Vanshika

The sky had turned the colour of old bruises  heavy black clouds swallowing the edges of the sun. It was nearly five, but the world felt like evening already, as if the day itself wanted to hide. I crept back to the door, the saree heavy and damp against my legs, my ankle screaming with every small step. Still, I moved.

I knocked once  a soft, hopeful tap. Then again, a little louder. My voice came out thin and controlled when I called, “Bhaiya? Kya aap thoda paani la sakte ho, please?” My throat closed on the lie — I didn’t really want water. I wanted anyone to answer. I wanted someone to open the door and be human.

For a few long seconds: nothing. The hush in the corridor was absolute; even the mansion seemed to be holding its breath. I turned to go back to the bed, the small defeated shuffle of footsteps that felt like surrender, when the door swung open.

A man in uniform filled the doorway, his face half turned away, eyes cast down like he didn’t want to meet me. I tried to keep my voice steady. “Please… I need water” I forced a smile that I hoped looked harmless.

He said, without looking up, “Madam, ek do minute rukiye. Guard aake dega.” His voice was flat, trained. Not cruel  just obedient. I realized his eyes stayed lowered on purpose. He knew who he was dealing with. He’d been taught to avoid me .

My pulse hammered. I scanned him and saw it: the gun at his belt, the metal glinting like a promise. I don’t know why the thought came so cleanly  maybe some stubborn part of me that refused to be powerless  but I heard my own plan form like a small, dangerous song.

I moved closer, pretending to huddle for warmth or pain. He stood half-turned to the corridor, his attention already drifting outward. I could be in and out before he even understood. I could take the gun, bluff my way through, run.

I can still feel my palms shaking when I reached for it. I didn’t know how guns worked  I had only seen them in movies but I had seen enough to know the weight of one could make people move.

My fingers closed on the grip. For a second a thousand things slammed in my head: my mother’s face, my family, Arjun's smirk that might be gone for now, the mangalsutra on the marble counter. Then I shoved the man backward and before he could shout, I had the gun pointed at his temple.

“Move,” I breathed, voice thin but steady. “Hurry. Don’t make a sound.” My mouth felt foreign with the words. The man’s eyes widened; he moved like a puppet with the right string pulled  just a small step, as if obeying would save him.

I slipped out. The corridor swallowed me, the marble cool under my bare feet. I took no pride in what I’d done fear had been the loudest engine but my hands steadied, just enough.

Downstairs, light bled from the dining room where they were preparing. A maid was arranging flowers on a table, humming softly, innocent in a world that had turned monstrous for me. My body seared with a rush of ugly resolve.

I spun toward her, grabbed her by the shoulders, shoved until she faced me, and pressed the barrel to the side of her head. The gun felt heavier than I imagined; my heart pounded so loud I thought the woman would hear it, and then scream. Instead her eyes went huge and wet, and she went rigid with fear.

“Don’t scream,” I hissed. My voice tore out of me. “You hear me? Don’t make a sound or I’ll — I’ll shoot.” The words left me like knives. I wanted to vomit. The maid’s hands fluttered uselessly at her chest; she couldn’t move.

The dining room fell into a silent freeze. Someone tried to reach for a phone. Another maid stilled mid-step. I felt like a stranger watching my own hands wave a monstrous thing around.

Then, impossibly, Rudraansh walked in.

He didn’t burst through the doorway like a man who owned the night. He walked calmly, as if entering a room on a quiet afternoon. He sat down on his chair with the same unhurried grace he had used to order my life. The cigarette smoke from earlier clung faintly to the air behind him. He didn’t seem surprised. He didn’t even look alarmed.

My throat closed. For a heartbeat I considered firing  just one shot into the air, a warning that would tear everything wide open. But can you imagine firing a gun in his house? The sound would carry; it would wake sleeping beast; it would bring death closer.

Some of the guards started moving toward me just two steps, cautious, professional. Fear flared so hot it blurred my vision. I squeezed the gun tighter. “Back!” I barked, because it sounded stronger than anything I’d felt. The maid’s breath hitched. The guards paused.

One of them took another step  only half-committed  and my hand reacted before thought. I pulled the trigger.

The report was deafening inside the confined space, a violent, impossible crack that threw my bones like stones. For a second there was nothing but ringing and a hot smell of burnt powder. I watched the guard stagger and then saw the bullet had torn into the plaster above him, dust and a shower of small white flakes raining down.

It missed. It didn’t even graze him.

I felt tears spring into my eyes — not only from the recoil and the noise, but the humiliation. I had wanted control; I had wanted leverage; instead I had made a loud statement and failed. The guard recovered faster than I expected, adrenaline sharpening his movements. He dove low, hand going for his radio.

Rudraansh didn’t move. He sat like a statue, legs spread, one hand lazily resting on the arm of the chair . He looked at me as if I was a child throwing a tantrum. The way his gaze cut through me was colder than the gun in my hand.

“Put down the weapon,” he said quietly. Not an order shouted, not a threat. Quiet, final, like a verdict.

My fingers cramped on the grip. The room tilted. The maid sobbed quietly infront of me. The guards moved faster now, encircling, not yet attacking  professional, not cruel.

I had to make a decision in the span of heartbeats that stretched like miles. Run with a gun and fail spectacularly, or surrender and face whatever he decided to do next.

I flicked the safety, for the first time not knowing if that had done anything at all. The gun felt absurd in my hand and monstrous at the same time.

“Drop it,” someone ordered  not Rudraansh, one of the senior guards, voice steady and practiced.

My knees trembled. My throat felt like sand. I wanted to scream, to beg, to try again and be braver and smarter  but my body betrayed me

My fingers clenched around the grip as the voice told me to drop it. The word felt like an order from some far-off world. But I wasn’t done. Not yet.

“No,” I spat, my voice shaking but loud. “If any of you even think of moving— I will kill this woman.” My words were jagged, desperate, the gun wobbling in my hand. The maid sobbed; her face was white as paper. I heard the guards' boots freeze.

I threw my head toward Rudraansh, fury burning through the panic. “Mr. Thakur  tell your men to stand down! Move a step and I swear—” I didn’t finish the sentence. My lips trembled, my throat raw.

He looked at me. Like he always did: slow, unblinking, like he had all the time in the world to watch me unravel. For a second he didn’t answer — then his mouth quirked in the faintest, most horrible half-smile.

“You want them to move?” he asked softly, almost amused. “You want me to obey you?”

I didn’t wait for him to respond. “Let me go. Now. Or I’ll—” I raised the gun a fraction so the barrel pressed harder to the maid’s temple. My hands were trembling so badly that it felt unreal.

Before I could finish, Rudraansh’s chair scraped. He rose as if from a long stretch. Calm, deliberate. Everything in me screamed that something was wrong. Even the guards stilled like statues carved from ice.

His movement was a slow, controlled storm. He didn’t shout. He didn’t rush. He simply lifted his hand a small, almost casual motion  and the room went quieter than it had been a second before. The cigarette smoke curled at the window like a phantom.

Then the sound ripped the air: a single gunshot, sharp and final.

The maid dropped as if her legs had been cut out from under her. The barrel of my gun felt impossibly heavy in my hands, and for a breathless second I thought I had missed....no, the sound was different . I turned and saw her on the floor, motionless, the life having leeched from the room into an ugly stillness. Blood matted her shoulder ; the maid’s eyes were blank with shock. The world narrowed to the terrible, single fact of it.

My knees nearly buckled. The gun slipped and clattered from my slack fingers to the marble  the noise of it seemed obscene in that hush. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I could only hear my heart hammering like a furious animal. Then I look at him standing there with a gun , the gun smoke is still coming out of it and then he deliberately place it in his waistband.

And my mind screamed he...he ...shoot...her ... Oh god....he....shot...his ...own people.....

Rudraansh didn’t flinch. He didn’t hurry to her. He stood perfectly calm, a statue made of ice and control. For a moment, there was no sound but my ragged breathing  then he said, with that cold, unhurried voice that felt like it belonged to winter itself:

“You wanted to run away, right? Go. Run. Jab thak jaogi, tab ruk jana. Theek hai? Main lene aajaunga.”

(“You wanted to run away, right? Go — run. When you get tired, stop. Okay? I’ll come pick you up.”)

His words were not an offer. They were a verdict. I felt the world tilt and the smell of smoke and powder and something metallic filled my mouth. The maid lay still; someone else was already calling for a doctor, but the sound seemed far away, like underwater.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip him apart with my bare hands. Instead my limbs moved on their own  one clumsy step, then another  driven not by courage but by the raw, instinctive need to get away from the man who had just shown me how little my threats meant.

But his voice followed me like a shadow. “Run,” he said again quietly, as if giving me permission to fail. “Run, Mrs. Thakur.”

My legs burned. My breath stuttered. The corridor opened and I fled  not toward freedom, but into a deeper, darker part of the house where escape might still mean death. All I could feel was the scream trapped in my chest and the searing truth that anything I tried would be measured against the coldness of that man who’d just taken a life in the blink of an eye.

.

.

.

The rain had started to spit against the dark clouds, but I barely noticed. The sound of thunder rolled over the sky like a warning, echoing through the empty road. My bare feet throbbed against the wet pavement, every step sending lightning pain up my ankle.

I ran. I had to run. My saree pallu whipped behind me like a banner of desperation, soaked with sweat and dust and a little blood from the fall earlier. My lungs burned. My throat was raw from screaming at the darkness. My tears mixed with the drizzle, streaking my face as if the storm outside was mocking me.

“Bas… bas mat rukna, Vanshu… ankle… ank… doesn't matter, bus… bus bhagna,” I gasped to myself, words breaking apart with each sob and step.

The stone beneath me betrayed me  I slipped, my ankle twisting violently. I hit the ground hard, scraping my palms, my face pressed against the cold, wet asphalt. Pain screamed through me, like fire and ice at the same time.

I howled, bitter and small, tears flowing freely. I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t move. I wanted to curl into myself and let the world swallow me whole. But even in that despair, a stubborn, stubborn part of me refused to give up.

I forced my hands to the ground. I pressed my weight painfully on my good leg and slowly, agonizingly, got to my feet. Each step was a battle. My ankle throbbed, raw and swollen. My muscles screamed. My lungs begged for air. But still, I moved forward.

Night was creeping over the horizon, swallowing the last streaks of orange and gold from the sky. Shadows stretched long and dark across the road, yet I didn’t care. Nothing mattered but moving away from that house from him, from that nightmare, from the suffocating terror that had almost crushed me.

Then, suddenly, a black shape appeared in front of me. My eyes squinted through the gloom, heart hammering. A car. A sleek, black Mercedes, parked at a slant on the side of the road. Its polished surface reflected the dim light of the stormy evening.

And leaning against the hood, like he had been waiting for me, was a man. Tall, broad, calm. I didn’t know him. But the moment I saw him, my heart thudded harder, in fear, in uncertainty, in exhaustion.

I froze mid-step. Every instinct in me screamed run, but my ankle screamed louder. I could barely lift my foot, could barely breathe. I staggered forward a few steps, clutching my sore ankle, and my gaze stayed locked on him.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Just stood there, watching. Calm. Unflinching. Almost… dangerous.

I tried to speak. “Please… I… I need help…” My voice was weak, cracked, barely a whisper against the thunder rolling overhead.

Tears blurred my vision, but I kept moving  slowly, painfully  toward the car. Every step felt like fire shooting through my ankle. My arms flailed slightly to keep balance. My saree clung to me, wet and heavy, making it even harder to move.

And still, the man didn’t flinch. Didn’t step forward. Didn’t smile. Didn’t say a word.

I staggered closer, my chest heaving, my ankle screaming with every step, and my mind screamed louder: Who is this? Can I trust him? Or is this another trap?

But at that moment, I didn’t have the energy to think about anything except reaching him… and staying alive.

The Mercedes, the man leaning casually on the hood, the storm overhead… it was all so unreal. Yet I had no choice but to move forward.

And as I took another painful step toward him, I whispered again to myself, trembling. " It's okay vanshu atleast try to ask him for help "

My legs felt like they were made of lead. Each step sent searing pain through my ankle, but somehow I dragged myself closer to the black Mercedes. The man leaning against the hood didn’t move an inch. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t shouting. He just watched, and it made my heart hammer like a drum in my chest.

I slowed, my breathing ragged, sweat and rain and tears mixing on my face. My hands clutched my ankle, trying to support myself. Who is he? I wondered. Why is he here? Is this… another trap?

“Please,” I gasped, voice barely above the storm. “P-please… help me…”

The man’s eyes lifted slowly. I felt like he could see straight through me  every tear, every sob, every terrified thought racing in my head. My chest tightened. I wanted to run, but my ankle screamed at me, and I stumbled forward.

He straightened slightly, the hood of the Mercedes shielding his face from the dim light. I noticed his hands  relaxed at his sides. Calm. Too calm. Dangerous calm.

I took another step. My ankle gave a sharp twist, and I stumbled, catching myself on the car. Pain shot through me, blinding. I bit my lip to stop the scream. My tears kept falling, but I forced my body to keep moving.

“Please… help me… I can’t… I can’t walk…” My voice broke, sobbing now, but I forced it to carry, hoping he would understand.

Finally, he moved. Just a step toward me, slow and deliberate. My heart leapt. Finally… someone who can help.

But even as he approached, I felt it  a shiver of unease crawling up my spine. There was something in the way he walked, in the way he measured each step, that made me hesitate. I lifted my hands slightly, not to threaten, but instinctively, like a shield.

“Don’t… don’t come too close,” I warned, voice trembling. “I… I can still—”

He stopped, and I froze. His gaze pinned me like a hawk sizing up its prey. I couldn’t read his face. I couldn’t tell if he was friend or foe. My chest heaved. My ankle throbbed, and the storm around us seemed louder than ever.

“I… I just....” I whispered, more to myself than to him. My mind was racing. What if he’s working with him? What if this is another trap?

The man leaned slightly closer now, and for the first time, I noticed the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips almost imperceptible, but it sent shivers down my spine. I took a cautious step back, clutching my ankle, and whispered again, “Please… don’t hurt me…”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t move forward or back. He just stood there, calm, tall, dangerous, and somehow… impossibly still.

I blinked through the tears, trying to catch my breath. My legs were shaking. My ankle screamed. My chest felt like it might explode. But one thought ran clearly through my mind: I had to survive. I had to keep moving.

Even if the man in front of me was some kind of angel or demon .... I can't stop. Rain dripped from my wet hair, my palu whipping around me like a flag of desperation. My chest heaved, my tears mixed with the drizzle, but I didn’t stop. I had to get out. Away from that mansion. Away from him. Away from everything.

His golden-brown eyes glinted like daggers in the dim evening light. I froze. My body told me to run, but my ankle betrayed me. I could barely lift my foot, and yet my heart screamed don’t let him see your fear.

He stepped forward suddenly. Not smoothly, not carefully  like a predator closing the distance on its prey. “So this is the runaway bride,or should I say Bhabhi ” he said, voice rough and low, almost cutting through the storm like steel. “And here I thought someone would actually think before acting. You’re lucky you’re not bleeding all over the road.”

I flinched. He… he knows? My hands instinctively went to my ankle. “I… I just—please… don’t hurt me,” I stammered.

His laugh was short, almost cruel. “Hurt you? Bhabhi, I haven’t even started. You want to throw a tantrum with a gun, and now you’re whining because your legs can’t hold you?” He took another step closer, the distance shrinking. My stomach churned. My chest tightened. My throat felt dry and raw.

“You… you’re—” I tried, voice shaking. “Who are you? Why… why are you here?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crouched slightly, measuring me like I was fragile glass. “I’m the one making sure you don’t die tonight,” he said finally, his tone sharp, almost biting. “And yet, somehow, you’re still trying to get yourself killed. Impressive… or stupid. Hard to tell which.”

I wanted to scream, to tell him he didn’t understand, that I wasn’t stupid, that I had survived the impossible back there. But my voice caught in my throat. I could barely stand. My ankle throbbed like fire, and every nerve in my body was screaming that this man—this terrifying, arrogant, powerful man—was not someone to cross.

He crouched closer, with a controlled force that made my breath hitch. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he said. “Otherwise, I’d probably drag you back myself and make you walk barefoot in the rain. Do you want to test me?”

My eyes widened, a shiver running through me. I wanted to deny it. I wanted to argue. But the truth: I didn’t know what he would do. I was terrified. Every instinct screamed to move back, to curl up, to cry.

He straightened suddenly, still looming over me, arms crossed. “Don’t bother looking around for anyone to save you. No one’s coming. And even if they did… you’d only make it worse. You’re not clever. You’re desperate. And desperate people break fast.”

Tears blurred my vision. The thunder rolled overhead, the storm casting everything in silver shadows and flashes of darkness. I pressed my hands to my face for a moment, trying to catch my breath. My ankle screamed, my legs shook, but I forced myself to keep standing.

I stumbled backward instinctively as he approached, my ankle screaming with every step. My chest heaved, my palms pressed to my sore legs, and I kept my gaze fixed on the ground. My mind screamed at me to keep moving, to escape, to run—but my body betrayed me at every turn.

The man — stopped just short of me, giving me space. He didn’t touch me. Not even a hand on my shoulder. I realized then, with a shiver And yet, his presence was enough to terrify me.

“Try running again in this condition,” he snapped, voice rough but low, almost a growl. “You can’t. Just… stay still.”

I shook my head, panic surging. “I—I have to… I need to go…” I tried to step backward, but the uneven road made me stumble. Pain shot up my ankle like lightning.

He didn’t move to stop me physically. He just stood there, dangerous and towering, watching me, letting me realize that any wrong step could be fatal. I swallowed, teeth gritted, but my fear didn’t lessen.

I turned sharply, forcing myself to walk in the opposite direction, hobbling painfully on my injured ankle. Each step was agony, but I forced myself forward. The wind whipped through my wet hair, my saree clinging to me like a second skin, and the stormy evening sky seemed to close in around me.

Then I froze. Three cars suddenly appeared in front of me, slamming to a halt. My chest tightened. My heart thudded like a war drum.

The first car — a Defender — came to a stop just ahead. Its dark, polished frame reflected the stormy clouds above. And then I saw him.

Rudraansh.

Stepping out of the car with that cold, possessed look on his face.

His eyes locked on me, taking in every detail — the torn saree, the wet hair plastered to my face, my trembling body. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even blink for a second. But the intensity of his gaze made my knees weaken.

I stumbled backward, the fear crawling up my spine. I wanted to flee, to crawl away, to disappear—but my ankle protested violently, almost buckling under me.

And then it happened. Something small, slick, caught under my foot. I slipped, my body tipping forward, and I gasped, panic surging in my chest. My arms flailed, trying to find something, anything, to hold onto.

Before I could hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around me. They lifted me with terrifying strength, securing me in a way that made my heart thump wildly in both fear and disbelief.

I froze, looking up into the cold, intense face above me. Rudraansh. My body went rigid, and for a moment I couldn’t even breathe. The storm around us, the wind, the rain — it all disappeared in the sharp clarity of his presence.

“You’re lucky I’m in a merciful mood,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, yet with a hint of that possessive edge that made my stomach clench. “One more step like that… and you’d be paying for it.”

I shivered violently, not from the rain, not from the cold, but from the sheer force of being in his grasp. My mind screamed in confusion, fear, and something else I couldn’t name yet.

I wanted to struggle. I wanted to pull away. But I was utterly, painfully aware that I had no chance. Not in my condition. Not with him. Not ever.

And yet, somewhere deep in my chest, even through the terror, a thought whispered: he caught me… he didn’t let me fall…

For a few seconds, the world blurred.

The thunder roared above, wind whipped through my hair, and rain began to fall in sharp, uneven drops  but none of it could drown the sound of my own heartbeat.

He held me firmly, one arm under my knees, the other behind my back. The warmth of his chest against my soaked saree made my breath hitch. I tried to move, to push him away, but he didn’t even flinch.

“Let me go…” My voice trembled. “I said let me go!”

His jaw tightened  that was the only sign he’d even heard me. His expression didn’t change; it was cold, unreadable. He didn’t waste words this time. He just carried me toward the car as if my struggles were nothing but air.

He said “ Suryansh ”

Suryansh opened the backseat door without a word, his face grim, eyes flicking between us once and then away, like he knew better than to interfere.

Rudraansh bent slightly and placed me down gently on the leather seat. The scent of smoke and rain clung to him. His fingers brushed my arm for the briefest second not intentionally, maybe  but it sent a shiver through me all the same.

Before I could move, his voice cut through the silence  low, commanding, and final.

“Don’t. Move.”

I froze. Something in the way he said it made my breath stop mid-air.

He leaned slightly closer, his eyes burning into mine. “You’ve done enough damage for one day,” he murmured. “Be grateful I’m not teaching you a lesson right here.”

My throat tightened, tears stinging my eyes again. “Why are you doing this?” I whispered, the words breaking. “Why can’t you just let me go?”

For the first time, his expression flickered. A muscle in his jaw clenched, and then his voice came  soft, but far more dangerous.

“Because I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

My lips parted, but no sound came out. His eyes lingered on me for another heartbeat  long enough for me to feel the storm that lived behind them  and then he pulled the door shut.

Through the tinted glass, I watched him walk around the car. Every step was calm, measured, terrifyingly in control. The rain had started to pour harder now, soaking his shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He slid into the front seat, started the engine, and the Defender behind us followed. Suryansh’s car, maybe. I didn’t care. I just stared out the window as the mansion walls came back into view, my reflection trembling in the glass wet hair, red eyes, bare face.

Every mile we drove, my heart sank a little lower. Every turn of the wheels dragged me back toward the cage I thought I had escaped.

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The I'd of insta is Eraya_24.