All Chapters of Second chance with the Billionaire : Chapter 11 - Chapter 16

The cold seeped into my bones as I sat there, curled against the damp wall of the basement. My body ached from Mihir’s iron grip, the bruises forming beneath my skin a painful reminder of his wrath. The room was as dark as I remembered, the air thick with dust and memories I wished I could erase.I should have known he was watching me. I should have known better than to think I could sneak away unnoticed.A bitter laugh escaped my lips, mingling with the silent tears streaming down my face. I pulled my knees to my chest, my fingers tightening into fists as my thoughts spiraled into regret.How had I been so foolish?Had I really let myself believe—even for a second—that Mihir had changed?I wanted to scream at my own naivety. The second I had stepped out of line, he had proven that he was the same as before. The same arrogant, prideful, unapologetic tyrant. A man who wielded power like a weapon, who treated me like a possession he could control, punish, and discard at will.And yet, d

'RING!!'The sharp chime of Mihir’s alarm clock jolted me awake. My eyes fluttered open, but I stayed still, pretending to be asleep. I had learned over time that it was better this way—to observe him first before engaging. Mihir was always an early riser, disciplined and meticulous, even though I knew for a fact that he often went to bed late.I peeked through my eyelashes and saw him already sitting up on his side of the bed, his toned back facing me. He sat still, unmoving, his hands resting on his thighs as if deep in thought. Then, without warning, he inhaled deeply, stretched his arms, and got out of bed. His muscles flexed slightly as he rolled his shoulders and then dropped to the floor, beginning his morning routine of push-ups.One. Two. Three.I watched in silence, Mihir had always been obsessive about staying fit, about keeping himself in peak physical condition. He was a perfectionist in every aspect of his life—his work, his looks, his control over everything and everyo

The next morning, Mihir seemed to be in a good mood. It wasn’t something I saw often—his usual demeanor was cold, distant, and unreadable. But today, there was something different about him.I watched from the edge of the bed as he got up, his movements precise and deliberate. As always, his morning routine was strict. First, a workout. He never skipped it, no matter how early his meetings were or how late he had gone to bed the previous night. I listened to the faint sounds of him exercising in the adjoining room, the rhythmic thuds of his push-ups, the sharp exhales as he lifted weights.I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. This marriage was nothing but an illusion, a carefully curated performance that Mihir had demanded from me. There was no love, no warmth, just obligation. But days like this—where he seemed almost… human—made me wonder what went on in his mind.After about thirty minutes, he stepped into the bathroom, and soon, the sound of rushing water filled