The drink sat heavy in my head, liquid courage warming my veins as my legs moved instinctively to the pulsing beat reverberating through the bar. The glass-my fourth? fifth?-remained clutched in my hand as I swayed among my friends, their faces blurred at the edges like an impressionist painting. With another raucous cheer, we all tipped our heads back and let the bitterest sip burn down our throats.

Today, I had presented my first case on my own. And won.

Law had been my dream since I was sixteen, watching courtroom dramas with my father, mimicking the lawyers' arguments until he'd laugh and ruffle my hair. Now, finally, I was living it-a real lawyer with a real victory. My batchmates had come to celebrate with me. Of course they had-the drinks, the entry fee, the appetizers nobody was eating-everything was on me tonight.

And God, were they drinkers. Seasoned, professional drinkers who could down pegs like water. In this gang of alcohol veterans, I was the anomaly-the one who'd broken her own sacred vow never to touch the stuff.

Please forgive me, Baba Ji.

I didn't realize how many pegs I'd actually consumed until the room started tilting sideways and my body stopped obeying simple commands. Red. I was wearing red-the sleek cocktail dress I'd bought for my birthday six months later. My lucky color. My favorite. The color of victory and danger and everything in between.

The red heels that had made me feel invincible four hours ago now felt like they belonged to someone else's feet, disconnected from my legs entirely. The bar spun lazily around me, faces melting into one another, voices becoming a singular roar. I needed to sit down. Or lean against something. The counter-yes, the counter would work.

I pushed away from my friends, their protests barely registering, and aimed myself toward the sleek marble bar across the room. But my body had other plans.

My heel caught on nothing-or everything-and suddenly I was falling, the floor rushing up to meet me in slow motion. I braced for impact, for the humiliation of face-planting in front of everyone.

It never came.

Strong arms caught me mid-fall, wrapping around my waist with a firmness that made my breath catch. The world steadied, or maybe it was just him-this solid, unmovable force that had appeared out of nowhere.

I looked up, my vision swimming, struggling to focus.

Brown eyes.

Too common to be remarkable, really. Half the population had brown eyes. But these... there was something magnetic in them. An intensity that cut through my alcohol-soaked haze like a knife. Sharp jawline dusted with stubble that looked deliberately unkempt. High cheekbones. And his touch-God, his touch on my waist was warm, almost burning through the thin fabric of my dress.

Heat pooled low in my belly, sudden and intense. I was already wet, I realized with distant embarrassment. From just a touch. Just a look.

My eyes were half-closed now, heavy-lidded and struggling to stay open. My body trembled against his, whether from the alcohol or something else entirely, I couldn't tell. He pulled me tighter against him, steadying me, and I felt the solid wall of his chest against my breasts.

"Are you in your senses, miss?"

His voice.

Jesus Christ.
Wait.. I'm Punjabi.

But damn!
It was like dark honey poured over gravel-firm, slightly rough, with an edge that sent shivers cascading down my spine. This was what music should sound like. Every word was a caress, a promise, a warning.

I shifted in his arms, my inhibitions drowned somewhere at the bottom of those empty glasses. My arms wound around his neck, pulling myself closer until his face was mere inches from mine. I could see every detail now-the slight scar above his left eyebrow, the way his beard was trimmed with precision, those thin lips that looked like they could do dangerous things.

I bit my own lip, watching him watch me.

My fingers traced his jawline, feeling the scratch of stubble against my skin. "Heyyy... hwwatttie..." My words slurred together, heavy and clumsy on my tongue. I leaned closer, my lips nearly brushing his. "Wanna... wanna have a kiss?" I breathed against his mouth, my eyelids fluttering. "I'm even ready... so ready..."

"Shut up."

His hand shot up, gripping my chin firmly, thumb and forefinger pressing into my cheeks until my lips formed an involuntary pout. His fingers were large against my face, commanding, controlling. I couldn't part my lips if I tried-could only breathe through my nose like a fish gasping for water.

"You're drunk," he stated, his voice dropping even lower. "Past your limit."

Before I could process his words, before I could protest or agree or do anything at all, the world inverted. In one swift, fluid motion, my waist was over his shoulder, his arm locked firmly behind my knees. He was carrying me like a sack of rice, my dress riding up dangerously, my fists beating uselessly against his back.

"Put me... down..." I managed, but my protests were weak, unconvincing even to my own ears.

He didn't respond, just strode through the bar with purpose. I caught glimpses of my friends' shocked faces, the bartender's knowing smirk, the blur of people parting to let us through. The cool air of the hallway hit my flushed skin. Then a door opening. Closing.

And suddenly, my back was pressed against a soft mattress, the springs giving way beneath me. I blinked rapidly, trying to force my eyes to focus. Three walls. A closed door. Dim lighting casting shadows that danced across the ceiling. A hotel room.

He stood with his back to me, silhouetted against the soft lamp light, his broad shoulders tense. His hands moved to his sleeves, rolling them up with deliberate slowness. Each fold revealed more of his forearms-strong, veined, dusted with dark hair.

"I had booked this room," he said, his voice measured, controlled. "But you can stay here until you get back to your senses. You shouldn't be in that bar, this drunk. It's not safe."

Dangerous words, I thought hazily. He's saying all the right, responsible things.

But I wasn't interested in right or responsible.

Before he could finish his sentence, before my rational mind could reassert itself, I was on my feet. The room tilted violently, but I didn't care. I closed the distance between us in two unsteady steps, grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, and crashed my lips against his.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was hunger-raw and desperate and consuming. My mouth moved against his with a need I didn't recognize in myself, lips parting, tongue seeking entrance.

For a moment-one agonizing moment-he was still. Frozen.

Then he broke.

His arms wrapped around my waist like steel bands, pulling me flush against his body until there was no space left between us. He was hard everywhere I was soft, solid where I was pliant. And God, he was kissing me back with an intensity that stole what little breath I had left.

My hand slipped between us, fingers finding the warm skin of his chest through his open collar. His skin was fevered, muscles taut beneath my palm. I wanted to explore, to map every inch of him with my hands and mouth and-

His hand shot up, gripping my chin with bruising force. He pulled back just slightly-just enough for me to feel his breath ghosting across my lips, hot and ragged.

"You started this, baby girl," he growled, his eyes dark with something primal. "Now you can't stop me."

A smile curved my lips-dangerous, reckless. My fist tightened on his shirt, and with one sharp yank, I tore it open. Buttons scattered across the floor like dice, the sound of them hitting wood absurdly loud in the quiet room.

"What if I say..." I pulled him closer, my lips brushing his ear. "I don't want you to stop?"

I felt rather than saw his smirk, felt the dark satisfaction radiating from him. Then his mouth was on mine again, but this time there was nothing restrained about it. He kissed me like he was trying to devour me, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, claiming, possessing. His teeth caught my lower lip, biting hard enough to make me gasp.

The heat his body generated was overwhelming, suffocating in the best way. Every nerve ending in my body was alight, screaming for more. His hands were everywhere-in my hair, on my waist, sliding up my thighs. Each touch branded me, marked me as his.

I felt the zipper of my dress give way, heard the whisper of fabric sliding down my body. Cool air kissed my heated skin. Then I was falling backward onto the bed, bouncing once before his weight settled over me, pinning me down.

The rest of the night blurred into fragments-snapshots of sensation rather than memory. Or just imagination?

His mouth on my neck, teeth scraping. My nails raking down his back. The sound of my own voice, breathless and pleading. His hands gripping my hips. The delicious stretch and burn. My name-did I even tell him my name?-falling from his lips like a prayer and a curse. The rhythmic creak of the bed. Pleasure building and cresting and shattering. Again. And again.

Until everything faded to black.

I woke to the sound of my own moans in my head.

My eyes flew open, heart hammering against my ribs. For a moment, I didn't recognize anything-not the room, not the bed, not the thin stream of sunlight cutting through heavy curtains.

My hair was a tangled mess around my face, my head pounding with the mother of all hangovers. My mouth tasted like something had died in it. The fucking alcohol.

But there was a smell-masculine cologne mixed with sweat and something distinctly intimate.

My hand instinctively went to my body, and my heart stopped.

I was wearing a bathrobe. Just a bathrobe. Nothing underneath.

My dress-my lucky red dress-was nowhere to be seen. My heels were... one was broken by the door, the other God knows where. The sheets beside me were rumpled, still holding the indent of another body.

"No. No, no, no, no, no."

The word came out as a whisper first, then louder, building into a scream that tore from my throat.

Did I sleep with a man?
Without knowing his name?
His face?
Anything?

I pressed my hands to my face, willing myself to remember. But last night was a collection of sensations rather than images-the feeling of strong hands, the sound of a deep voice, the taste of whiskey on someone else's tongue.

And his eyes. I remembered his eyes.
The most common brown eyes in the world.

How could I be so stupid? So reckless? I was a lawyer, for God's sake. I'd just won my first case by being meticulous, careful, prepared. And then I'd thrown away every ounce of sense I possessed for... what? A few hours of drunken passion with a complete stranger?

And now he is nowhere..
How could fate be this cruel to me..

Hey guys. This was just a first view to the story..No this isn't a one night stand story. It has much more as you move ahead.
No extra dramas.
It's just a pure mess..
A complete dark romance book!

And wait if you think it'll be a pregnancy drama with some children of lead and all. So let me be clear. NO.
Don't judge it too quick.
Be patient.
And enjoy reading..

Vote, Comment and Follow!
PS: Gauri

Author's Note:

Welcome Dear Reader,
Seher: The CM's Muse is the first book in the Eclipsed Series.

This is not a tale of gentle souls or redemptive arcs tied neatly with moral bows. This is a story of flawed, fierce, and unapologetically bold characters who create their own rules in a world that bends to power.

Content Warnings & Disclaimer

This book is intended for mature audiences (18+) and contains:

- Explicit sexual content and sensuality
- Dark themes including manipulation, obsession, and morally gray situations
- Violence, bloodshed, and murder
- Strong language and intense emotional scenarios
- Themes of power dynamics and possessiveness.

What this book does NOT contain:
- Non-consensual sexual content (this is a hard boundary I will never cross)
- Romanticization of abuse presented as healthy. (No. Never.)

Please note: All characters, events, locations, and scenarios are entirely fictional and products of creative imagination. This story does not reflect real-life politics, individuals, or events. Any resemblance is purely coincidental.

A Word on Dark Romance

Dark romance dwells in the uncomfortable spaces—the places where love isn't soft, where desire can be dangerous, and where characters don't always make the "right" choices. If you seek a conventional romance with protagonists who fit society's mold of "good people," this may not be the book for you.

However, if you're drawn to stories that challenge, provoke, and explore the complexity of human emotion without apology—then welcome. You're exactly where you're meant to be.

Reader Discretion is advised. If any of the themes mentioned trigger discomfort, please keep it aside rather posting mean comments.

And For those who choose to continue—buckle up. This is a world where power is currency, loyalty is tested, and love is anything but simple.

A Personal Note

This story is merely my raw work. I made mind for no perfect character rather bold and independent ones. At any point if you disagree with any characters that's just normal.
About Update.
This story will get super late updates.
Once or Twice in a month and Only on Fridays.
Hope you can have a little patience and support this story.
Every Vote and Comment means world to me.

Thanks for giving it a chance!

And now I welcome you to,
The Eclipsed Series: Where Power Meets Passion, and Possession Knows No Bounds.