Escape Might Not Be Possible Tonight (Viraj X F!Reader)
🖤 Escape Might Not Be Possible Tonight 🖤
Viraj Dobriyal | One-Shot Thriller
Genre: Thriller / Suspense
Summary:
Trapped inside Viraj Dobriyal’s mansion during a violent storm, you stumble upon a hidden room filled with photographs of yourself. Each picture is proof that you’ve been watched for longer than you realized. When Viraj appears behind you, his velvet voice and unyielding presence make one thing terrifyingly clear: escape might not be possible tonight…
The storm outside howled like a beast, rattling the glass panes of the Dobriyal mansion. Wind clawed at the shutters as if the night itself wanted to break inside. The power had long since gone, leaving only the faint glow of candles to hold back the dark. Shadows stretched unnaturally, and every creak of the wooden floorboards whispered—you were not alone.
The mansion felt alive, its walls groaning with age, its silence broken only by distant thuds you couldn’t explain. Lightning flared suddenly, flooding the corridor in a white flash. A door at the far end caught your eye—slightly ajar, its frame leaking shadows like smoke. A chill spread across your skin, but curiosity and dread pulled you forward until your hand rested against the cold brass handle. You pushed it open.
The air inside was stale, heavy with dust, old paper, and something sharper—cologne. The storm hissed faintly beyond the walls, but this room had its own atmosphere. Then you saw them.
Photographs. Dozens of them. All of you.
Some candid, some posed, many from angles you didn’t remember anyone being close enough to capture. Your smile at the market. Your walk to class. The moment you tied your shoelace outside your building. Even one you swore had been taken inside your own bedroom. Dust clung to the frames, and when you brushed one, particles drifted down, carrying the acrid tang of old chemicals. Your stomach sank with the truth: someone had been watching you. Closely. For a long time.
Your pulse spiked. Breath unsteady, you reached for the nearest frame, fingertips brushing cool glass. That’s when you felt it—the shift of air. The warmth of a presence.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a low, velvet voice purred from behind you.
Every muscle locked. In the reflection of the photo, you saw him—a tall figure, gaze sharp, unblinking. Viraj Dobriyal.
Slowly, you turned. He stood barely an arm’s length away, candlelight carving harsh lines across his face. His expression hovered between pride and hunger. Outside, thunder rolled, but inside, silence pressed hard against your chest.
Viraj’s lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered, stepping closer, his shadow swallowing yours. “But maybe this is exactly where you belong.”
Your voice trembled. “Why do you have these pictures of me?”
His eyes flicked to the wall, then back to you with unsettling intensity. “Because no one sees you the way I do. They glance, they forget. But I notice. Every detail.” His fingers brushed a photograph as though it were sacred. “The way you tilt your head when you’re lost in thought. The way you bite your lip when you’re nervous. Every smile. Every frown.”
You staggered back, but he matched you step for step. “You’ve been following me,” you said, sharper now, fighting the tremor in your chest. “This is insane.”
Viraj chuckled softly, the sound dark and unsettling. “Insane? No. Necessary. The world doesn’t deserve you. They’d crush something so rare. But me? I know how to protect what’s mine.”
Another flash lit the room. Candle flames sputtered, plunging everything into a breath of darkness before flaring back. His eyes gleamed in the flicker, locked on you.
You lunged for the door. But his hand slammed it shut, rattling every frame on the wall. His other hand braced beside your head, pinning you in place. The wall at your back felt colder than ice.
“Running won’t change anything,” he murmured, voice low and dangerously soft. “You were always going to end up here. With me.”
Your throat tightened. “I’m not yours.”
Viraj leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “A storm like this washes everything away. Out there, no one hears a scream. In here…” His hand grazed a photograph—one from your bedroom. “…in here, it’s just us.”
You shoved at him, but his grip was iron, his body immovable. Panic clawed at your chest, while his smile deepened—dark, unreadable.
The storm raged on, rain hammering the windows. But the true danger stood inches away, watching you with unnerving patience, as if he had all the time in the world.
Escape might not be possible tonight.
Or worse… maybe he never intended to let you leave at all.
