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The room was dimly lit.

In the middle of the room, suspended from the ceiling by a chain, was a boxing bag. The air was filled with the smell of sweat and the sounds of punches. A man panted as he continued to hit the bag, releasing all his pent up anger.

"Argh!" He screamed in frustration, throwing a heavy punch on the bag. It swung like a pendulum, the chain rattling because of the weight. Irritated, the man ripped the gloves from his hands, exposing the safety bandages drenched in sweat, and flung them away to demonstrate his anger.

His phone was placed on a small table along with a bottle of water, a towel, and a first aid kit. Tapping on the screen, he impatiently swiped to his contacts and pressed the first name on his list: Queen♡ (1298)

A small and genuine smile appeared on Vihaan's lips on reading it. His Queen, his Mayura.

His heart beat in exhilaration. The rings went, and he grabbed the towel, wiping the sweat from his body. As the ringing continued, he felt a small hope in his heart, a small belief that she'll answer.

The ringing was cut, and an automated voice answered -

The number you are trying to reach is currently switched off. Please try again later.

- robbing him of his hope and belief. He grit his teeth, his facial features contouring to reveal extreme anger. He smashed his phone against the wall, panting for air. The phone broke into pieces and he picked his SIM, putting it in his pocket.

"Dammit!" He growled, hitting his right hand against the wall in anger and desperation. A stinging pain shot through his left hand. He looked at ring and little fingers of his hand, bandaged tightly with a plaster. All this while, he was careful not to injure those fingers against, so that when she came back she wouldn't worry.

But now, he didn't care.

A part of him told him that she'll never come back. She was gone, and all he was going to have was his big fat ego, and the pain of her absence.

He rushed back to the bag, throwing fast and heavy punches at it. Sweat trickled down his chiseled jawline, gliding down his long neck, down his sturdy chest and traced his well made six pack abs and disappeared down further his adonis V.

His abs were his pride, his muscular and healthy body his trophy. Only for one reason - Mayura loved muscles and abs. She never said so, but he often caught her staring at pictures of muscular and well-built men. It made him feel jealous. And inferior. He wanted her to look at him and him alone. No other men, just him.

His left arm ached, a numbness spreading in his arm. He took a few steps back from the bag, a sweat stain on the floor. His pants were sticky and felt heavy from all the sweat. His legs trembled from the exhaustion. He bent, his palms resting on his knees as he collected his breath.

Feeling better, he started to unravel the bandages from his left hand when a voice echoed in his head.

Your Mayura will be ravished by them, utterly destroyed and humiliated, and left for the world to see.

His dirty laugh, outrageous words, malicious intentions made his blood boil with uncontrolled rage. He stepped forward and threw a hard and painful punch at the bag. The bag swung around for a moment before collapsing on the floor, dragging the chain with it.

The bag burst open, and a realisation hit him.

I am weak, very weak. If I was stronger, no the strongest, no one would dare to look at my Mayura. I have to become more stronger, for my doll. Otherwise all these vultures will eat her to the bone and I won't be able to do anything. A chill passed down his spine at the intense realisation. He gulped the lump in his throat. "No. No, I cannot let that happen at any cost. I won't let anyone harm her. For that, I have to get better. Stronger. Faster. More manipulative. Intelligent. I have to be at the top of the world, and even if I have to sell my soul to the devil, I will do it. Only for you, Jaan."

Vihaan felt a searing pain in his left hand, a warm liquid trickling between the two fingers locked in the plaster.

You dumbo! I told you to be careful with your hand, right. You never listen to me.

He chuckled, imagining her scolding and pampering him. Her angry little pout, red little nose and eyes full of worry. Her sweet and soft voice, her warm hands - he hated to admit it, but he missed her.

"Cupcake," he chanted in a dreamy and soft voice, caressing his injured finger. "I miss you, my love. Come back soon, my beloved. I'm so sorry for everything I've done." He whispered his apology, a lone tear rolling down his cheek.

"I miss you, honey." He choked, falling to his knees and covered his face with his palms, crying into his palms. "Can you come back to me, my doll, please? It hurts. Your absence is hurting me a lot. I've become a mess, my Queen. Please come and help me."

Vihaan wasn't the type to cry easily. And if he did, it meant something really broke him deeply within.

You fool, you deserve this pain. My cupcake is suffering out there, with pain worse than yours. This pain that you're facing is nothing in front of what she's tolerated because of you for the past two years. - A voice in his head snapped at him, shoving the harsh reality on his face. It was like sprinkling salt on open wounds, and Vihaan could feel his heart burn with the pain.

"Yeah," he spoke in a cold tone, wiping away his tears, "I deserve this pain. And I will bear it." He punched the wall with his injured hand, breaking the plaster. Blood trickled from his wound, a small streak of blood rolling down the wall. "Again and again, until you forgive me. Till then, I will take this pain and brand it on my soul, as a punishment for my deeds to you."

"Boss!" Rohit's shrill cry reverberated in the room. He rushed towards Vihaan and pulled him away from the wall. "Boss, calm down. Stop hurting yourself!"

"Leave me, Rohit. I deserve this," he screamed, moving towards the wall. "I hurt, broke and destroyed her, Rohit. I destroyed the only happiness in my life."

He pushed Rohit, making him fall and rushed towards the wall, punching it hard repeatedly. "She wouldn't like this, sir." He spoke in a stern and soft tone, making Vihaan freeze. "If you think hurting yourself will make madam happy, then you're... wrong."

Rohit stood up, dusting his clothes. With steady steps, he walked towards Vihaan and put a hand on his shoulder gently. "Make it up to her. This," he gestured towards the bloodied walls and injured hands, "is useless. It'll only worry her further."

Vihaan sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he staggered away from the wall. With his hands on his waist, he took in deep and long breaths. Sweat rolled down his face, the odour making him scrunch his nose in disgust.

Neither men spoke for a while. Grabbing his water bottle, Vihaan chugged it down half way, and put it away. Taking out the bandages, he let it fall on the floor and picked up his towel, heading towards the shower room.

Closing the door shut, he turned on the knob, feeling relieved with the cold droplets of water cascading down his heaving body. His feet ached, his palms tingled. The water glided down his body, falling in the drain with his blood.

Make it up to her.

Rohit's words echoed in his mind. But how?, he wondered, I don't know... remember how to love her anymore. It's been so so long. What did we use to do? What did I do that she fell for me?

He gulped, turning off the shower knob. His wounds burned and stung, a faint trickle of blood flowing down. Vihaan dabbed his hands on a towel dry, grabbing a pair of fresh shorts from the closet.

"Her diary!" He realised, hastily himself dressing up. The water drop clung to his hair and beard, dropping gracefully on his shirt.

Her diary held the answer to all his questions. And he was eager to read through it once more. With renewed hope, he stepped out of the bath, the towel draped in his head, the ends touching his shoulders.

"I will get you back, my love." He vowed, throwing the towel away.

✎

Vihaan's finger buried deep in his beard. He chuckled, realising his beard had grown long from his neglect of shaving. The doctor looked at Vihaan in apprehension and curiosity. He continued to treat his hand.

You idiot! You look like a cave man. Go and shave.

Vihaan suppressed his laughter as Mayura's words floated in his mind. He could imagine her actions as she would scold him for forgetting to shave his overgrown beard - lips pressed into a thin line to display annoyance; eyes sparkling in excitement and awe as her fingers were buried deep in his beard. Her troubled expression between wanting to enjoy the feel of his thick beard and wanting him to shave it off so he stopped looking like a caveman.

The doctor, finishing his duty of performing his treatment, rose. Giving a silent bow, mixed with fear and respect, he left the room in haste. Rohit let out a sigh when he noticed his boss's goofy look.

"Sir," he called. Vihaan hummed in response. His eyes stared at something at a distance in a dreamy manner. He heard Rohit's call and acknowledged it with a hum. But a part of him was also lost in the thoughts of his beloved - her lovely smile, her tinkling laughter, her cherubic face, her warm and soothing voice, her swan like grace. He felt a tingle pass down his spine as he remembered her breathing against his skin to whisper secrets.

Suddenly, it all disappeared and a concerning question appeared in Vihaan's mind - why was he acting like a lovesick puppy?

I-I don't love her. It's just an act, to keep her close to me. Then why - he clenched his fists and his heart beat rapidly - why do I feel this way? Am I... No, that's not possible! I cannot be in love with her right? No, not at all!

Vihaan grabbed his jacket and put it on, zipping it up to his chest. He ran his fingers through his hair, setting it properly and let out a frustrated grunt. The dreamy look in his eyes was replaced by a bloodthirsty and chilling darkness. He grabbed his gun, opening the barrel to load the bullets.

"Has the prey arrived?" He inquired, putting the fifth bullet in the barrel. His voice was cold and sharp as ice, sending a shiver down Rohit's spine. He cleared his throat and composing himself replied, "Yes, sir. He's drinking his eighth glass of alcohol as we speak."

Vihaan pushed the loaded barrel inside the gun and placed it in his waistband. Tightening the laces of his shoes, he stood up and moved towards the exit, towards the car.

"The bar is filled with our men. He is the only outsider."

Vihaan opened the door of the passenger seat and sat inside. "He should not leave under any circumstances." He barked and slammed the door shut. Rohit got in from the driver side, and putting the seat belt, drove towards their property - The Orchid Bar - which is also their hideout to operate their underworld dealings.

✎

The ride was silent.

Rohit zoomed over the empty roads, his focus fixed on the time limit marked by Vihaan, his master.

Vihaan sat beside him in silence. He leaned against the window pane and stared at the passing scenery, his gaze blank and deadly. Despite his exterior silence, his mind was drowned in noise, in a confusion - did he truly and genuinely love Mayura, or were his feelings just an act?

A large part of him mixed with his arrogance and ego, rebuked him and called it an act. His love and affection just means to hold Mayura captive and close.

And the remaining, very small and quiet, mixed with honesty and guilt, whispered a chilling truth - he was deeply, truly and genuinely in love Mayura - and the guilt destroyed him. It shamed him for playing with her, for hurting and neglecting her, for being the reason of her tears.

Vihaan choked on his breathe, a hard lump forming in his throat. He grabbed the water bottle and emptied it, sighing in relief when he felt the airflow in his lungs.

"Shit!" He whispered, crushing the plastic bottle in his grip. "I am in love with her." He accepted, surprised and shocked with his own realisation.

But, how? And why? What now? - he thought, his guilt eating him up alive, his regret killing him for hurting the one he used cherished the most. Should I go to her and apologize? Or... should I just wait for her to come back? What if she doesn't return?

Vihaan shuddered at the thought of her never returning, but the small voice in his head assured him that she'll come back.

Rohit pulled up on the driveway of the bar and turned off the engine. The streets were deserted and dark, no one was visible at a stretch of miles.

I have to change. - he vowed, stepping out of the car and adjusting his clothes. If I have to keep her caged with me... no, keep her happy with me, I will have to change. - the guards opened the door for him and he stepped inside. His men noticed him, and all of them stood up, bowing at his arrival.

"Good evening, sir," they greeted in unison. Vihaan acknowledged them with a nod and sat down beside the target - Avinash, a reporter who was a thorn in Vansh's life.

"Mr Rai Singhania," Avinash spat, downing his twelfth glass of alcohol and slammed the glass on the table with a loud thud. Vihaan smirked, leaning back comfortably on the chair as the waiter placed a glass of wine for him. Vihaan picked, swirling the magenta liquid, his eyes locked with Avinash.

Rohit placed a suitcase on the table, gesturing towards Avinash. The man scoffed, searching for the waiter with impatience. He found one working behind the bar in submission. "Refill my glass, you bastard. Do you want me to complain to your manager and have you fired?" He yelled, startling the poor man. Recovering from his shock, he grabbed the bottle of alcohol and approached the table, filling his glass to the brim.

Avinash frowned as the liquid trickled down the glass and onto the table, making it dirty. "You moron! Did they not teach you to fill glasses properly? Who fills it to the brim? It's spilling everywhere, you bastard. Call your manager!"

Taking the glass, he turned to throw everything on the bartender when Vihaan held the poor man's wrist and pulled him to a side, saving him from the humiliation.

"Thank you, sir," he expressed his gratitude in a small voice, "I am sorry, sir. Please don't fire me."

Rohit pat the man's shoulder in an encouraging manner. "Why would you be fired? You were just doing your job. The customer should be sorry."

"Rohit, pink ice." Vihaan ordered, gulping down his drink and putting the glass on the table. "Take away the glasses, buddy, and then go home. Your shift is over." Rohit told the waiter who obeyed quietly and took the glasses, not questioning anything.

"Hey, I was drinking!" Avinash yelled and slumped back on his seat, falling on the table.

"Relax, Mr Chopra," Vihaan leaned back, stretching his legs, "Things are going to get interesting now."

Avinash looked up at him, a mocking smirk on his lips. "Why don't you try something more better," Vihaan paused to create some suspense, "and exquisite than simple alcohol. Something rare." He smirked, his voice a low and intimidating whisper.

Rohit walked in with a tray containing various objects: a bottle of fine wine. A rarity, the liquid was an enchanting shade of blue. Two wine glass, and a jar full of pink ice. He set it down in the middle, giving both men a glass each and poured them some wine.

"Interesting color," Avinash remarked, swirling the blue liquid and stared at it with a piqued interest. "It's warm."

Vihaan picked up the thongs, putting in a few cubes of pink ice in Avinash's drink. He reached for the things to do the same for Vihaan's drink but the latter refused immediately. "Thanks, but this drink is supposed to be taken warm. First timers would need ice, particularly pink ice, to have it."

"Particularly pink ice," he raised a brow, taking a sip and feeling inebriated, "Why is that Mr Rai Singhania?"

Vihaan chuckled, downing his drink and set the glass aside. "I don't give information for free, Mr Chopra. I'm a businessman, and all my conversations are give-and-take conversations."

"Even with that side chick of yours, what was her name, ah! Mayura. Do you have such transactional conversations with her, or is she special?" He mocked, leaning back and had more of his drink. He leaned in close, his voice a whisper, "Or maybe, there's something else you take from her, something that only a woman can provide."

Vihaan felt his insides burn at his words. His eyes were bloodshot in anger, his fists clenched tightly. His body trembled with the contained rage, the veins in his neck popping out as a expression of his anger.

"Mind your bloody language," Rohit warned, his fists and teeth clenched. Vihaan exhaled, controlling from beating the man to death.

"Hmm, that's a new face! Where's that angry young man... right, Angre. Where's he? With that chick?" He laughed.

He leaned back, a calculated smile appearing on his lips to mask his burning rage. "In a hidden island, close to Africa, this drink is made. They use the fruits commonly available to make it. The law of nature says that all fruits are supposed to be sweet, but these fruits are rebels - they are bland."

Vihaan rose, walking around and moving his hands in the air. "No body likes bland drinks at first, especially if they are warm. So, they made ice out of seasalt."

"Pink ice,"

"Yes, pink ice, Mr Chopra." Vihaan sauntered close to him. "The color came from the salt they used. They let the ice melt slowly, getting a tangy flavour in the drink. Oh, and they usually drink it during winters, because it makes them feel warm from inside."

"That's interesting!" Avinash complimented, looking at his glass. The ice had completely melted, the salt dissolved in his drink. Without wasting a moment, he gulped the drink down. He felt his insides start getting warm.

"Yes, and you know what's more interesting?" Vihaan leaned close, his voice hoarse and mocking. "I added a special ingredient to make you feel so warm from inside that your organs begin to melt."

Vihaan laughed, sitting beside the man who was sweating profusely. He gasped for air. "First your inner organs, then tissues, muscles, nerves, arteries, veins, skin, and finally, your bones." He sat up stiffly, his eyes dark and cold, betraying the devil within him. "All that will be left behind is your ashes. Aur woh toh kahin bhi phenk sakte hai. Like, a garbage dump. Dhool samajh kar sab samet denge. Koi dhyaan nahi dega."

Everyone watched with cold and mocking eyes as he began to melt. His flesh and skin burnt and flaked, his clothes sliding off him, until all that remained was finely powered ash.

"Clean up," Rohit told the men, who scurried around to clear all the evidences. Vihaan chuckled, leaning back on the chair, his eyes fixed on the bottle of wine. He wanted to give him a more painful death after he uttered the nonsense related to Mayura.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at Rohit. He remembered how defensive and furious he had also gotten after hearing those words about Mayura, his boss's lady.

"Our men have finished raiding his residence for all the evidences. His associates, and anyone involved even slightly has been taken to our warehouse. We'll treat them as needed."

Vihaan grabbed the bottle and his glass, pouring himself a drink. "Rohit, want one?"

"If you insist," he grabbed a fresh glass and passed it towards Vihaan, "but no ice, please."

"Ofcourse!" Vihaan laughed as he poured him the drink. "It is still too early to let you off."

"Thank you!" He smiled, taking a seat beside Vihaan at his insistence. "But I'd prefer a painless death."

The two men laughed, clicking their glasses together.

✎

"Rohit,"

"Yes, sir?" Rohit slowed down the car, dividing his attention between the deserted roads and his boss's words.

"Should I wait for her to return, or should I go to her?"

Rohit thought for a few minutes. He noticed Vihaan's silence and pulled the car to a side and they stepped out together, enjoying the cool breeze and silence.

They leaned against the car, staring at the star studded sky.

"I need to apologise to her, Rohit. I want her back." Vihaan added in the same dreamy tone from before. "But, should I wait for her, or should I go to her?"

Rohit let out a chuckle, his eyes fixed on the sky. "Wait for her, Bhai. She's yours, and she'll always remain yours. Given to you by destiny, no one can take her away."

Vihaan gave him a half smile. Rohit continued. "Wait for her, she'll come back to you eventually. Then make it up to her. She needs to realise that your apology is genuine, and not a show."

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