• author's pov •

Sliding the picture on the glass table, the man tapped on it with his index finger twice. His subordinate, understanding his silence, lifted the picture and left the room with a promise a success.

Dwelling in the silence, the man leaned back on his majestic seat and stared aimlessly in the darkness. Resting his right leg over his left, he propped his head against his fist, a disgruntled breath leaving his lips.

He closed his eyes, travelling back in time to the day he made his first oath in blood. The day he was being released from the juvenile, at the fresh age of eighteen.

"Bheek maangna aapne uss bhagwan se ki woh tumhari zindagi teen saalon mein khatam karde. Kyunki agar tum bach gaye, toh phir tumhe mein kahin ka nahi chodunga."

A devilish smirk appeared on his lips, a dry chuckle leaving his lips. "You're screwed now." He tapped his finger on the glass table, deep in thought.

The door swung open and another man, clothes drenched in blood, walked in and flopped down on the couch nearby.

"Where were you?" The man demanded, shifting his attention towards the newcomer.

"Dealing with some snakes. Why did you summon me?" Getting off the couch, he plucked the shirt hanging in the closet and, discarding his bloodied shirt, put it on.

"Just to release some pent up energy."

The man, pulling off his coat, unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled his sleeves to his elbows.

"That's a nice brooch." The man remarked, moving forward to touch it.

"Your hands are soiled in blood, Vyom. Don't touch it!" He warned, smacking his hand away.

A mischievous smirk appeared on Vyom's lips as he discarded the fresh shirt and wore the bloodied one again. "So, who gave it to you?"

"Who else, you dumbass. My bunny gave it to me." He retorted, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

"You're gonna die a virgin if you keep sticking to my sister. Go and find yourself a girlfriend, Vansh. As for my sister, I will protect her."

"I couldn't care less. Whether I die a virgin or as a married man, that I will decide. You stay out of it and, no. I will protect Mayura."

"She's my responsibility. So, both of you, shut up!" Vihaan interrupted, slamming the door open. He was dressed in black clothes with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his veiny and muscular arms.

With a smirk, he strode into the room and sat upon the glass table. "Mayura is my responsibility. Don't worry yourself with her."

Vyom scoffed. "I'm her younger brother. I have every right to worry about her. You're just her friend."

Vihaan clicked his tongue. "Wrong! I'm your sister's beloved fiance."

"I haven't approved of your relationship with my sister. Even now you two are just best friends."

"If Mayura were to hear that her heart would shatter, Vyom." Vihaan mocked. "I'm her most cherished person."

Vansh, tired of their banters, decided to change the topic. "The guests are in the basement. Go and enjoy yourselves!"

"Gladly," Vihaan smirked. Getting off the table, he put his arm around Vyom's shoulder as the duo left the room.

"What did those guests do?" Vyom inquired, cracking his knuckles.

Vansh sat back on his throne, staring out of the window in hopes of Angre's speedy return.

A merciless darkness engulfed him when he saw Angre dragging the man to him.

✎

• vansh's pov •

John's cries fall on my ears like honey, yet it doesn't soothe my soul. Hearing his cries, filled with ignorance and ego, only increase the ache in my chest.

The scorching fire, the itchiness of revenge burns my being. I move away from the wall and lean against the wooden table. "Angre."

Angre looks up, his face covered in sweat. Throwing away the rod, Angre grabs John by his hair and drags his limp body across the floor, throwing him on the wooden chair.

John's body was drenched in sweat and blood, saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth. He was barely conscious. Picking the jug of water, I splash it on his face.

Angre lays out a variety of instruments on the table. He chains John to the chair and starts plucking out his nails.

His cries, full of pain and grieving, begin to soothe my soul. Just like this, I had begged him - for my life, for Mayura's life. But he had ignored it all, laughing at us.

Let's make it more interesting.

With a flick of my wrist, I make Angre stop and turn on the projector. His wife and eighteen-year-old son come onto the frame, surrounded by my men.

His growls and grunts, coughing blood as he looks up. He instantly pales, his spirits dampening. Tears roll down his cheeks, mixing with his blood and saliva.

I raise my right arm, pointing towards the son. One of the men pull out of their knife, giving a deep cut to the boy's right arm. He cries in pain, his mother cries for him and, his father flaps around the chair, helpless.

He coughs, spits, bleeds and finally, falls with the chair, withering in pain. I smile in satisfaction, flicking my wrist. They make another cut on his arm. Screams echo in this closed chamber, mingling with the screams of my past.

I, too, cried like this. I begged, caught his feet, cried and kissed his shoes. I did everything to save myself, but he was unfazed in his determination to torture me. And only when Mayura would step up, fight with him and, coddle me in her arms, would he stop.

Even on my last day, when he strangulated Mayura to the point of death, I was cold and frozen in fear. I was ready to fall to my knees and beg for her life. As always.

No.

Don't kill her. She's my only friend, my precious bunny, my adorable darling. My shadow, my secret keeper, my comfort, my solace. Don't hurt her.

Spare her, you monster!

Vihaan had kicked him on his face, hard. He hit his nose on the wall, breaking it. Blood dribbled down his nose, just like Mayura slid to her knees, gasping for air.

"Rai Singhania's don't beg, Vansh. They claim. By hook, or crook. Always remember that."

I clench my jaw, swallowing the lump in my throat. Moments of my juvenile days rise to the surface and I grip the edge of the table tightly, my veins bulging.

John is still on the floor, withering in pain. His blood paints the floor, dust sticking to his body.

This is getting boring now.

With my thumb, I motion for a cut across the throat, my eyes fixed on his wife.

Your son dies for your sins. For your crime of hurting another's innocent son - me. And your wife, for hurting the person very precious to me - Mayura.

"No! No!" He screams, watching as the blood drips down her throat and her head falls back, eyes rolling inside her skull. She dies in silence, as quickly as a few seconds. The son sobs, holding the mother's death body close to the him.

I raise my thumb, slowly motioning my finger across my throat. "No, please. Spare him. Not my son, he's innocent." He crawls towards me, dragging the chair with him.

I glance at Angre and he, grabbing John's hair, makes him sit up straight on the chair. "Please. Not my son, spare him. He is innocent. Don't punish him for my crimes."

I grab his chin in a hard grip. "So was I. Then why did you torment me so much?" I ask, my voice cold and hollow. "I was an innocent son too, unaware of his father's scheme. Why did you hurt me then?

My darling, my precious friend, you tried to kill her. Why? She did nothing wrong. I did nothing wrong. But we paid the price."

Turning him around, I force him to watch the next moments on the projector - the death of his son.

"Now, you will pay the price."

The knife pierced through the young man's heart, blood flowing down like a water fall. John convulses, wheezing for air. His body trembles as he urinates in his pants.

Releasing my grip on him, I wipe my hand on my napkin. "Finish it up," I order, rewinding the video for him to watch again, "in two hours."

Throwing my soiled napkin into a burning fire, I find my way back to the room and settle down on my couch. My hands tremble, my breathing ragged.

I am still weak.

I clench the brooch in my palms tightly, taking in long breaths.

I couldn't protect Mayura. Not then, not now.

I breathe in, sitting back on the chair.

Even then she suffered in silence, even now she suffers in silence.

I cough, feeling my airways open.

And I was the reason both the times.

I winch, feeling something sharp prick my palm. Looking down, I find the pin of the brooch piercing my skin. There was a little blood. Carefully, I take it out and place it on the table, wiping the blood on it.

Cannot stain my bunny's gift.

Wiping it clean, I admire the intricate white flowers under the moonlight. It is so beautiful. And precious.

I pull it close, to hold against my chest when the faint scent of blood hits me. My clothes are covered in blood, I realise.

Opening the drawer, I pull out a small safe and put the brooch inside it. Locking both of them, I lock the door of the room and, grabbing a pair of fresh clothes, get into the shower to remove the scent of blood.

[1630]