Chapter 1: Whispers Beneath the Stone

The airport lights shimmered in Anaya’s eyes like a haunting memory she couldn’t wash away. She stood still, wrapped in a beige coat, heels clicking against the floor as if time had frozen to watch her return.

Anaya.

That name wasn't hers once. She was born Anita Singh — the obedient daughter of a strict Indian family, the girl with dreams tucked away under layers of culture, duty, and fear. A girl once promised to a man with a smile too sharp and hands too greedy. A man she ran from.

And she never looked back.

Her family hated her for running away — but she hated them more for forcing that unwanted marriage on her. Now, her parents were forcing her younger sister to marry the very same man. They were determined for the wedding to take place in a royal castle, a place with secrets darker than anyone could imagine.

The castle wasn’t just old stone and whispered legends. It was haunted — or so the stories said. But it wasn’t a ghost that lived there. It was a demon from hell, centuries-old, hiding in plain sight, living as humans do. The demon family had kept their true nature hidden for generations.

Yet one daughter among them hated this human existence. She lived alone in the castle, a fierce rebel trapped in mortal skin.

Her younger siblings, eager to torment her, had sold that castle to the man Anaya had once been engaged to — the very same man she escaped years ago.

Anaya, sharp and unyielding, enjoyed wearing short clothes, deliberately defying the conservative values her family clung to so tightly. It was her silent rebellion — a way to provoke and unsettle them.

But what neither Anaya nor her family knew was that the haunting was far from over. The demon who loathed her own captivity was about to play a deadly game, with Anaya caught in the middle.

Anaya was no longer just Anita. No longer just a runaway bride.

She was a target.

And the real nightmare was just beginning.

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The wind howled through the ancient corridors of the castle, slipping through cracks in the stone like it had a mind of its own. The chandeliers above flickered as if gasping for breath, though there was no one around to see them tremble — except her.

Azazel.

She stood by the arched window, draped in a crimson robe, her black hair loose and wild around her face. She didn’t need candles to see in the dark. The shadows were her oldest friends, and the cold never bit her skin. She had lived too long to be bothered by such mortal discomforts.

The castle was alive. And it whispered to her.

“You're coming, aren’t you, Anita?” Azazel murmured, eyes glowing faintly as she pressed a hand to the icy glass. “Or should I say... Anaya now?”

She hated the name change. Humans always thought a new name meant a new beginning. But the past clung like blood on silk — it never truly faded.

Downstairs, the staff scurried about preparing for the wedding. The man — Rajveer — had arrived earlier that morning to inspect the renovations. His smile still hadn’t changed. It was as crooked as ever, and Azazel could smell the rot under his charm. The castle didn’t like him either. Walls moaned quietly when he passed, and shadows lengthened, eager to feed on his filth.

Azazel had tried to kill him once — silently, in his sleep, suffocating his breath with illusion. But the damn bloodline magic on the estate protected him. It only broke when she arrived. The one who had once said no. The one who had once run.

Anaya.

Azazel’s mouth curled. She didn’t hate Anaya — not yet. But she didn’t like her either. Humans were selfish. Always running from one fire just to ignite another.

But something about Anaya called to her. Not just her rebellion. Not just her pain.

There was something darker buried inside her — something not even Anaya herself had touched yet.

The demoness could feel it.

A fracture in her soul.

A wound left open.

A door begging to be unlocked.

And Azazel... she had the key.

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Anaya stepped out of the car, her heels clicking sharply on the cobblestone driveway of the castle. Her breath caught — not from the chill, but from the sight before her.

The castle was enormous, beautiful in a terrifying way. Gothic towers clawed at the sky, windows like hollow eyes watching her every move. Ivy curled around the stone like veins around old bones.

It wasn’t a home.

It was a warning.

And yet, she walked forward, her coat flaring behind her like a cape. Her sister’s wedding was in three days. She had come under the guise of helping — but she had no intention of letting this marriage happen.

Not again.

Not to her sister.

Inside, the scent of dust and roses hit her nose. Servants bowed, but their eyes darted away from hers too quickly.

Like they knew something.

Like they saw something they weren’t supposed to.

Anaya glanced upward — and for a single second, swore she saw a woman in red watching from the top tower window.

But when she blinked, the figure was gone.

Only a whisper remained.

“Welcome home, little storm.”

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