SAANVI'S POV

I stop near the dining area and watch him. His back is to me, moving in small deliberate motions as he stirs something on the stove. Dinner for us. The soft scent of herbs hangs in the air. Somehow the sight of Rudra, apron on, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing as he works hits harder than any suit he’s ever worn.

I glance down at myself. His maroon shirt hangs loose on me, brushing the tops of my thighs and hiding the shorts underneath.

“Finally, we’re back home,” I say quietly as I walk up to him, sliding my arms around his waist from behind.

“So you wanted me alone with you.” I can hear the smirk in his voice.

I release him and move to stand beside him, leaning against the counter. He’s stirring the soup with slow, unhurried strokes, and yes he’s smirking.

I shrug, watching him. “Yes, I wanted you alone. With me.”

That makes him finally look at me. The smirk fades as his gaze travels from my thighs back to my eyes.

“What?” I ask, holding his stare.

He inhales sharply, swallows, and looks back at the pot.

I frown. Why is he looking away? That’s not the reaction I expected.

“Let me help,” I say, stepping closer.

“It’s fine. I’ve got it. Go sit.” His voice sounds steady, but his breathing is heavier now.

Oh. So he’s affected.

I touch his forehead, leaning in. He swallows hard.

“Are you okay, Rudra?” I whisper, just to push him.

His eyes flick to mine for a few seconds. “Step back,” he says. “I’m telling you for your own good.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?” I trace my fingertip along his jaw, tilting my head. “Because now I really want to know what happens if I don’t.”

He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and lets out a low sound, half a groan, half a sigh. Then, he drops the spoon, and in one smooth motion, his hands clamp around my waist. Before I can react, he lifts me onto the counter making me gasp.

His hands slide to my bare thighs, fingers tightening as he spreads them without warning. He steps between my legs, and when his hands grip my hips and pull me closer, my whole body ends up pressed against his.

“Woah…” My voice wavers. “Looking at you, I should’ve guessed you’d be rough.”

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he mutters.

I shrug, feigning innocence. “Doing what?”

His fingers move to my throat not squeezing, just holding and he draws my face closer. His voice drops to a whisper near my cheek. “You don't know what you’re doing to me?”

A small, secret smile tugs at my lips. I push at his chest lightly. “I don’t want your hands on me.”

He arches a brow but braces his palms on either side of me, leaning in until I’m caged without being touched. “I don’t have to touch you to leave you breathless, Pearl.”

I scoff. “You’re full of yourself. But go on prove it. I’d love to see you lose that confidence for once.”

Sometimes it’s almost funny to watch his self control fray.

He leans in until there’s barely an inch between us, his eyes locked on mine. His breath is warm against my face. “Do you remember that day at the fair?” he asks. “I told you then, if I ever fell in love with someone, I’d cage her rather than let her go.”

A flicker of unease ripples through me. There’s no smile, no softness in his expression. He’s not looking directly at my eyes but through me.

His voice unsettles me in a way shouting never could. His voice is soft, dangerously soft, nothing like the heavy baritone of men who try to dominate with volume. His softness isn’t gentle, it’s a velvet blade. Even when it turns husky, even when it dips low and rough near my ear, there’s still that quiet restraint, a leashed violence. He doesn’t need to shout, doesn’t need to slam a door or clench a fist or strike to command attention. He can dismantle me with a whisper. He leans close, that soft deep, raspy edge of his throat brushing against my ear, his warm breath grazing my skin, and suddenly my body isn’t mine anymore, it’s a trembling instrument he’s already tuned.

Those beautiful sepia eyes are worse than the voice. They don’t just watch, they consume. They hold me like a snake holds a bird, patient, unblinking, inevitable. I feel as though I could fall to my knees without him ever asking, because the gravity of him bends me. If most men are storms loud, destructive, Rudra is the undertow. A force you don’t even realize is dragging you out until you’re already too far from shore to fight. And that’s what he is to me, the undertow. A softness that feels like mercy but is actually power.

His words are always the final nail, sealing me into the altar where I’ve already laid myself down to worship him. When Rudra speaks, it isn’t just language it’s scripture. It isn’t a man talking, it’s something older, something raw and sovereign. Lord, he makes me remember God. Not the gentle God painted in temples but the one whispered about in old myths, the one who demands devotion and leaves you trembling when you’re chosen.

I am a lost cause. After Rudra, there’s no returning to who I was before. He’s ruined me in a way that feels almost holy. He’s not a man you fall in love with, he’s a man you fall into. A labyrinth, a storm, a slow drowning where you stop struggling because you’ve started to crave the water.

I want to tell him I love him. I want to pour it out of me and watch it fill his hands I want to tell him I crave him every second, every hour. But not now. Not after hearing what he said that day. I know this is the worst moment to confess. I don’t want him to mistake my love for pity. Because it isn’t a pity. My heart didn’t stumble, it chose. It chose him. This man. Only this man. 

I swallow hard. “Yes. I remember.”

“Don’t worry.” His voice drops to a whisper as he tilts his head toward my ear, close enough that his breath slides over my skin but he never actually touches me. “You’re not in a cage, Pearl. I don’t think like that anymore.”

A shaky breath escapes me.

“But,” he adds, “that doesn’t mean I won’t chain you to me if you dare to leave.”

I gulp hard. My heart is hammering so violently I can feel it in my throat.

“I gave you a choice to leave,” he says. “But you’re here, back with me. So now I hope you understand how I love. My love might look ruthless, terrifying, obsessive to others, Pearl, but for you…” His voice softens even more, a low rasp at the edge of my jaw. “…for you, my love will be the gentlest thing I’ll ever do till my last breath.”

My eyes close on their own. My fists clutch at the fabric of my shirt, needing something to hold onto.

“I’m a selfish man,” he continues. “I’m obsessive. With you. With your breath, your eyes, your lips, your voice, your whole damn existence. You don’t know how badly I need you. Whenever I look at you, I want to pull you into me until nothing is left between us. When you’re in my arms, I can’t stop myself from holding you tighter, digging myself deeper into you, feeling your skin against mine. My hands itch every time just to touch you, to feel you under my palms.”

“R… Rudra…” I whisper, my breath coming uneven as my chest rises and falls. I look up at him, searching his eyes, only to find he’s already watching me.

“To wait is to love,” he murmurs, “and I would rather wait forever than release you into a world where I no longer belong.”

My hands find his forearms and press into them, almost without thought.

I’ve read so many stories where men say, “You’re mine,” where they’re written as possessive and obsessive, protective to the point of madness. I used to think maybe, in a moment of weakness, I wanted that too, to be loved with that kind of intensity, to feel like someone’s entire world. But the idea of belonging to someone, of being owned, has always made me recoil. Love, yes. Possession, no.

And since I met Rudra, that difference has been clear. He has never once said “you’re mine.” He never needed to say them, not once. Until the day I found his journal and read the line he’d written there. And now, tonight, he’s spoken it aloud.

To wait is to love and I would rather wait forever than release you into a world where I no longer belong.

The same line. The same quiet promise. It sends a shiver through me because it carries his love and his obsession and his possessiveness all at once. But it doesn’t feel like possession. Not with him. Instead, it makes me want to move closer, not away. Maybe because Rudra has always known how to say things without making me feel small and trapped even when his intensity could crush me.

I don’t lose myself with Rudra. I choose myself and still choose him. And that, God help me, is why I keep falling harder. Because even at his most intense, even in his quietest claims, he never strips me of my will. He is effortlessly the man I didn’t know I needed.

“I can hear your heartbeat, sweetheart.”

His voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I blink, swallow the lump in my throat, and straighten my back. “Fine. You win,” I murmur, straightening a little.

“So I can touch you now?”

“What if I say no?” I arch an eyebrow, testing him.

He smirks and leans back just a little. “Then I’ll just make you crave me.”

Fucker I am already craving you.

I tighten my grip on his neck, sliding my legs around his waist and pulling him against me. His hands find my waist almost instinctively. “Rudra…” my voice softens, “you’re the only man I’ll ever choose over everyone, everything, even over myself.”

His eyes widen a little at that but I go on before I lose my nerve. “I’ve always been wary of touch. Even when it came from people I know. But you…” My thumb traces the edge of his jaw as my other hand cups his cheek, “you never forced anything on me. You’ve earned every inch of closeness. And whether you believe it or not, I need you just as much as you need me, maybe even more.”

I press myself a little closer to him, my forehead almost brushing his. “With you, it doesn’t feel like being touched. It feels like being held. And I didn’t even know how much I wanted that until you.”

He exhales and his fingers tighten at my hips. He drags me closer until there’s no space left and then his mouth finds mine.

I don’t hesitate. I kiss him back hard, my arms circling his shoulders. His pace quickens, his hands sliding down to my thighs and gripping hard. I gasp softly as his palms move from my thighs under my shirt to my waist, fingers squeezing my skin before traveling higher along the bare line of my back. My legs tighten around his waist and he bites my bottom lip, swallowing every sound that escapes me.

His lips break from mine only to trail down my cheek, along my jaw, and to my throat. My head tips back, eyes fluttering shut as the soft drag of his mouth burns a line of heat down my skin.

My hands thread into his hair, clutching, needing him closer. One of his fingers slips beneath my shirt sleeve, dragging it off my shoulder until one side of me is bare, my bra strap slipping into view. He stops just below my collarbone, just above the swell of my breast, and takes the skin between his lips, sucking gently, his tongue leaving slow circles that make my breath hitch. He bites down gently and I jolt, a small gasp escaping me.

A quiet whimper slips from me before I can stop it, my nails digging into his shoulders as heat pools in my stomach.

He comes back up to my face, breathing hard just like me. “You wear my shirt. You say things like that. And you really thought nothing would happen between us?”

I glance down at where his mouth had been and the red and brown bloom on my skin. I look back at him. “You gave me a hickey.”

“Looking at you like this…” he pauses, his thumb brushing the edge of my waist, “…makes me want to do far more than leave a hickey.” His hands slide to my hips, and before I can reply, he lifts me effortlessly from the kitchen counter and starts walking. Instinctively, my legs tighten around his waist, my fingers clutching at his shoulders.

“You can… if you want,” I murmur, my eyes fixed on his face.

He glances down at me, a quiet chuckle leaving his lips. “Later,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “Right now, you need to eat something.”

I roll my eyes. “Tumhari baatein to pehle bohot badi badi hua karti thi… 'Ye kar dunga, vo kar dunga'. Par jab sach mein mauka mila, tab peeche hat rahe ho?”

(You used to make such big promises. ‘I’ll do this, I’ll do that.’ But when the moment actually comes, you pull back.)

He laughs softly, setting me down on the chair at the dining table. He leans in, one hand braced on the backrest, his knuckles grazing under my chin, tilting my face up to his. “Karne ko toh mein bohot kuch kar du… tum batao, sambhal paogi?”

(I could do so much to you, the question is… can you handle it?)

I bite my lower lip, trying to hide the smile spreading across my face. Heat rises in my cheeks anyway. Gently, I press my palm against his chest, pushing him back just enough to catch my breath.

He smiles and pecks my nose. I smile back, but it fades instantly. “Rudra, the food—”

“Relax,” he says calmly. “I’ve already turned off the gas.” I let out a relieved sigh.

“I’ll be back with food,” he adds, heading back to the kitchen. I watch his broad back disappear and can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. He’s… perfect in ways I never expected. He cooks. He respects me. He loves me. Protects me. Stays by my side without needing to dominate every moment. He talks calmly, with that effortless control that makes you trust him instantly. And damn, he’s handsome so impossibly handsome, not just to women, but even some weirdo fucker like Kabir has the audacity to ogle him.

•NEXT DAY•

“It’s important to operate. The medicines aren’t going to help anymore,” I say gently, to the woman clutching her bag with trembling fingers. I write down a list of emergency prescriptions and the date and time for her surgery in the hospital file. Sliding it across the desk, I add, “This has all the information you’ll need.”

She takes the file with a small, resigned nod. “Thank you.”

“Try not to worry. I’ll do everything I can for you,” I tell her, hoping the reassurance lands.

A small smile flickers across her face before she nods again and leaves. I stretch my arms and roll my neck, a small yawn escaping before I hear another knock at the door.

“Come in,”

When I look up and see Rudra, my lips curve into an involuntary smile. I stand and walk to him as he steps inside, my brows lifting at the bouquets of flowers in his hands. “Flowers?” I ask, half smiling, half frowning at the sight. “You don’t have to do that now that we’re together,” I tease lightly, taking the bouquet from him.

“That’s exactly why I should,” he replies. “Now that we’re together, it’s more important to give you flowers every day and keep writing in my journal. At least this way you’ll know I’m not taking your forgiveness for granted.”

His words catch me off guard, softening something inside me. He reaches into his blazer and hands me the journal. I take it slowly, looking up at him as he speaks. “I’ll be groveling for the rest of my life for not reading that letter you were about to give me that day.”

I place the bouquet and the journal on my desk, taking a breath before facing him again. “This isn’t about forgiveness, Rudra. If anything, I did worse.” I meet his eyes. “I’m sorry for hurting you. For making you feel small. For throwing words at you that you didn’t deserve. I can’t even count how many things there are to apologize for.”

He steps closer, his arms sliding around my waist. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

I shake my head immediately. “Stop it. I know what I did, and it’s not fine. You shouldn’t just let things go like that. You didn’t even ask me to say sorry.”

I feel terrible because he truly humbled himself before me. He actually lowered himself, he grovelled. And the truth is I hurt him worse and I did it knowing exactly what I was doing. He once faltered in trusting me because of his scars, because of the weight of his past, and I condemned him for it. Yet when it was my turn, I didn’t just falter, I broke him in ways I never should have. And still… he fought for me. He earned his forgiveness. But me? I was given mine far too easily. It feels wrong, deeply wrong, that the balance is tilted like this. The only reason I stand here, held so gently by him, is because he loves me enough to let go of his pain.

But isn’t that unfair? Should love demand one person to bend until they break, while the other is spared the same cost? If forgiveness comes without struggle, without him asking anything of me, then it isn’t forgiveness, it’s sacrifice. His sacrifice.

“Because I don’t need your sorry. I’m fine as long as you’re with me.” he smiles.

If anything, it makes my chest tighten. Looking at him, I know he means it, yet it unsettles me. He’s so willing to forget his own dignity for the sake of holding on to me. And while a part of me melts at his devotion, another part aches because love shouldn’t cost him his self respect. Maybe that’s why Anvika could walk all over him because Rudra in love is the purest, most unguarded version of him, and that kind of innocence is rare but far too easy to hurt. I refuse to be another person who takes advantage of it. I promise myself, If I’m going to love him, then part of that love has to be teaching him that his self respect is not something he can trade away, not even for me.

“You’ve been staring at me a lot,” he says suddenly, a teasing curve to his mouth. “Ever since I woke up from the coma.”

I shrug. “So? I can. I’m your wife, after all.”

He chuckles softly, and I follow the movement of his throat, my eyes catching on the lipstick tattoo near his collarbone. “By the way, was that tattoo done by a woman or a man?”

His eyebrows lift. “Who do you think?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking, stupid,” I deadpan, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Are you jealous?” His mouth curves into a half smile as he pulls me closer.

“Hell yes. If it’s a woman, of course I’d be jealous,” I scoff.

“Relax.” His palm rubs gently along my back. “It was Avyaan.”

I blink at him, thrown. “Avyaan? He’s a tattoo artist?”

He nods casually. “He’s more than that. He’s a well known artist and sculptor.”

My jaw parts in disbelief. “Avyaan is an artist? And a sculptor? You’ve got to be kidding me.” I shake my head, still trying to process. “But I’ve never heard of him as some great painter.”

He sighs, shaking his head with quiet amusement. “Name one painter you know.”

I open my mouth, ready to throw out a name, but it snaps shut just as quickly. I can’t. Not a single one. Heat rushes to my face as I look away, embarrassed.

He gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “See? You don’t know any, and that doesn’t make them any less great. It just means you’re not in that world. But the people who are? They know how renowned Avyaan really is.”

I nod slowly, looking at him. “And in all of this, you’re making me feel dumb.”

He blinks, stops caressing my cheek, and tilts his head. “Am I?”

I nod, and he presses a soft kiss to my forehead before looking back at me. “Tell me, California is in which country?”

“USA,” I reply with a shrug.

“And the capital of the USA?” he presses.

“Washington, D.C.,” I answered looking at him confused.

He smiles. “See? You got everything right. You’re not dumb.”

I stare at him for a moment, processing it all, and then a small laugh escapes me. “But why only California and the USA? Not India?”

He shrugs casually. “Because you used to live there. I figured you’d know that for sure, and maybe not know as much about India.”

A laugh slips out again, shaking my head. “So you deliberately asked about the USA just so I could get it right?”

Before I can react further, his hand cups my cheek, and he pecks my lips softly. “Even if you got it wrong,” he whispers, “it would still be the right answer.”

I laugh again. How infuriatingly adorable he can be. “By the way… it’s kind of weird that Avyaan is an artist. I mean, look at him he’s so… misanthropic. His statements are controversial. I don’t see how he could paint or sculpt.”

He shakes his head. “He’s really good at it,” he says softly, zoning out for a moment before looking back at me. “I’ve known him since childhood. Believe me, he’s not as bad as he seems. Reserved, maybe. Cold, sometimes. Introverted. But not bad. Circumstances shape people more than we think.”

I nod slowly. Of course. Who else could understand that better than me?

“So, if we look closely,” I say, tilting my head, “Abhimaan is really famous in his Drift league, Kabir is this genius with tech, Avyaan is an accomplished artist and sculptor…” I pause, raising a brow at him. “And you… I guess you’re just a businessman. No other hobbies?”

He presses his lips together, suppressing a smile, and looks down for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “The hobby I have…you love it too.”

I blink at him, confused.

He straightens, pecking my forehead and lips lightly. “Okay, I should go. I have to get back to the cartel. Khalid is on duty for your protection.”

“Ru!”

We both startle at the voice, and I glance toward the entrance to see Dhriti standing there in her school uniform, eyes wide, a bright, unstoppable smile on her face.

Rudra’s lips curl into a soft smile, and she runs to him, throwing her arms around his legs. He bends to his knees, wrapping her up in a hug, and I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips.

“I missed you, Ru,” she murmurs, her voice muffled against him.

She finally lets go and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “Are you okay?” she asks in that little, earnest voice she has.

He nods and returns the gesture, kissing her cheek gently. I notice the faint blush rising on her face, and I raise my brows, catching her glance as she flicks them toward me, then back to him.

“I gave chocolates to Coldie for you. Did she give them to you?” she asks, fidgeting slightly.

Rudra chuckles softly. “Of course, I ate your chocolates, Princess. They were delicious.”

Her shoulders slump in relief, and she flips her ponytail with a dramatic little sigh. “Thank God. I thought she might have eaten them herself.”

I glare at her lightly. “Shut up.”

“Both of you calm down,” he says.

“As you say, Ru,” she replies obediently, the mischievous light in her eyes undimmed. I watch her in disbelief. She’s stubborn, relentless, a little terror at times but right now, she’s perfectly calm because he asked. Mini monster or not, she really listens to him.

Rudra stands, ruffling her hair fondly, and turns to me. “I’ll go now. Take care.” He presses a quick kiss to my cheek, and I nod.

“Goodbye, Princess,” he says to Dhriti. She waves at him, returning the smile with one all her own.

Before he walks out, he glances at me, tilts his head, and winks. I chuckle quietly, shaking my head as he leaves.

You love Ru, right?”

My eyes snap to her. “Do you even know what love means?” I raise my brows.

She smirks, a little sarcastically, and tries to perch on the edge of a chair, legs dangling in midair. “Coldie, help!”

I laugh hard, watching her flop halfway onto the chair. I step over and gently push her fully onto it. She lets out a relieved sigh, reaches for the bottle hanging around her neck, takes a long drink, and caps it again. “Well… I know a little about love,” she says, her eyes glinting shyly. “Because I… kind of like Ru’s friend.”

I frown, confused. “Ru’s friend?”

Her excitement is obvious as she nods eagerly. “The one with blue eyes.”

“Avyaan?” I scoff.

She nods furiously. “He’s so handsome, and his eyes… they’re really beautiful. And he smiles at me too.” She giggles, showing her gums.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Wow. You really have a terrible taste in men. I hope as you grow up, you’ll get a better idea of what to look for.”

She scrunches her nose, offended and adorable at the same time.

“Anyway… where’s your mumma?” I ask, glancing toward the door.

“She stopped to talk to her friend near the reception,”

I turn back to my desk and notice Rudra’s phone lying there.

He forgot it.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.” I grab the phone and step out, moving quickly to catch up with Rudra.

AUTHOR'S POV

Rudra steps out of the hospital and immediately spots Avyaan leaning against his car, his eyes fixed on his iPad.

“Let’s go,” Rudra says, reaching for the car door.

“Rudra!”

He stops at the sharp call and turns to see Saanvi jogging toward him, her hair bouncing and breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. His brow furrows. She reaches him, chest rising and falling rapidly. He instinctively rubs her back. “Who told you to run?” he asks, concern threading his voice.

She slows, finally catching her breath, and hands him his phone. He takes it with a quiet sigh. “You okay?”

She nods. “Okay then. Goodbye,” she says, stepping back slightly. Rudra lifts her hand, and presses a gentle kiss to the back of it. She blushes and looks down, tapping her heels shyly on the pavement.

From the side, Avyaan watches with a lazy, bored expression, internally cringing at their little display.

“Okay… go now,” She giggles.

“I’ll miss you,” Rudra says.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lightly slaps his chest. “Come on, it’s just a few hours.”

Before Rudra can lean closer, Avyaan's knuckles tap the hood of the car, snapping their attention.

“Show this cringe show to your house staff. Now, back to work,” he says, and Saanvi’s smile falters as she shoots him a glare.

She turns back to Rudra and offers a small smile. “Bye.” She waves repeatedly as she steps back without turning around. Rudra waves back, a quiet smile lingering on his face. Suddenly, while walking she stumbles slightly, and Rudra straightens, ready to move toward her, but she raises a palm. “I’m fine,” she says, slightly embarrassed, glancing around before finally turning around and continuing toward the building.

Rudra watches her walk inside, her confidence returning as she tosses him a flying kiss. He chuckles quietly, hiding his smile behind the back of his hand.

“Can’t believe grown ups are doing this bullshit,” Avyaan mutters from the side, making Rudra glance at him.

“When you’re in love, you do things like this,” Rudra replies with a smirk. “I thought by now you’d understand.”

Avyaan shoots him a sharp glare.

Rudra sighs. “Stop it, Avyaan. Not every woman is Anvika. Some are like my Pearl.”

Avyaan stares at him blankly before looking away.

“I’m saying this because my past relationship, they’ve shaped a lot of your opinions about women,” Rudra continues. “If the chance comes, don’t throw it away. I don’t know if Kabir will ever agree, but this one, it’s on you.”

“We’re getting late,” Avyaan says, turning to walk toward the car. Rudra watches him go, sighing quietly before sliding into the seat himself.

•At the cartel•

“Finally. Volkaris is back.”

Rudra hears Kabir’s voice as soon as he steps inside, Avyaan’s presence close behind. Silas studies the photographs pinned to the board and glances up at him. “How is your health?” he asks. Rudra nods once in acknowledgement.

Abhimaan pulls open the black cabinet, takes out a box, and sets it on the table. “Here are your tools. Get back to work,” he says. Rudra looks at the toolbox and nods.

“Where is he?” he asks.

“In the interrogation room,” Avyaan replies. Rudra strips off his blazer and tosses it on a chair, rolling his sleeves up with slow, deliberate movements. He picks up the toolbox and follows the others toward the room.

Inside, a man tied to a chair, ropes cutting into his wrists. Tape mutes his mouth, he trembles and weeps, tears tracking clean lines down his face. Rudra crosses the room and with a hard, quick motion rips the tape away. The man gasps, blinking into the light.

“Why did you kidnap me?” the man cries out.

“Tapish Bansal,” Rudra says, opening the toolbox. “Son of Yashwant Bansal.” Tapish's teary eyes flick from Rudra to Avyaan, to Silas, to Abhimaan, to Kabir then back to Rudra.

“I will ask you a few questions. You answer, or—” Rudra lifts a pair of pliers between his fingers. The tool gleams in the overhead light.

Tapish’s pupils dilate. “No… no, please.”

“Your father runs a human trafficking ring. You know that? How does he move people? who moves the money? which cops are paid?” Rudra asks.

Tapish swallows hard and nods. “I know he runs a human trafficking ring. But please—listen—”

“Quiet.” Rudra’s command cuts him off. “Say what you are asked.”

Silas exhales and shakes his head. “Let him speak,” he says.

Tapish glances at the pliers, then forces himself to meet Rudra’s eyes. “I do know,” he says. “My father is a monster. But my mother and I are his victims too. Kidnap me and threaten him? You will not make him surrender. He does not care.”

Rudra leans back slightly in disbelief. “And you expect us to just take your word for it?”

Tapish swallows hard looking at Rudra. “Rudra Singhania, right? Husband of Saanvi. I know what happened to her. I heard it all from my mother, how Yashwant and his men treated her and her mother… the brutality she faced.”

Rudra’s calm breaks in an instant. He stands, pivots, and punches Tapish squarely, yanking him by the collar. “Still blind to the world like Saarth,” he snaps.

Tapish shakes his head frantically. “I’m not like him. I accept I’m weak, I’m not strong but I am not Saarth.”

Rudra releases him with a harsh jerk. Kabir steps in, placing a steadying hand on Rudra’s shoulder. “How exactly are you and your mother victims of Yashwant?” he asks.

Tapish’s lips wobbling as tears slip down his cheeks. “My mother… she was sold into trafficking. Yashwant found her there and took her for himself. He forced himself on her every night, abused her in every way possible verbally, mentally, physically. And I… I am the result of that.”

The room goes still. Everyone exchanges glances, slightly taken aback.

Avyaan frowns. “Why didn’t you try to escape? At any point?”

Tapish looks down, struggling against the ropes. “The moment she was brought to Yashwant’s house, my mother tried to run. They caught her. He beat her so badly that she almost died. After I was born, when I was six, we tried again. We hid for days, but she decided we needed help, so she went to the police… but they were with him. They told him where we were. We were dragged back into hell. And it got worse.” His voice cracks. “He sent my mother to a brothel for a month. Then he loaned her to his friends. There were four of them, they… they violated her. She ended up in the hospital. After that… we never tried to run again. We knew no one could help us.”

Rudra looks at Silas, who exhales slowly.

“What a disgusting creature,” Kabir mutters, rubbing his face and turning away.

Avyaan exhales, shoulders slumping slightly as he looks at Tapish.

Abhimaan takes a steady breath and moves toward Tapish, his hand reaching for the rope. Before he can touch it, Rudra’s grip clamps down on his wrist. His eyes burn with disbelief.

“Have you lost your mind?” Rudra scoffs. “Don’t let your heart screw with your head, Abhimaan. What if he’s playing us? He’s Yashwant’s son. He knows too much about us already. You cut him loose, he runs straight back to his father, and we’re finished.”

Tapish keeps his head down, his shoulders shaking in fear and pain. Silent tears fall onto his lap.

Abhimaan yanks his arm free. “He tried to report Yashwant to the police. Why the hell would he do that if he wanted to stay under him? Use your brain, Rudra.”

Rudra drags a hand over his face, exhaling hard. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture. Trust isn’t a gift in this world. You put faith in the wrong man, and it buries all of us.”

“Enough.” Abhimaan cuts him off. “We both know what Yashwant is capable of. We’ve seen it. Your wife’s mother is proof of what that monster does. And you still want to act like this is some hypothetical?”

“So your grand plan is to untie him, let him walk out, and pray to God he doesn’t whisper a word to Yashwant? That’s what you’re selling me right now?” Rudra asks.

“I won’t,” Tapish blurts out, lifting his head, his eyes wet and desperate. “I swear on my mother’s life, I won’t. Just give me a chance. If you want, if you let me, I’ll cooperate. I’ll give you what you need. My mother and I will help. I’ll do anything to get out. We just want one thing, to cut Yashwant out of our lives.”

The room falls into silence. Their eyes shift to Tapish, measuring him like a hand of cards laid on the table.

Rudra finally steps back, moving to stand beside Kabir, frustration simmering under his skin.

Silas, who has been watching in silence, finally speaks. “Leave him.”

Rudra and Kabir both whip their heads toward him, disbelief written across their faces.

“Really?” Rudra lets out a short, humorless laugh. “I thought you were the one who preached that emotions have no place in a cartel. Or was that just for the rest of us?”

Silas doesn’t bite back. He just exhales, eyes locked on Tapish for one last long moment, before turning and walking out of the room without another word.

They all follow him out of the interrogation room and stand in a loose ring under the fluorescent lights, the noise of the cartel’s headquarters settling into a low, restless hum. Rudra drops onto a chair and digs his fingers into his temple. “Who’s the idiot who kidnapped him?” he asks, more tired than angry.

All eyes turn to Kabir.

Rudra scoffs. “Of course.”

Kabir shrugs, leaning against the metal cabinet with the easy posture of someone who’s learned to absorb blame. “At least I did something.”

“Bohot meherbani apki.” (Very charitable of you) Abhimaan replies blankly.

“We asked you to take Saarth, Kabir. Not him.” Rudra says.

Kabir rubs the back of his neck. “Tumhara Saarth Eid ka chaand ban gaya, janab.” he shrugs. “I figured Tapish might know shit too. If he’s Yashwant’s kid, maybe he has some info. So yeah, we grab him instead.”

Rudra folds his hands and leans back until the chair creaks. “I just want Yashwant in the interrogation room himself.”

“And then?” Avyaan asks. “Kill him? What about justice for Saanvi’s mother? Do you think killing a man makes the truth visible? If we just eliminate him, his story dies with him. No exposure, no legal record, nothing to counter the denials. We need proof, not revenge.”

Rudra’s jaw tightens. He watches the row of weapons along the cabinet tools that promise immediate answers if he wanted them and feels the raw pull of it. Kill Yashwant, end it, make it simple. But he also knows Avyaan is right. There is a strategy in this, and fury is not the same thing as plan.

Avyaan further adds. “Think tactically Rudra. Sure, we can kill him. It’s simple. But If we want justice for Saanvi’s mother, we need the world to see his face and the receipts proving it. That’s how you dismantle a system. That’s how you make sure this doesn’t just start again with someone else.”

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