"Why me?"

The words barely escaped her lips, a fragile whisper swallowed by the thick silence that followed his exit. The warehouse--dank, rust-bitten, and unforgiving--held its breath with her. The air he left behind clung to her skin, dense and suffocating, like invisible chains that coiled tighter with every second he stayed away again.

Followed by the crash.

Not of metal or wood--but memory.

It flooded her all at once. Merciless. Drowning her in a deluge of the past she had tried so hard to bury beneath nonchalance. 

"STOP. WHY ME? WHY JUST ME?"

Her screams tore through the void. It bounced off concrete walls and rusted pipes, returning to her in echoes that felt less like answers and more like mockery.

She clutched the cold steel of her restraints, her entire body trembling. A bitter laugh bubbled from her throat--fractured, sharp, a wretched sound that bleeds into the damp air. Before him, she'd feigned indifference, frozen her heart behind layers of disdain. But beneath it all, she burned. Every fiber of her longed to run to him, to press her face into his chest, to lose herself in his scent--earth, smoke and rain--and let him stitch her back to sanity.

But she couldn't.

She could never touch him again.

Not after what she'd done. Not after that night. Not with the filth she carried in the folds of he soul.

She was unworthy of him. A pariah in the temple of her own devotion.  

Yet, he was alive.

He was alive all this time.

Her heart staggered, as if realizing it too late. The revelation--beautiful, damning, cruel--wrapped itself around her ribs like a serpent. He was alive, while she had mourned him like the dead.

"He was alive..."

A violent shudder ran through her. He had been breathing, somewhere, while she clawed at her skin in the dead of night, choking on guilt, praying for penance that never came. He had been alive while she sank, inch by inch, into the wreckage of her sins.

The screams of that night came back--not in memory, but in sensation. Her mother's gasps, soaked in blood. His mother's shrieks, feral with grief. And her own trembling hands in between, tainted by betrayal.

She had a choice. And she failed.

Seven years of silence, of suffering alone in the dark, battling shadows, only for fate to twist the knife again--by returning him to her. Not as salvation, but as retribution.

His presence should be a balm--a brutal comfort laced with hatred.

But instead. 

It stripped her down to nerve and marrow. 

"WHY ME? WHY?...WHY RUD...?"

She screamed again into the emptiness. Screamed until the sound cracked and broke and vanished into the shadows. Screamed until her sobs turned dry and her breath came in hollow gulps. Until exhaustion blanketed her like a funeral shroud and her limbs slumped in surrender. The darkness swayed, lulling her into its grasp.

But then--

A rustle outside. Footsteps approaching.

Every muscle in her body coiled, alert, tense. Hope surged before reason could stop it.

Maybe it was him.

She scrubbed her cheek against her shoulder, violently brushing away the remnants of sorrow. Vulnerability is a weapon, one given too freely to the enemy. And Rudraj? She couldn't let him have that power. Not anymore. He saw her as nothing more than bait. And how could he not? 

She didn't had the right to blame him for his hatred. No--she should be grateful for it. Because hate meant he still felt something for her.

Even if it was poison.

She stood up straighter, the chains tightened and clinked softly.

But it wasn't him.

The moment the figure entered, she knew.

The eyes. Not cold with fury like Rudraj's. But gleaming. Hunger. And hungry men didn't bring vengeance--they brought far worse.

Her heart stuttered, slamming against her ribs. Her soul twisted in fear and disgust. Instinct pulled her backward, until the concrete wall bit into her spine. The guard closed the distance slowly, each step deliberate. Measured. Like he was savoring the inevitability of her helplessness.

He enjoyed this.

She tasted bile.

Rudraj would never do this to me.

But... he wasn't the boy she knew. Not anymore. That boy--her Rud--died the same night her brother did. 

"You know, babygirl?" the guard said with a smirk, his voice laced with amusement, while his gaze was drinking her in like she's something to be consumed. "It's a ridiculous try."

Her blood ran cold.

The sweatshirt clung to her with sudden fragility, the fabric too thin to shield her from his lecherous gaze.

Don't let him see.

Don't let know.

I'm a Mauryavanshi. The only Daughter of the Mafia Queen, Smriti Mauryavanshi and the fallen hero, Vardhan Mauryavanshi.

She wasn't any prey.

She forced herself upright. A smirk curled her lips slowly, practiced and false, her chin tilting defiantly.

"My eyes are up, Mr."

His grin widened. "Feisty, I like it."

No. You like breaking it.

A cold film of sweat slid down her spine as he stepped closer, his presence looming, intrusive.

"Stay away," she managed. The words cracked mid-air, the strength behind them a ghost of what she once had. 

"Stop pretending," he sneered. "You're shaking like a leaf."

She hated how right he was.  

"Try harder, babygirl," he whispered, his voice was slow, taunting, dragging over her nerves like rusted steel. "You're glowing under this light. All that fear... it's delicious."

Her hands clenched the chain links, her knuckles white. She wanted to scream, to fight, to bite and scratch and burn him down to ash--but her body had locked itself in terror. 

"Please... don't," she said, voice trembling.

He grinned wider, "No. You're far too perfect to miss."

The blood drained from her face.

He closed in, his breath a foul whisper against her cheek.

Think. 

Move.

DO something. MOVE.

But her body refused.

She was seventeen again. Trapped in a memory. Helpless.

Not again. Not again. Please. 

"Rud wouldn't do this to me," she whispered.

The guard's grin vanished.

The slap came fast and brutal.

Her head snapped to the side, copper blooming on her tongue. Pain roared through her skull. Her vision swam. 

It doesn't stop there. It never does.

"Enough with the talking, babygirl."

His hand fisted into her hair, yanking her back with a vicious grip. She yelped, her vision blurring, the sharp, burning pain grounding her, ignited something violent in her veins.

She wouldn't break easily.

Damn the chains. She yanked at them, wrists burning as rust tore skin.

But then he lifted the edge of her sweatshirt, and suddenly--

She wasn't Lashika Mauryavanshi anymore.

She was nothing but fear.

"Don't... don't... don't," she whimpered.

He murmured. "So soft," his fingers grazing her throat like a death sentence. 

And something inside her snapped.

No.

Her father's voice, long buried, roared back.

"Hope fights a losing battle."

Not tonight. 

She wouldn't lose tonight.

"RUD!"

The name tore from her throat, raw, primal, desperate. A scream that came from bone and soul. It wasn't just a cry for help--it was the thread of belief she left. 

The guard laughed.

"You really think he'll save you?" he leaned in, voice cruel with glee, sinister amusement flickering in his eyes. "He sent me."

Silence fell like thunder.

Her breath faltered. No.

"No..."

Her voice cracked. Her head shook. The warehouse spun. No, no, no.

"You're lying," she whispered.

But the bruises on her wrists.

The venom in Rudraj's gaze when he choked her almost to death. She had felt the haunting hatred.

The chains.

All of it...

He sent him?

The world tilted. She was trapped again--not just in these chains, but in her own mind, a prison of shadows and sins.

That's when her gaze fell on it.

That tattoo.

A violent tremor ripped through her. She knew it. 

But the real question was whether the History repeats or not?  Will she survive this?

The guard's hands moved again and the last thing she felt was the tug at her clothes. Beneath the thick wool, she was already exposed and felt naked, stripped bare.

She couldn't fight.

Not again, please.

Two words slipped from her lips, so soft the walls didn't bother to echo them back.

"Why, Rud?"

The warehouse door slammed shut behind him with a metallic clang that echoed into the empty night, rattling like a curse he couldn't outrun.

Rudraj didn't stop. Couldn't.

His steps were uneven, jagged things, dragging fury behind him like chains. Each breath tore through his chest, raw and unfiltered, as though he were inhaling fire instead of air. His hands twitched at his sides, fists curling--not from restraint; restraint was a foreign concept to him--but from something far more treacherous. 

Something he refused to name. 

Because she hadn't fought.

Not one curse or scream. Not a single accusation. Not even the cold contempt of a glare.

Just silence. Absolute. Shattering.

He had come for war. For blood and bite and that venom-laced rage that used to burn from her like wildfire. He had rehearsed it a thousand times. The confrontation. The reckoning. Her fury meeting his.

But instead, she'd looked at him with eyes hollowed out by time, by memory, by wounds she didn't bother to hide anymore. That wasn't his Lash. That wasn't the girl who dance barefoot in the storm, bribed him to prank her brother, who wielded her anger like a weapon and her love like a crown.

The girl who belonged to him.

His jaw clenched. Not mine anymore.

Maybe was never his to begin with.

She just stood there. Distant. Quiet. Her voice barely a whisper when she said his name, his treasured name, like a fragile secret, already slipping through her fingers. 

Rud.

No defiance. No hatred.

Just... surrender? Acceptance?

He laughed then--low, sharp and cruel. The kind of sound that scraped his throat on the way out. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This wasn't justice. It wasn't vengeance.

It wasn't anything.

Her words came back to him like a ghost from a lifetime ago: If I can't have love, I want power. The same was repeated today, but... in a different emotion.

She'd gotten her wish, didn't she? The girl who once tripped over her own feet had risen from ruin to sit on a throne of betrayers, crowned by Khurana's blood and sharpened by thirst for power. Queen of the goddamned syndicate. The Queen of Ruin, indeed.

But at what cost? Or was there any cost?

Seven years was a long time. He had changed. Hadn't he?

No.

He hadn't.

Because holding onto his past--his pain, his rage--was the only link he had left to his mother. Letting go would mean losing everything. Losing his mother all over again. Losing her. Losing himself. And he refused.

But a barely breathing, twenty-one year old boy, covered in dust and losses, had promised himself: If anyone is going to ruin Lashika Mauryavanshi, it'll be only me.

His frustration buzzed beneath his skin like a thousand wasps, the familiar ache of memory digging into his ribs as rusted nails.

He'd spent seven years turning his grief into blades, carving out a kingdom from the ashes of betrayal. Seven years climbing his way to the top through blood and rot and memory to fulfil this promise. Every moment tailored for this--the day he'd stand before her, not as the boy who once sworn to protect her, but as the man who could destroy her.

Only to find her already shattered.

He reached his car without realizing, the chrome handle biting into his palm as he wrenched the door open. But he didn't climb in. Not yet. His gaze fell, unbidden, to the ring on his finger. 

A simple band. Platinum. Clean. Deceptively meaningless--until he twisted it and the name revealed itself.

Lash.

Just four letters.

But it weighed more than the entirety of his empire. More than the fire in his lungs. The name was carved into the band, just as it had carved into him. The only part of her he still owned.

He told himself he'd buried her. That night--flames around them, her mother's screams, the metallic scent of blood coating his tongue--should have been the end. The end of love. Of trust. Of them.

Yet, here he was, drowning in her presence like he'd never left.

He thought she chose the wrong side that night. He saw her hesitate.

Didn't she?

Didn't she stand there, watching me break, as if she didn't know whether to run to me or away from me?

Didn't she choose her stepfather over me? Us? Her own blood, her own brother?

As if her silence wasn't already the loudest betrayal?

Her brother was her protector. Her sword. Her shield. And she let him fall. How could she do that to him, of all people?

After all that happened, why does it still feel like she was the one who lost more than us?

What's wrong with me? Where was the satisfaction I longed for? The vengeance that was supposed to feel like our justice?

He had questions but answers were none.

It was a mess. A bloody mess. And he didn't knew where to start untangling it.

He sank into the driver's seat like it might contain the wreckage inside him. The door slammed shut with a finality that didn't belong to the present--it belonged to every night since that one. Every night haunted by the sound of her name.

And even now, her scent lingered.

Of course it did. It lived in his bloodstream, stitched into his bones like a poison he couldn't sweat out--yet he craved the way it resided in his goddamn soul.

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

He should've let her go. 

He should have walked away when he had the chance, when revenge was still clean and distant, when his memories hadn't undone him.

But he hadn't. 

Because he needed her to pay. To suffer like he did.

Then why, why, did it feel like he was the one unraveling? Why did his chest feel hollow?

Why did his arms ache to wrap around her? To shield her? To pull her into him, press his lips to her temple and tell her none of this was real?

But it was real. His mother's screams were real. The betrayal, real. The grave silence in her eyes--undeniably, heartbreakingly, real. The pain that turned him into this monster, was real.

He closed his eyes, a dull throb pulsing behind his temples. 

Lashika was both his cure and... his wound.

His foot slammed against the gas pedal. The car lunged forward. The road blurred beneath him as the engine howled its fury. 

Speed felt like the only thing between him and collapse. But no matter how fast he went, she remained. There was never outrunning her. Not when she lived inside him.

Always just there, in the rearview mirror of his soul.

The image of her today--broken, chained--ripped through him like a bullet. The way she looked at him--not with defiance, not with hatred, but something worse. Guilt. As if she owed him something. As if she had drowned in the same hell he had.

Her voice used to be his salvation, guiding him through sleepless nights. Now, it was ice. Distant. Cold. She said his name--Rud--and it had shattered him.

Why did it feel like a plea? 

His grip tightened around the wheel, knuckles turning white.

Then--blinding headlights.

A truck.

Too close.

A split second.

The blare of its horn tore through the night, shattering the haze. Instinct yanked the wheel in his hands. Tires screeched against asphalt. The car twisted, skidded, metal groaning in protest. The truck roared past in a blur of light and wind and something dangerously close to death.

His heart slammed against his ribs, the rush of adrenaline numbing everything else. He had jerked forward in his seat, breath gone, chest heaving.

A thought slithered into his mind before he could cage it.

If I had let it hit me... would she have cared?

His fingers curled tighter around the wheel. Shame bit deep, but the thought lingered like a bruise.

Then the phone buzzed, cutting through the silence.

One of his men. "Sir... she hasn't eaten."

The words lodged themselves in his throat. Of course she hadn't.

Stubborn to the end. Even now, she was fighting. She was starving herself in that damn warehouse like she had anything left to prove.

He should let her rot. Let her fade into the shadows she'd embraced.

But she was his--whether she wanted to be or not. And he couldn't stand the thought of her suffering.

Moreover, the image of her--bruised, chained, hollow-eyed--seared into him like acid. Not in pain. Worse.

Defeated.

He'd almost killed her. His hands had been around her throat.

And she hadn't fought back.

Not because she was weak or chained or helpless.

But because she was done.

The car screeched to a stop, tires carving a dark streak on the pavement. He wouldn't let her rot in a place meant for filth.

He couldn't breath or even think. He just knew--

He couldn't leave her there.

Not chained. Not surrounded by strangers. Not where he couldn't reach her. Not when every goddamn cell in his body screamed to keep her safe. Not when she was still his woman, in all the ways that mattered. 

And maybe, just maybe--he couldn't  bear to be away from her now that she was back in his life.

He flicked on his headlights, breath unsteady.

He barked orders into his phone to bring food, and then, without thinking, he swung the wheel.

A sharp U-turn.

Because he couldn't walk away.

This wasn't how he wanted to find her again. But it was too late for choices. Here they were, dragging each other through hell.

And somehow, even after everything... it still wasn't enough.

As the warehouse loomed ahead, unease coiled low and light in Rudraj's spine--an ancient instinct awakened, sharp and unrelenting.

Something felt off.

The air was unnaturally still. Soundless. As if the world itself had paused, holding its breath in quiet horror.

His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. He didn't question it--he never did. Instinct was why he was still alive. And now, it roared through him like a thunderclap.

Run. Move. Now.

The tires screeched as he pulled over in one violent motion, the door swinging open before the car had even fully stopped. He was out a heartbeat later, boots slamming onto gravel. He didn't care to shut the door. 

The instant his feet touched the ground, a sound tore through the suffocating stillness.

A scream.

His name.

"Rud!"

It wasn't the pitch or the volume that cut him open--it was familiarity. The desperation threaded through every syllable. A voice he knew like his own heartbeat.

Lash.

Ice flooded his veins.

His body moved before thought could catch up. The world narrowed to the pulse in his ears and the distant echo of that scream. His muscles burned as he ran, lungs dragging in ragged air, but he couldn't feel it.  

His men--where the fuck were they? He had left strict orders. No one was to leave her unguarded. No exception. But the grounds were dead quiet.

Silent.

Abandoned.

The heavy metal door of the warehouse slid screeching as he yanked it open, and the sound carved through the blanketed stillness like a scream of its own. 

Then time stopped.

Inside, one of his own men towered over her, fingers twisted in her sweatshirt, movements laced with cruel intentions. His body shielded her, but not enough. Rudraj could see her slumped form. Her struggle.

His Lash.

A red haze dropped over his vision.

There was no room for thought. No pause for reason. He crossed the distance in a blur, rage tearing through him like wildfire. His hands were on the man before he registered it, yanking him back with a force that cracked bone.

The bastard didn't even get the chance to turn. The moment his body slammed against the concrete, Rudraj was on him.

The first punch landed with a sickening thud, blood spurting instantly.

Then came the second. The third.

The fourth was blind.

A sharp crack.

A snarl ripped through Rudraj's throat--primal, inhuman. "HOW DARE YOU?" he roared, his voice a weapon of its own.

He didn't feel his own bloodied knuckles or the spray of blood across his white shirt. He barely noticed the sharp crunch of breaking bone beneath his fists. The bastard had touched her. Touched her.

And that was unforgivable.

He kept going.

The warehouse filled with brutal sounds of punches, cartilage cracking, and the wet thud of a body collapsing under unrelenting rage.  Somewhere in the periphery, someone shouted--too cautious, too late.

"Sir--S-Sir, he's unconscious!" 

"I don't care."

His voice was cold steel.

He looked like the destruction itself, the kind no one dared to provoke.

His body was vibrating with unspent rage as he stared down at the wreckage beneath him, unrecognizable now, the man's face reduced to pulp and ruin. The sight didn't satisfy him. Nothing would. Not until the stench of betrayal was erased. Not until she was okay. But a warning rung in his ears--stop before you kill him.

He chest heaved with ragged breaths as he rose, blood dripping from his hands. He turned, snapping his gaze to the frozen security chief. "Prepare the damn mansion," he growled. "Immediately."

They scattered, obeying, running like the devil was at their heel. But Rudraj no longer saw them.

His eyes had already turned back to her.

And his world--once again--stilled. 

Lashika's head drooped between her shoulders, wrists still bound above her, the cuffs biting into skin that looked too pale. Her hair hung over her face like a dark curtain, obscuring her expression, shielding her from him. But she didn't stir. Not even at the commotions.

Not even at the sound of him.

A chill crawled up his spine. Something sharp and cold pierced through the fury in his chest. A blade of fear.

He crossed to her, every step agony. "Lashika?" his voice was different now--low, rough. A whisper ripped from the depths of him.

He reached out, brushing the hair from her face--and froze.

Her skin was cold, sweat glistened at her brow. Her cheek was marked with the shadow of a hand. Her lip split, swollen. Signs of a struggle he wasn't there to stop. But none of it prepared him for her eyes.

Wide open.

Staring at nothing.

Empty.

There was no recognition in them. No hatred. No fire. No pain.

Nothing.

Rudraj staggered back a step, breath caught in his lungs. He couldn't feel his own body. All he could do was look--at her, and see nothing looking back. 

She didn't even flinch at his touch.

She didn't flinch at all.

A scream built in his chest. He choked it back, turning sharply. "GET THE DAMN CONTROLLER!" he bellowed.

A guard stumbled forward with trembling fingers and pressed the release. The chains clattered to the ground.

And did she.

He caught her before she hit the ground, his arms wrapping around her like iron bands. Her body was limp. Light. Too light--as if life itself was slipping away from her.

His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

She didn't move. Not a sound. Not a twitch.

His heart hammering with every second that passed without a response. His grip tightened around her, cradling her against his chest, a silent plea, a desperate promise. 

Breathe. Move. Fight me, dammit.

He pressed his forehead against hers. "Lash," he breathed, voice barely audible, "You're safe. He didn't--" His voice broke.

He couldn't finish that sentence. Couldn't face the images that threatened to rise.

But she still didn't answer.

Didn't even blink.

"Lash. Look at me." He cupped her face with bloodstained hands. "Say something." 

Nothing.

He looked into her eyes and saw the truth.

She wasn't here.

Her body was. But everything else... everything that made her her... had been locked away behind that blank, glassy stare.

And he couldn't reach her.

For the first time in seven years, Rudraj Khurana felt powerless. Not outmaneuvered. Not outgunned. 

But truly, soul-deep powerless. 

The security chief's voice broke through the fog. "Sir, the mansion is ready. Reports will follow shortly." He bowed, then disappeared, too wise to linger. 

He didn't acknowledge it.

He rose, carrying her in his arms like a shattered relic, her head falling against his chest. Her silence was louder than any scream.

He had no time for second-guessing--she wasn't safe here. He didn't stop to question who let this happen. Not now. But someone would pay.

The man who'd dared touch her didn't belong to his ranks. Rudraj would find out who planted him--and he'd burn the earth to the ground if that's what it took. He wanted the damn report to confirm.

The night was heavy as he strode toward the car. His men parted without a word.

He opened the passenger door, gently easing her into the seat, every movement careful, reverent. He fastened the belt. Her head lolled slightly to the side.

Still nothing.

No resistance. No reaction.

Rudraj stood for a beat too long, one hand clenched on the door. A dark thought crept into his mind, coiling around his throat like a noose: Did the bastard touch her? No. He would've seen it. The filth didn't get the chance. But knowing wasn't enough--because she still wasn't here. His eyes burned--not with rage this time. With something worse.

Grief.

He slid behind the wheel and started the engine. The drive back should've been short.

It felt endless.

She sat beside him, a ghost of herself, forehead leaning lightly against the window. He remembered that habit. She used to do that as a child--face pressed to the glass, bright eyes filled with wonder, mouth running with absurd declarations.

"Mark my words, Aru! If I ever become queen, I'll grant you a lifetime supply of patience, because you seriously need it."

That girl was gone.

Extinguished.

And now, silence reigned in her place.

He loosened his grip on the wheel, also eased his foot off the gas, just enough to ease the tremble. Slowed at every corner. Drove like she was made of glass.

Because she might as well be.

Lashika was breathing.

But she wasn't living.

And Rudraj Khurana--who survived betrayal, captivity, war, and the slow poison of revenge--didn't know how to fight this.

Didn't know how to bring her back.

Didn't even know where to start.

But he would. He had to. Because if she stayed in this void...

Then nothing else he'd ever done--no vengeance, no victory, no empire--would ever matter again.

As the silence flooded, his mind drifted--to another ride, another night. A different time. A different her. A simpler time, when joy wasn't such a rare commodity.

The trip had been planned for weeks--every detail argued over, every route debated like it was a classified mission. The Mauryavanshi siblings and the Khurana Brothers had hyped it to absurd proportions, all in the name of one milestone: her elder brother's freshly minted driving license. The ink was practically still wet when he strutted toward, jingling the car keys like they were royal insignia.

The second those keys flashed in the sunlight, Lashika's excitement erupted like soda from a shaken can.

"Big brotherrr, I call shotgun!" she squealed, bouncing in place like she had springs in her shoes. "I'll be your official passenger princess. You better learn how to treat your future girlfriend now--because sisters? We make the best husbands for our sister-in-laws. No backtalks from my future sissy, or you're dying single!"

Her brother didn't miss a beat. He reached out and smacked the back of her head with big-brother precision, earning a dramatic yelp.

"Get in before I change my mind, terrorist," he muttered, grabbing the door handle with an exaggerated flourish and bowing like he was her royal chauffeur. "Your chariot awaits, my deranged liege."

She saluted him like an over-caffeinated gremlin. "My chauffeur has manners today. I'm touched."

"Touched in the head, gremlin passenger," he muttered under his breath.

Still giggling, she patted his shoulder with the smugness of an approving queen. He responded by shoving her aside with his knee.

"Car. Now. Or you walk."

Behind them, Sarang chuckled. Rudraj's mouth twitched, his amusement quiet but unmistakable. She noticed, of course--she always did.

Lashika scrunched her nose in mock outrage as she climbed in, slamming the door shut a bit too triumphantly. "My little Hitler is learning quickly" she chirped.

"Say that again, and I'll personally unlearn how to drive--with you still in the car," her brother threatened while walking around to driver seat.

"Wow," she gasped, clutching her chest. "Domestic terrorism and emotional trauma? We love a multitasker!"

"This girl is insane," her brother groaned, turning on the ignition with unnecessary force.

"I love you, Aru baby!" she announced before sticking her tongue out.

A small smile twitched at his face but he rolled his eyes at her, muttering, "Terrorist gremlin."

Sarang was doubled over with laughter by now. Rudraj, though... he just watched her. That chaotic burst of energy she dragged around like a comet tail--it lit up everything, even the dull leather interior of the car.

As soon as they pulled into the road, she spun around in her seat, practically vibrating with energy. "Gentlemen!" she declared, holding an invisible microphone like she was hosting a game show. "Today, we celebrate this glorious step in my big brother's evolution. From certified menace to legally dangerous driver! Let's mark this historic day with a playlist that steps harder than his childhood tantrums!" 

Her brother groaned again. this time louder. "Turn the music on before I throw her out."

Ignored.

"My dear Khurana Brothers, " she announced grandly, and he would never admit how much he hated hearing her say 'brother'--even in jest. " Ignore the pest, let's jam to my favorite beats. Ready, boys?!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious. Even her ever-serious brother scoffed but caved, he turned on music, and the moment the bass dropped, the car transformed. It wasn't just a ride anymore--it was a moving riot. Windows rolled down, wind tangling their hair, voices screeching over one another in a competition of who could butcher the lyrics more.

Lashika, of course, was the loudest.

Her brother kept yelling at her to sit straight. She kept yelling back that his lane discipline was a personal attack on her soul. Sarang was laughing hard he had tears in his eyes. And Rudraj... Rudraj should've hated it.

He wasn't made for chaos. He liked control. Precision. Silence.

But her chaos?

He would've memorized it all if he could. Every laugh, every insult, every bad note of her singing--burned into his mind like sacred scripture. He didn't need pictures. He had this.

That night wasn't perfect.

It was noisy. Clumsy. Immature.

But it was hers.

And that made it holy.

The memory faded like smoke, slipping between his fingers as the shrill ring of his phone dragged him back into the present.

Rudraj blinked once. Then again.

Reality settled in with the weight of a blade.

He exhaled--sharp, controlled. His lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn't until the smile faded that he realized it had been there at all. Of course it had. How could it not? 

Those memories... they had been warmth in a life that now felt frostbitten.

His gaze drifted toward her, as if pulled by something beneath his skin. She hadn't moved. Her lashes lay still against her cheeks, but thee was a faint flush to her skin again--fragile, deceptive, like the warmth of a dying ember pretending it could still burn.

Hope was a cruel thing.

Because looking at her like this--so quiet, so still--it was easy to believe she might open her eyes. Yell at him for something stupid, ramble about her newest unhinged theory. Laugh so loud it fractured the silence.

But she didn't.

He breathed out softly, the ache behind his ribs tightening as he leaned forward just enough to answer the call, slipping an earbud in without disturbing her. The movement was practiced, robotic--controlled. 

The line clicked.

A voice crackled through--gravel-rough, mid-report--but he didn't register the words.

Because something else cut through the air.

 A whisper.

"Why, Rud?"

His entire body stilled. Not startled. Not tensed.

Just still.

Like prey sensing a predator behind it.

Lashika's voice hadn't risen above a murmur, but it sliced straight through him--cold, hollow. But beneath that emptiness was something sharp--raw--like glass ground into a wound. A question laced with hurt too deep with words.

"Why did you do that?"

For a second, his lungs forgot how to work.

What is she talking about? What did I do?

His frown barely had time to form before the voice on the other end of the call cut back in--urgent now.

"... so we ran checks."

"He is not one of our men, Sir. No name. No file. No trace."

Rudraj's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, every tendon straining beneath his skin. His knuckles bleached bone-white.

Not one of ours.

No record.

No trace.

Then who the hell had--

And above all, the man who'd once vowed that nothing would touch her under his watch? I'd let it happen.

That bastard's blood still stained his hands.

And suddenly--

It didn't feel like enough. It didn't feel like anything.

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