Chapter 25
The sound of gunfire ripped through the warehouse.
One shot.
Two.
Three.
The air was thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder.
Agastya stood in the middle of it all—untouched, unmoved, unforgiving.
The bodies of his enemies lay at his feet, lifeless, unworthy.
But his fury?
It wasn’t satisfied.
Not yet.
Because there was still one man left standing.
The bastard who had sent the warning.
The bastard who had dared to threaten what was his.
Agastya cocked his gun, stepping closer, his voice calm.
"Who sent you?"
The man spat blood, grinning through the pain.
"You already know, Hukum."
Agastya’s jaw tightened.
And then—he fired.
A single shot.
Straight through the man’s leg.
A scream tore through the warehouse.
Agastya crouched down, his eyes dark, empty, filled with nothing but death.
"Say the name."
The man choked out a laugh.
"What’s the fun in that?"
Agastya smiled.
And then—he shot him again.
This time, through the other leg.
"I’ll ask one last time." His voice was a whisper, a promise of ruin.
"Who wants my wife dead?"
The man gasped, his body shaking from the pain.
And then—he finally spoke.
"You’re not the only one who owns her, Rathore."
Agastya stilled.
The words sank deep into his skin, his blood turning ice cold.
And then—he pressed the gun to the man’s forehead.
"Who?" His voice was no longer calm. It was lethal. A death sentence.
The man grinned.
"Someone she already belongs to."
The world blurred.
Agastya’s finger twitched on the trigger.
And then—he fired the final shot.
---
Back at the Rathore mansion, Anvi paced the room, her pulse unsteady.
She had waited long enough.
She couldn’t sit here, locked away, helpless.
Not when she knew Agastya was fighting for her.
Not when this war was because of her.
Her fingers clenched into fists.
She had to leave.
Had to find out the truth herself.
Before Agastya came back and drowned her in more lies.
Before she lost herself completely to him.
She turned toward the door—
But the moment she stepped forward, a voice stopped her.
"Going somewhere, Pari?"
Her breath caught.
Because standing in the doorway—leaning against the frame, his white shirt still splattered with blood, his knuckles bruised—
Was him.
Agastya.
And the look in his eyes?
It told her everything had changed.
---
She didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Because something about the way he watched her—hungry, furious, possessive—sent a shiver down her spine.
Slowly, he closed the door behind him.
Locked it.
And then—he walked toward her.
His footsteps slow, controlled, predatory.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"You were going to leave me."
Not a question.
A statement.
An accusation.
Anvi lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
"I needed answers."
His jaw ticked.
"And you thought you’d find them by running?"
She swallowed hard. "I can’t stay locked in here forever, Agastya."
His lips curled.
"Why not? You look so pretty in my cage."
Her stomach twisted.
"I’m not your prisoner."
His fingers reached for her chin, tilting her face up.
"Then stop acting like one."
Her breath shook.
Because no matter how much she fought, no matter how much she resisted—
She couldn’t deny it anymore.
She was his.
And Agastya?
He had no intention of letting her forget it.
---
"Someone thinks they own you, Pari." His voice was low, dangerous. "Who is it?"
Her stomach flipped.
"What?"
He pressed closer, his grip on her chin tightening just slightly.
"You heard me."
Her pulse pounded.
"I— I don’t know."
His eyes darkened.
"Then we’ll find out."
Her breath shook.
"And what will you do when we do?"
His smirk was deadly.
"Kill them."
Her chest tightened.
Because the worst part?
She knew he meant it.
And now?
Now, there was no turning back.
Because Agastya Singh Rathore wasn’t just going to protect her.
He was going to own her.
Completely.
Irrevocably.
And the moment she let him—
She would never be free again.
But maybe…
Maybe she didn’t want to be.
---
The air between them burned.
Anvi tried to pull away—but he didn’t let her.
His grip was firm, unrelenting, possessive.
"You’re mine, Pari."
Her stomach twisted.
"You don’t own me."
His smirk deepened.
"Then why are you still here?"
Her jaw clenched.
Because the truth?
She didn’t know.
And Agastya?
He saw it.
Felt it.
Owned it.
His fingers traced the edge of her jaw, his thumb brushing against her lower lip.
"You can lie to yourself, Pari. But you can’t lie to me."
Her pulse stuttered.
And then—he kissed her.
Hard. Desperate. Unforgiving.
Like he had been waiting to destroy her all over again.
Like he was reminding her that no matter how much she fought—she would always belong to him.
And Anvi?
She let him.
Because at that moment—there was no escape.
Not from him.
Not from herself.
Not from the truth.
She was his.
And Agastya?
He would never let her forget it.
---
Hours later, the mansion was silent.
But somewhere, deep in the shadows, a man watched.
His fingers curled around the edge of a whiskey glass, his lips tilting into a slow, dark smirk.
"She doesn’t belong to you, Rathore."
His voice was low, filled with something unspoken.
"She was mine first."
And just like that—the war for Pari had only just begun.