CHAPTER 55
ABHIMAAN
The man’s screams echo against the concrete walls, shrill and jagged, like metal scraping metal.
It smells like blood in here. Like iron and sweat and desperation. The old warehouse is silent otherwise, far removed from the noise of the city, and far away from Aditi’s world. And I like it that way. I didn’t want this side of me anywhere near her.
But he came to her house.
He walked through the door of our home like he had a right to breathe her air, touch her things, and maybe even see her. That alone sealed his fate. I had to do something about it. And the bonus is, he can give me more information about Anil.
I crouch down in front of him. His face is a mess—bloodied, broken, purple around the cheekbones, and raw around the mouth. One eye swollen shut. One arm hangs uselessly by his side. But he still manages a smirk.
“Come on,” he rasps, spitting blood at my feet. “You’ll kill me anyway.”
I tilt my head, the scalpel between my fingers glinting faintly under the flickering light above.
“You see, I don’t really like doing this anymore,” I murmur, voice low and even.
“It used to come easy. But I’ve been trying to be good lately.
” I lean closer and stare into his one remaining eye.
“For her.” And because I don’t want this life anymore, I have had enough of it.
He chuckles, a wet, gurgling sound. “Then why am I here?”
“Because you were in my Aditi’s house,” I say simply.
“And because you made me find you.” I pause, tapping the scalpel against his collarbone.
“You think you were clever, hiding like a rat. But it wasn’t hard at all.
” All I had to do was buy the entire building to get access to their CCTV. Rules and all.
He blinks. The amusement on his face flickers. You don’t get to fuck with me and then disappear.
I drag the blade lightly across his forearm. His hiss of pain is sharp and gratifying. He jerks, the cuffs around his wrists biting into his skin.
“Where is he?” I ask.
No answer.
I press the blade harder this time. Skin splits with an ugly squelch, and the blood flows faster. “Where?”
He laughs, defiant even as his body shakes with pain. “We’re in the final stage,” he wheezes, voice broken. “It’s all already in motion.”
I pause. “The boss,” he continues, grinning now, a sick, broken grin. “He’ll take everything from you. Including your beautiful little one—"
The word hasn’t even left his mouth when the shot echoes through the warehouse.
I shoot him in the face. Point blank. No hesitation.
His head jerks back, slamming into the metal chair. His body goes still instantly. I exhale slowly, lowering the gun. The buzzing in my ears doesn’t stop.
No one calls her that. No one even thinks of her like that.
I turn away, chest tight, blood boiling, and wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. My knuckles are raw. I hadn’t realized I’d clenched them so hard.
Before I even reach the door, I pull out my phone.
I need to hear her voice.
I need to hear her say she’s okay. That she’s safe. That she’s in the office, she’s working, and she hasn’t even noticed the danger inching closer again. That she’s just… existing in her little bubble of warmth and soft smiles and bad coffee.
The call rings. And rings. And rings.
She doesn’t pick up. My pulse spikes. My grip tightens around the phone until my knuckles ache. The world narrows to the sound of the call tone. A cold panic slithers into my chest. I try again. And again.
Nothing.
I’m already halfway back into the car when the screen lights up.
Video Call: Aditi ??
Relief floods me—but only for a second.
Because what I see on the screen makes my blood run cold.
Aditi’s on the ground. Her face turned away, hair a mess, the edge of her phone lying crooked beside her as if it had fallen during the call. Her hand twitches. Barely. Her body is motionless otherwise.
And right next to her—
“Harsh,” I whisper.
He’s there too. Sprawled beside her. Blood on the floor near his temple.
No.
No, no, no.
I grip the edge of the car door to steady myself, but my knees feel weak, like the ground beneath me has tilted.
My heartbeat is a roar in my ears. Every breath feels like inhaling fire. I want to scream. I want to punch something. I want to burn the fucking city down.
And then the screen goes black.
A moment later, a message appears. Unknown Number:
If you want them alive, come alone. No tricks. This ends where it all began.
An address follows. One I know too well.
My grip on the phone tightens until it hurts. I don’t even feel it.
My mind is a cyclone of fury and dread and desperation. I can’t sit still. I pace the length of the room, my breath ragged, hands shaking. I want to throw something. Scream.
How did they get to her again?
I promised myself the last time was the last time. That I’d built enough walls around her. That I’d burned enough bridges and cut enough threats to keep her safe. But I was wrong.
And now they’re hurt. Both of them.
The two people I love more than my own fucking life.
The two people who taught me what it means to live again.
I press the heel of my palm into my forehead, trying to force the image out of my head—Aditi’s limp body, Harsh’s bloodied face.
It won’t leave.
It brands itself into my memory, cruel and vivid and permanent.
“Come alone.” That’s what the message said.
As if I’d come with an army and risk them.
As if I need an army when I’m this pissed.
I look at the address again; my jaw clenches so tight it aches.
I need to get there. Now. I don’t want to drive.
I don’t want to wait for red lights or traffic or guards to prepare.
I want to teleport. I want to close my eyes and be standing in front of her.
I want to see her chest rising and falling.
I want to hear her voice call me a jerk and tell me I worry too much.
I want to shake Harsh awake and tell him this better not be his idea of a joke.
But more than anything—I want to kill whoever touched her—touched them.
The man I shot five minutes ago? He got off easy.
Because this time, I’m not stopping. Not until every single person responsible is nothing more than a memory.
And even then, I won’t rest until she’s safe.
Forever.