ADITI
The air in the room feels heavy. Not the kind of heavy that comes from heat or lack of ventilation—no, this is the weight of tension, the kind that clings to your skin and seeps into your lungs until every breath feels labored.
We step inside, and the first thing I see is Harsh.
He’s sitting against the far wall, his back pressed to the peeling paint, one knee bent, the other stretched out. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, his usually sharp expression dulled by pain. His shirt is gone—well, not gone exactly. It’s wrapped tightly around Anil’s wrists, binding them behind his back in a makeshift restraint.
Anil, in contrast, is seated in a chair, posture deceptively relaxed, as if this isn’t the worst day of his life. His smirk is intact, though. That infuriating little curve of the lips that says he still thinks he has some sort of power here.
“Wow,” Abhimaan chuckles, his voice carrying both amusement and disbelief. “You did something I’ve been trying to do since I was a child.”
I raise a brow, my lips twitching. “I’m a woman, darling,” I reply, letting my voice drip with mock sweetness. “I can do whatan average man can—and much more.” I toss my hair back, a small, sharp flick, because if there’s one thing men like Anil can’t stand, it’s a woman who knows her worth.
“She’s right,” Harsh cuts in, his voice strained as he presses a hand to the wound in his stomach. The way his jaw clenches tells me it hurts more than he’s letting on. “You have no idea how brave she is.”
“Deal with him first,” Harsh adds, nodding towards Anil, but before I can move, Anil laughs.
“You needed a girl to save you, Abhimaan?”
It’s meant to be a dig, a jab at masculinity, but Abhimaan only laughs—loud, rich, and unbothered. I join in, letting my amusement echo in the cramped space.
“No,” Abhimaan says, glancing at him with a slow, dangerous smile. “You needed a girl to beat you up.”
The satisfaction of his words blooms warm in my chest. I take my time walking towards Anil, every step deliberate. When I reach him, I curl my fingers into his hair and yank his head back until his eyes meet mine.
“You really,” I murmur, my voice dropping, “are in no position to have fun right now.”
But he laughs again, the sound dark and guttural. His gaze flicks to Abhimaan. “I do, actually. Your pet here messed with me. He needs a lesson taught.”
Pet.
The word slams into me, ugly and demeaning. My laugh is sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.
“Well,” I say, tilting my head, “before you teach him a lesson, let me teach you one.”
I drive my knee hard into his jaw. The crack is sickening, followed by a splatter of blood on the floor. One of his teeth clinks against the cement, a grotesque little punctuation mark to my statement.
“What do you want to do with him, Abhimaan?” I ask, my voice steady, though the adrenaline is still rushing through me.
Anil’s lips twist into a bloody smile. “Do you want to know about your family, Abhimaan?”
The room shifts. My chest tightens as I glance over my shoulder. Abhimaan’s entire body has gone still, rigid like a taut wire. His hands curl into fists so tight I can see the strain in his knuckles.
“Your mother,” Anil says slowly, savoring each word, “was my mother too.”
The air leaves my lungs.
“I’m your half-brother,” he continues, a laugh dripping with venom. “And it was me who left you here when our mother died. So what you are today—it’s because of me.” Silence. Not the calm kind—this is thick, suffocating, pressing against my eardrums. I can’t even imagine what’s going through Abhimaan’s mind right now. For years, he’s lived with questions about his past, shadows of a family he never knew. And now, here’s the answer. Ugly. Twisted. Tied to a man like Anil.
“Who’s my father?” Abhimaan asks, voice low and dangerous.
Anil grins, red-stained teeth on display. “You’ll never know… unless you let me walk out of here.”
Abhimaan lifts his gun. His arm is steady, his expression unreadable.
“I don’t care about my past,” he says, eyes locked on Anil. Then, his gaze shifts to me, and something flickers there—soft, sad. “I have someone I want to spend my future with.”
I can’t stop the tiny hitch in my breath.
