against her skin. His lips traced a searing path along her collarbone, up the column of her neck. 

"The way you looked tonight… everyone was watching you. But you were only dancing with me"

His hands slid from the door to her hips, his fingers digging into the lush flesh there through the silk. He ground his pelvis against hers, the hard ridge of his erection a blatant promise against her stomach. A soft, wanton moan escaped her, her head falling back against the wood.

"Vikram…"

He found her mouth then, kissing her with a possession that was raw and unchecked. This was no party-floor tease. This was hunger. His tongue plunged deep, tasting the champagne on her lips, claiming her. Her hands came up, tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, her own need rising to meet his.

His fingers found the zip of her dress. The sound of it sliding down was obscenely loud in the quiet room. The green fabric loosened, and he pushed it from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet in a whisper of expensive silk, leaving her standing in only a strapless bra and a pair of delicate lace panties that did little to hide the dark triangle of hair beneath.

"My god, Sonarika" he breathed, his eyes dark with lust as he drank her in. 

"You are perfect"

He made quick work of his own clothes, throwing his cream jacket aside, tearing at the buttons of his blue shirt. Soon, he was just as bare, his body lean and hard against her softness. He guided her down, not to the bedroom, but onto the plush rug of the living room floor, right there amidst the framed photographs of their secret smiles and stolen weekends—a gallery of their forbidden but awakening relation.

He covered her body with his, the heat of his skin a shock against hers. His mouth found her breast, sucking one peaked nipple through the lace of her bra before tugging the cup down with his teeth to lavish the bare flesh with his tongue. She cried out, her back arching, pushing herself deeper into his mouth. Her fingers clawed at his back, urging him on. He shifted, settling between her spread thighs. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and pulled, tearing the fragile lace without ceremony. She gasped, but it was a sound of pure arousal, of liberation. He positioned himself at her entrance, the broad head of his cock pressing against her wet heat.

"I wish I could do this every night" he groaned, his forehead resting against hers. 

"I wish I never had to let you go"

Her answer was a roll of her hips, taking the first inch of him inside. 

"You can" she whispered, her voice husky with need. 

"There is no more Hemant. There’s only us now"

It was all the permission he needed. He drove into her in one deep, sure stroke, burying himself to the hilt. She gasped, a sharp, guttural sound of pleasure-pain as he filled her completely. And then he began to move.

His thrusts were not gentle. They were rigorous, possessive, each one a punctuation mark on their new beginning. The rhythm was frantic, a furious dance of flesh meeting flesh. The slap of their skin, their ragged breaths, her escalating moans—it was a symphony of their sin. His leg, braced for leverage, kicked out and connected with the nearby couch, shoving it back a few inches with every powerful thrust of his hips.

"Goa is our new beginning , a fresh start" 

He panted into her ear, his voice strained with the effort of his movement. 

"It’ll be just us. We’ll build a life there. A real life"

"Yes" 

She keened, her nails digging into his shoulders. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her entire world narrowed to the sensation of him pistoning in and out of her, hitting a spot deep inside that made her see stars. 

"Just us. Only us"

Her words, her complete and utter surrender to him, to their future, pushed him over the edge. His pace became erratic, frantic. 

"I’m going to cum, Sonarika"

"Inside me" she begged, her voice a broken plea. 

"I want to feel you. I want all of you"

With a guttural roar that was ripped from the depths of his soul, Vikram plunged deep one final time and held himself there. Hemant could almost feel the hot, pulsing release as Vikram emptied himself inside her. Sonarika’s own climax followed instantly, her body clamping around him in violent, rhythmic waves, a wordless scream torn from her lips as she shattered beneath him. They collapsed together in a slick, sweaty heap of tangled limbs, their breathing gradually slowing. Vikram shifted, not pulling away, but to kiss her, a slow, deep, post-coital kiss that spoke of tenderness and ownership. They smiled against each other’s mouths, a silent, joyous celebration.

 
*


Hemant’s eyes flew open. A cold sweat slicked his skin. The empty glass nearly slipped from his numb fingers. The city lights below blurred into a nauseating kaleidoscope. The image of their satisfied smiles, their intimate kiss, was seared onto the backs of his eyelids. It wasn’t a fantasy. It was a premonition. It was his new, waking nightmare, playing on a loop behind his eyes to the soundtrack of his own. He cursed Sonarika , cursed his fate , deep inside Michael King whispered to him , to grab his Inquisitor and walk into that Galaxy Apartment and end it , just like he ended his enemies with no mercy. But the face of Karan and Anjali , and most importantly , that little twinge in his heart. He could never do that to Sonarika. Maybe this was his punishment , for all the losses , all the people he has killed , curses from the loved ones of the people he has killed. Sonarika will forever be his suffering , no matter how much of an empire he creates , she will forever be a reminder of his failure as a husband , as a family man. His mind doubted , whether he was succumbing to the same pit Kunal has ended up to be.


"No" he muttered, shaking his head hard.

He wasn’t that man. He refused to drown in those visions. He realized this was just a new kind of nightmare that tries to haunt him , and this was the motivation he need to overcome it. His past haunted him not so long ago but he growed out of those nightmares , embracing it. Now he has to do the one thing to overcome his current nightmare , to let go Sonarika from his mind , to accept that she is not his wife or partner anymore. He needed some fresh air , a different space.


He pulled out his phone.

"Kunal" he said when the call connected. A tired voice answered. 

"Yeah?"

"You free?"

A pause. 

"Sort of. Mouni is out. She went to Ragini’s place. Same party Sonarika is at"

Silence. Hemant’s grip tightened. Same script. Different cast.

"Bring Mohit" he said quietly. 

"Come to my place. Now"

"What? Why? It’s late—"

"I’ll tell you in person"

Hemant hung up.

Half an hour later, the bell rang. Karan burst awake, thrilled to see his friend Mohit. The two kids sprinted to the living room shouting excitedly as Tara watched fondly. Kunal walked in—shoulders slumped, eyes tired, that familiar defeated expression of a man whose dignity had been tested too many times.

He lowered his voice. 

"Bro… what’s going on?"

Hemant didn’t answer immediately. He turned to Tara instead.

"Tara, I'll be stepping out with Kunal for a few hours. Please keep an eye on the boys"

She nodded earnestly. 

"Yes sir, don’t worry"

Hemant then looked at Kunal, expression turning cold and sharp.

"You want to spend tonight like a loser in your marriage?"

Kunal froze. The word stung—not vulgar, but raw, soaked in history and humiliation.

"…No" he muttered. 

"I’m tired of feeling like that"

Hemant’s eyes hardened, voice steady like steel.

"Then tonight, we don’t sit at home imagining our wives with their better halfs. We don’t let our pain control us. Tonight, we remind ourselves who we are"

Kunal blinked. 

"And what’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means we live like men. We don’t cry over people choosing someone else"

He walked toward the door, grabbing his keys.

"Come"

Kunal hesitated, confused, almost unnerved by how different Hemant seemed. Gone was the gentle, soft-spoken husband. In his place stood someone sharpened, decisive… dangerous with purpose.

"Where are we going?" he asked quietly.

Hemant stared straight ahead.

"You’ll see"

The apartment door shut behind them. Inside, two children laughed at a video game. Outside, two fathers walked into the night, not sure whether they were reclaiming themselves — or about to screw up their lives further with something reckless.


LATER THAT NIGHT AT A HOTEL


The hotel lobby shimmered like a jewel—crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and a soundtrack of quiet piano easing through the air. Hemant and Kunal entered the rooftop lounge where the city sparkled beneath them like a kingdom of burning stars. Hemant, as always, didn’t order alcohol.

"Fresh lime. No sugar"

Kunal lifted a whiskey glass. 

"Just one. I'm not trying to drown myself tonight"

They sat near the glass wall that overlooked Mumbai’s skyline—alive, indifferent, unstoppable. For once, Hemant wasn’t brooding. Just present. Calm. A soldier enjoying peace before another war. Kunal exhaled, swirling his drink.
"So… you seriously are going on business with the Mehtas?"

Hemant leaned back. 

"Thought you adored Hansraj Mehta. You used to call him your business scripture"

Kunal chuckled bitterly. 

"Yeah. Then I grew up. Every emperor has a sewer line running under his palace. And Siddharth? He’s worse. A snake with designer shoes. You sure you want to deal with him?"

"I know what he is" Hemant replied evenly. 

"And I’m prepared"

Kunal studied him. 

"You say that with a little too much confidence"

Hemant didn’t blink. 

"When you’ve been emptied by life, nothing scares you anymore. Not even sharks in suits"

Kunal nodded slowly. There it was—that steel. That quiet certainty.

"If anyone can out-maneuver the Mehtas, it’s you"

"And Pranitha?" he added suddenly. 

"You seeing her?"

Hemant’s eyebrow rose. 

"Haven’t seen her since the hospital. The world will tell us if there's anything there. I won’t force fate"

Just then—heels clicked, perfumes drifted, laughter wrapped around their table. Meghna and Rachika. Meghna smirked. 

"Well well. Look who ditched brooding at home"

Hemant exhaled sharply. 

"What are you doing here?"

"Rachika's accomodation in the city is this hotel's private suite" Meghna replied casually. 

"I was dropping her off. Saw you two and thought—why not say hello?"

Kunal blinked in surprise as Rachika greeted him warmly. Soon enough, she and Kunal slipped into easy laughter at the edge of the table—two strangers with similarities finding a common rapport in each other. Meghna took Hemant’s seat side—too natural, too deliberate.

"So" she said lightly, swirling her mocktail. 

"Double date now?"

Hemant scoffed. 

"Heh....that is probably being done by Mouni and Sonarika right now , with their boyfriends. I just brought him here so that I don't feel like a loser in my failed marriage"

Meghna sighed dramatically. 

"Well , you guys are definitely not losers anymore. I mean look—Kunal is no longer a walking humiliation. Congratulations. You resurrected him from his cuckold era"

A sharp smirk. 

"No wonder Mouni despises you"

Hemant’s jaw tightened. 

"Ironic, isn’t it? I saved him from his cuckolding. And my wife turned me into an unwilling cuckold with her actions"

His fingers drummed the table, voice low, raw.

"She’s probably wrapped around him right now. In their little apartment , probably getting pounded by him , behaving like a cheap fucking slut!!!!"

Hemant's pain pushed through. Meghna touched his arm gently, voice coated with honey and venom.

"Maybe she never deserved you. Some women don’t know how to handle strong men"

And boom—there it was.

Hemant’s eyes narrowed.

This Meghna wasn’t the same woman who once defended Sonarika like a lioness.

"You agree with me now?" his tone sharpened. 

"That’s new. You used to hate me"

Meghna blinked—caught for a split second. Then crafted a soft smile.

"I hated who you were. Soft. Passive. You reminded me of my ex Javed. Weak heart, weak spine"

She leaned slightly closer.

"But you evolved. Hardened. Matured. That softness is gone. It looks good on you"

A beat. Hemant held her gaze. Studying. Dissecting. Seeing. Her mask faltered just an inch—an invisible tremor behind her eyelashes. For the first time in her life, someone was looking through her, not at her. Hemant’s voice dropped, quiet and razor-sharp:

"So.....I am good now.....maybe there is a silver lining to this tragedy after all!"

Meghna smiled again. Perfect. Composed. But her eyes flickered—panic. Exposure. Hemant leaned back calmly. Tonight was no longer about overcoming nightmares. It was about getting some clarity. And in that moment, Hemant saw Meghna , not as Sonarika's best friend , but a more sinister presence in his life.


Rachika’s suite was a shimmering palace of velvet dbangs, warm amber lights, and the faint perfume of luxury. Laughter rolled in with them — loose, reckless, the kind that belonged to people running from something inside themselves. Kunal and Rachika sank into the plush sofa, their easy rhythm growing deeper, almost magnetic. Their laughter mixed with clinking glasses — two people rediscovering sparks they didn’t know they needed. Meghna, meanwhile, had settled opposite Hemant, eyes unfocused yet strangely sharp. There was a glow in them — not the intoxication, but a hunger. Calculation. Victory.


Hemant watched carefully. Her laughs were too loud. Her smiles too free. Her proximity too deliberate. And then the thoughts started clicking together. Every sudden girls’ night. Every excuse Sonarika threw. Every time Vikram entered the picture — Meghna’s name lingered in the background like a stain. She was everywhere in the lies. Like a ghost behind a curtain. She played a role… didn’t she? The veneer of friendship. The harmless girl-gang confidante. The soft-spoken feminist rebel.

No. This woman sitting in front of him — glass in hand, eyes burning hotter than the liquor — she was not that girl. She was something else entirely. And Michael King’s instincts whispered inside him, sharp, cold, predatory:

'She’s a puppeteer, Hemant. A player in the dark. Recognize your kind'

The truth-and-dare game lost steam as they didn't make it spicy. Laughter flattened. The night wanted sharper games.

Meghna’s fingers brushed a chess set on the table.

"Let’s play"

Rachika giggled, too far gone. 

"I’ll watch… or sleep on the floor… whichever comes first"

Hemant sat. Calm. Centered. Eyes narrowed like a hawk studying prey. Meghna smirked confidently — that same spark she always had when she believed she controlled the room. But tonight, Hemant wasn’t the mellow man she remembered. Tonight, the king was awake.

The King vs. The Puppet Master

Moves began — sharp, quick. Meghna’s queen danced early, aggressive, claiming the board like a throne. Hemant moved slowly. Deliberately. His king stepped forward. Meghna scoffed.

"Oh, come on. Already giving up the weakest piece?"

Her voice flirted around superiority, feminism, control.

"The queen" she said 

"Is the most powerful and the main player. This game reeks of patriarchy. Nothing can beat the queen"

Hemant’s laughter cut her mid-sentence — controlled, lethal.

"You misunderstand chess… and life" he murmured.

His king advanced again. Not fleeing — challenging.

"Everyone on this board is expendable except one" 

He continued softly, voice sinking like a blade in water.

"Not the queen. Not the knight , not any other warrior"

His eyes lifted and pinned her.

"The King is not a piece. He is the whole game"

Meghna’s breath trembled.

"He doesn’t hide behind anyone. He strikes , but you would never see that coming"

Her queen fell. Then her knight. Then her bishop. One move at a time — precision dismantling ego.

Check.

Check.

Check.

Meghna’s confidence cracked. Her veneer slipped. Hemant leaned in, voice quiet, devastating:

"Even when the queen dies, the war continues. Because everyone fights for the King. And the game only ends when the King wins!"

Final move.

Checkmate.

Meghna stared — stunned, disarmed, captivated by the ruthless clarity she’d never seen in him before. At that moment , she wasn't just defeated , she was meticulously submitted by his mental dominance. Hemant was no more anything like Javed , he was something she felt challenged by. A man who was playing with her power fantasy , pushing back her dominance.

Something primal surged in her — not passion, but weakness masquerading as it. The spell of power.

She lunged.

Her lips crashed into his — desperate, claiming, impulsive. The room froze. Kunal blinked. Rachika smirked. Every truth unspoken in the air shattered into chaos. Hemant did not kiss back. Did not move. Did not breathe. He simply absorbed the betrayal-echo of another woman’s lips, his eyes open, staring through her — analyzing still.

Meghna’s hand gripped his. She dragged him toward the second bedroom and locked the door. Behind them, Kunal whispered in shock,

"…did that just…?"

Rachika’s smile curled slow and wicked.

"Well… your friend is occupied. Why waste a night?"

Before Kunal could gather thought, she kissed him — and like dominoes, two paths of recklessness sealed shut behind two doors. As the sounds of clothes moving and sheets spreading echoed off to the main room. One thing was certain , whatever happens tonight , whether it is something destiny wanted to be or something catastrophic. None of their lives will ever be the same again!


PAST MIDNIGHT AT THE APARTMENT.


Karan and Mohit slept together in his room along with a deep in sleep Anjali in the adjoining bed as Tara turned off the light and calmly closed the door. As she walked to the main living room , she looked at the photos of the family on the showcases. She looked at each image with a silent stare but her eyes were locked onto Hemant. As she kept on staring , her phone rang.

Tara took the phone and trembled a little as she realized who was calling. She walked into the balcony as she attended the call.

"Hello"

On the other end of the call , miles away from Mumbai. Standing at the lawn of the Qamarvan Palace , was Daraaksh Zarir.

"Congratulations on the primary mission completion miss Tara. I will admit I had my doubts of Michael catching you"

"He is not Michael anymore Sultan. Believe it or not , he is a mellowed out version of what you believe"

"That is the first mistake Tara , underestimating this Hemant. Micheal King is the real him , and he is still breathes in that mask called Hemant Kumar"

"Well you're job is halfway done , his wife is moving away from the city to Goa , there is no hope for a reconciliation between them"

"That is good , now its the perfect time for you to earn his trust , care and attention. Do whatever you can , but at the end , have him rely on you to the point he will see you as a support"

"And then what?"

"Then , we'll start slicing. One by one , we will take out everything near and dear to him , save Karan for last. I have some special plans for that sweet boy"

Tara with a cold stare to the night sky responded.

"Jo hukum Sultan. Your ace has entered the game!!"

                                                                                                                                                                                                   END OF CHAPTER 26 

     WTF JUST HAPPENED ?