The jet sliced through the night sky, a silver phantom against an ink-black canvas. Inside, two souls were locked in a battle more complex than the darkness outside-a war of wills, of unspoken tensions, of something far deeper than mere physical proximity.
Vanya pushed the half-eaten bowl of fried rice away, her appetite long gone. She turned to the window, her fingers pressing against her lap as she tried to make sense of everything.
"Not all love stories are sweet—some are dark, twisted, and dangerously addictive. I write the kind that lingers, that burns, that makes you question your own desires.
If my words consume you, fuel my madness. Your support keeps the obsession alive."
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