Todos los capítulos de DEVIL’s GRIP: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

Chris Zayden sat in the silence of his luxurious hotel suite, the dim lighting casting shadows across the room. Sundays were always a struggle for him. With no employees to manage, no meetings to attend, and no excuse to hover around the development block where Hema worked, he was left with a hollow void. It frustrated him to no end. The silence felt like a curse, amplifying the storm inside him.He sprawled on the leather couch, dressed in a casual black T-shirt and grey sweatpants, a stark contrast to his usual sharp suits. Cold Coffee sat untouched on the table, condensation forming around its rim. He leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers to the chaos in his mind.To distract himself, Chris picked up his tablet and began reviewing some pending work. His sharp, focused eyes scanned through the reports and figures, but nothing seemed to hold his attention for long. He glanced at the clock—it was only 10 a.m. “This day is going to drag on

As Zayden started peeling the onions with careful, clumsy movements, he suddenly felt a sharp sting in his eyes. It caught him off guard, and instinctively, he brought his fingers—still coated with the pungent juice of the onions—closer to rub them.“Ah…” he muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening as his eyes began to water uncontrollably.Hema, who was stirring something on the stove, turned sharply at his discomfort. “Zayden, wait! Don’t touch your eyes!” she exclaimed, her voice urgent. She rushed to his side, quickly grabbing his arm to stop him.“Let me help,” she said, her tone softer now, guiding him by the wrist toward the washing area. Zayden followed without resistance, his vision blurry but focused on her voice, which had a soothing quality he hadn’t noticed before.When they reached the sink, Hema turned on the tap and held his hand under the water first, rinsing away the remnants of the onion juice from his fingers. Then, she gently tilted his face toward the runnin

On Monday, the results of the presentations were announced in the conference room. All the interns were called, their faces filled with nervous anticipation. Hema Kapoor sat toward the back, her hands clasped tightly on her lap. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her presentation. She replayed every word, every slide, and every look from Zayden as he reviewed her work.Zayden walked into the room, his commanding presence silencing the murmurs. Dressed sharply in his tailored navy suit, his eyes scanned the interns briefly before he sat at the head of the table. Mark followed behind him, holding a folder with the results.“Good afternoon, everyone,” Zayden began, his deep voice cutting through the tension in the air. “After careful review of all your projects, I’ve made a decision. We were looking for creativity, practicality, and, most importantly, something that adds value to the company. I must say, many of you presented solid ideas, and it was a tough choice.”Hema swallow

Hema stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the long white Anarkali that flowed gracefully around her. The soft fabric hugged her waist before flaring out, the delicate embroidery adding an ethereal touch. Her wavy hair cascaded down her back in free-flowing waves, and she had draped a light pink shawl over one shoulder. The simplicity of her look made her seem even more radiant—like a vision pulled straight out of a dream.She traced her fingers lightly along the side of her neck, taking a deep breath. She’s spending Holi after 3 years.a firm knock echoed through her room.Hema frowned slightly. Dhadhi wouldn’t knock. Arvind would have barged in. So who…?She walked towards the door, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. As soon as she pulled it open—her breath caught in her throat.Standing at her doorstep, Chris Zayden .Her fingers tightened around the door handle as she tried to process the sight before her.Dressed in a white kurta, perfectly stitched, the fabric stre

The morning air inside the small apartment was filled with the aroma of fresh parathas, spicy chutney, and sweet jalebi. The dining table was simple but warm, much like the woman who sat across from Zayden, watching him with knowing eyes.Zayden sat with his usual composed demeanor, his white kurta sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong, veined forearms as he took another bite of the soft, buttery aloo paratha.The meal was delicious—far from the luxurious hotel food he was used to—but he barely noticed. His mind, against his usual control, was somewhere else.Or rather, on someone else.His sharp blue-gray eyes flickered toward the door again, almost subconsciously, as he checked the time on his watch.Where is she?It had been over an hour, and Hema still hadn’t returned.He wasn’t the type to wait for anyone. Not in business. Not in life. But this was different.And the only person who seemed to see right through him was sitting across the table, hiding a smirk behind her cup of te