A deafening gunshot tore through the alley.

The steel trash bin just beside them exploded, the sound of metal shrieking into the air. Shards of rust and filth flew as Shradha screamed and covered her head.

Her mother stumbled back, startled. The knife slipped slightly from her grip.

Another sound—footsteps. Heavy. Purposeful.

"Drop it!" a man's voice bellowed.

A silhouette appeared at the mouth of the alley. Broad shoulders. A gun raised. Fierce, unshaken.

Her mother hesitated. The knife wavered in her grip. "You..." she hissed.

Shradha turned her head, heart skipping.

It was him.

Her husband.

Aditya.

His eyes never left her mother, his hand steady on the trigger. But behind the cold fury in his face, she saw it—the panic. The desperation. The love.

"I said drop it," Aditya growled, voice tight with restrained rage. "Or I swear, I won't miss again."

The knife fell down with a clutter as Aditya pushed the old woman to the wall.

The alley was still. Her mother sat slumped against the wall, trembling, defeated—but not done. The venom was still in her veins. The knife may have been kicked away, but the darkness in her heart still pulsed, alive and waiting.

Aditya hadn't said a word in minutes.

His gun still hung at his side. His chest heaved from the adrenaline, but his eyes... they were focused. Cold. Heavy with calculation. Like he'd seen this before. Like he'd done this before.

And Shradha remembered.

She had.

Another night. Another gun.

Another alley, years ago—when she was still young, still naive, still in awe of how fiercely he loved.

The night he had shot his own father to save her.

Just a bullet. Straight to the heart.

She had collapsed afterward, sobbing into his arms.

He had only said one thing that night, as he held her:
"No one gets to hurt what's mine."

And now—here they were again.

History, twisted and cracked, repeating itself.

Her lips parted. "Please," she whispered, reaching out. "Don't—"

But it was too late.

The shot cracked through the night like the end of a scream.

Her mother's body jerked, a red bloom spreading across her chest.

For a second, she didn't even fall. She just stared—eyes wide, mouth opening to say something that never came. Then, slowly, her body slid down the brick wall and crumpled to the ground.

The alley fell into absolute silence.

Only the buzzing streetlight above them remained, casting a sickly yellow hue over her mother's lifeless body.

Shradha didn't move.

She couldn't.

Her ears rang. Her breath caught in her throat.

Her hands were shaking so badly she thought she might collapse. She stared at the blood pooling under the woman who gave her life—and tried to take it back.

And then she looked at him.

His gun was lowered now. His expression unreadable. His jaw clenched, eyes rimmed with something dangerous.

"You—" she choked, stepping back, her voice cracking into disbelief. "You killed her."

"Yes," he said, calmly. Coldly. "I did."

She shook her head, unable to comprehend what had just happened. "You didn't even hesitate."

"No," he repeated. "I didn't."

"Why?" she whispered, every nerve screaming, every memory colliding inside her.

His eyes flicked toward the bloodied wall, then back to her. "Because she was going to kill you. Because you were never safe. And because I promised myself a long time ago, I would never let history repeat itself."

Her knees nearly buckled. "You... you killed your father for me."

His voice softened just slightly. "And I'll kill anyone else who tries to become him."

She had no words left. Her mother was dead and all she could think of was how glad she was to see him back again.

Her voice had cracked, her pleas had splintered into the empty night, and the man standing before her—the man she once believed would catch her if she ever fell—was no longer reaching for her.

She stood frozen beneath the flickering alley light. Her breath shallow, her limbs heavy, and blood—her mother's blood—still fresh on the ground behind her.

He hadn't moved for a long time.

Aditya stood a few paces away, the gun lowered now, but the storm inside him had not settled. It brewed under his skin, in his jawline clenched so tight it looked like it might snap, in the sharp drag of his breath through his nose.

And then, suddenly—his gaze dropped.

Shradha's arms were crossed over her stomach, one hand unconsciously resting there. And that's where his eyes landed.

On the soft curve of her belly. His child.

For just a moment—just a flicker—his face cracked.
It wasn't anger she saw then.

It was grief. Longing. Love. Fear.

And it destroyed her more than any bullet ever could.

Aditya looked at her belly like it was something he had dreamed of holding his entire life. Something sacred. Something his. And he hadn't even known it existed until something from the dustbin told him so. Not her.

But just as quickly as it came, the look vanished.

He buried it.

Swallowed it whole.

And when his eyes snapped back to hers, they were cold again.

"So," Aditya said, his voice low—cracked from restrained fury, "were you going to kill this one too?"

The words landed like a blade to the gut.

Shradha gasped—like all the air had been knocked out of her. "What?"

He took a slow, deliberate step toward her, eyes like stone. "Were you going to make the same decision again? Rip this one from your body without a single word to me?"

She shook her head violently, tears already burning in her eyes. "No—God, no—how can you even—?"

"How can I?" he hissed, stepping closer. "Because that's exactly what you did last time."

"And now?" Aditya snapped. "What about now? You ran into the arms of the woman who wanted to destroy you—and you still didn't tell me. You still thought I wasn't worth knowing. "

"I was scared," she cried. "Of everything. I didn't trust myself. I didn't trust you."

He laughed once. Harsh. Bitter. "You trusted her, though. Trusted her enough to fake a flight, change your name, hide from me like a criminal."

"I never planned to kill this child," Shradha whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I was trying to protect them... even if I did it all wrong."

He just stared at her, breathing hard, chest rising and falling like a man holding back the weight of years.

"You didn't even give me a chance," he said, voice raw. "I would've protected you. I would've carried you through it if you just—let me."

She reached toward him instinctively, hand trembling. "I'm sorry—"

He stepped back.

She stopped.

The space between them felt like miles. And the love that once lived there—fierce, sacred, fragile—felt buried under rubble now. A casualty of silence, of fear, of decisions that couldn't be undone.

He turned and opened the car door, then looked over his shoulder. "Get in."

Her voice cracked. "You're still taking me home?"

"I'm not taking you anywhere," he said. "I'm taking my child somewhere safe. You just happen to be the one carrying it."

The words splintered her insides.

Shradha nodded slowly, numb. Ashamed. She walked toward the car like a woman walking toward her own sentencing.

But before she stepped in, she hesitated.

She turned to him, her voice barely audible. "Do you hate me?"

Aditya didn't answer right away. His eyes fell again—briefly, helplessly—on her belly. And then lifted, hard as glass.

"I don't know what I feel anymore," he said. "But whatever it is... it's buried under a lot of anger."

She climbed into the car.

Not as his wife.

But as a mistake being driven back to its consequence.

The door shut behind her with a thud. He walked around, got in, and started the engine without a word. The car filled with silence—tense, tight, heavy.

She stared out the window, her hands still wrapped around the baby she wasn't sure she deserved. The child she hadn't meant to keep secret. The child who had almost become the price of her shame.

And as the tires rolled over the wet pavement, her tears slipped silently down her face, soaking into her hands.

He didn't offer a word.

Not a glance.

And for the first time in her life, she wondered if she had ruined something beyond repair. Not just the marriage. Not just the trust.

But the man.

And now, all she could do was sit in silence—

in his car,
in his fury,
in her guilt.

And wait for the road to punish her.

_______
Hey all. Hope you liked the updates after updates haha. Im so excited for the story to unfold. We are nearing the end.

Let me know what you all think. Im planning on updating Ashish's story simultaneously as it happens in the exact same timeline. It can be read as a standalone too.

Arjun's story is under construction and it is something i have never explored before. It will be intense I promise.

Let me know what you all want to see in both the brotber's story. What all tropes you all want. Everything and please please comment and vote. Dont force me to set up voting targets😐