90. RAGE

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Aarush entered the hospital, his bright, charming smile lighting up the place like always.

Nurses and doctors around him greeted him, some rolling their eyes playfully, already used to his daily visits.

As he walked towards the reception, Daisy spotted him from a distance and immediately narrowed her eyes.

He grinned at her like an innocent troublemaker, and she crossed her arms, tapping her foot.

"Well, well, well," she muttered. "Back again?"

Aarush gasped dramatically. "Daisy, are you not happy to see me? You wound me."

She scoffed, flipping a file in her hands. "You're here every damn day. At this point, I should start charging you rent."

He chuckled. "What can I say? This place feels like home."

Daisy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Let me guess—you’re here for Mahira?"

"Obviously," he said, his smile never fading. "She wasn't at home, so I figured she'd be here. Where is she?"

Daisy sighed. "In her cabin. But don't you dare disturb her—she’s working."

Aarush grinned wider. "When do I ever disturb her?"

Daisy shot him a glare. "You want the list?"

Laughing, he walked off, waving a lazy hand at her. He headed toward Mahira’s cabin, his steps light, excitement buzzing in his chest at the thought of seeing her.

Reaching her door, he grabbed the handle and tried to push it open. But it wouldn’t budge.

He frowned. Was she not inside? Maybe she had left?

He was about to turn away when something caught his eye—a dark red stain smeared on the floor, just visible through the small glass panel beside the door, peeking through the curtain.

His breath hitched.

Red.

Blood.

His heart pounded as he stepped closer, his smile vanishing in an instant.

He barged through the door with his full strength.

Aarush’s body turned ice cold as he took in the sight before him.

Mahira.

Lying there, unconscious. Her small, fragile frame smeared with blood, her once-beautiful face marred with bruises, her lips slightly parted as if she had been crying, screaming—fighting.

And then—

A hand.

A disgusting, vile hand resting on her bare waist, her shirt pushed up just enough to reveal her soft skin beneath it.

Aarush’s breathing turned ragged as his eyes followed that hand, moving up—until they landed on the man it belonged to.

A stranger.

His pants open, shirt unbuttoned, his face twisted with a mixture of confusion and annoyance at being interrupted—yet that sickening lust still lingered in his gaze.

For a second, there was silence. A deadly, suffocating silence.

Aarush didn’t think. He didn’t breathe.

All he knew was that there was blood—Mahira’s blood—staining the floor, staining her soft, fragile body.

And then there was him. That disgusting piece of filth who dared to touch her.

Something in Aarush snapped.

With a deafening roar, he lunged, his fist colliding with the man’s jaw so hard that a sickening crack echoed through the room.

The man stumbled back, his mouth open in shock, but before he could react, Aarush grabbed him by his collar and slammed him against the desk.

"You touched her," Aarush growled, his voice unrecognizable. Low. Dangerous. Deadly.

The man coughed, blood spluttering from his lips, but Aarush didn’t stop.

His fist connected with his face again. And again. And again.

He didn’t care about the blood that now coated his knuckles, didn’t care about the pain shooting up his arm—because Mahira was covered in blood too.

The bastard had hurt her.

And Aarush would make sure he never touched another woman again.

The man gasped for air, scrambling for something—anything—to defend himself.

His hand closed around a glass paperweight, and in sheer desperation, he swung it.

Aarush didn't even flinch as it exploded at the side of his head. A warm trickle of blood dripped down his temple, but he didn’t stop.

With a feral snarl, he grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it until a loud snap filled the air.

The man screamed in agony, his body convulsing on the floor, but Aarush only saw red.

"You thought you could get away with this?" Aarush spat, punching him square in the ribs. "You thought you could lay your filthy hands on her and walk away?"

The man gasped, choking on his own blood, but Aarush was relentless.

He grabbed the collar of his already torn shirt and lifted him off the ground, slamming him down again with brutal force.

"ANSWER ME!" Aarush roared, his breath ragged, his body trembling with sheer rage.

The man coughed, barely able to lift his head, his swollen eyes blinking through the blood.

"You—won't—kill—me," he wheezed, a smug smirk curling on his busted lips. "You don’t—have the guts."

Aarush stilled.

Then—he laughed.

A dark, hollow sound that sent shivers down the man’s spine.

"Oh?" Aarush leaned in, his bloodied fingers tightening around his throat. "You really think I won't?"

The man gasped, clawing at Aarush’s grip, but the pressure only increased.

Aarush wasn’t thinking anymore.

All he could see was Mahira.

The terror she must have felt. The pain. The helplessness.

And this bastard had done that to her.

He deserved to die.

Aarush’s grip tightened. His fingers pressed harder, watching as the man's eyes started to roll back. Just a little more—just a little more—

A faint whimper.

His breath caught.

His gaze snapped to the side.

Mahira.

She was still unconscious, her body weak, her face twisted in pain even as she lay motionless.

But her lips trembled—her fingers twitched—like she was calling out to him.

Aarush froze.

Mahira needed him.

She needed him alive. Not a murderer.

His grip loosened, and the man gasped, greedily sucking in air. Aarush let go entirely, letting him fall back to the ground like the pathetic scum he was.

He didn’t deserve death.

He deserved to rot.

Aarush stood up, breathing hard, his entire body shaking from exhaustion and rage.

His hands, his clothes—everything was covered in blood, but he didn’t care.

He turned, his chest tightening painfully as he knelt beside Mahira.

Gently, so gently, he brushed her hair away from her bruised face.

"Mahira," he whispered, his voice breaking.

She didn’t respond.

Panic gripped him.

With trembling hands, he scooped her up into his arms, holding her against his chest as he staggered to his feet.

She felt so small, so fragile—his Mahira, who had always been so full of life, now limp in his embrace.

Aarush swallowed hard, his jaw clenching.

He wasn’t letting her go.

Not now. Not ever.

With one last murderous glance at the broken man on the floor, Aarush turned and stormed out of the room.

And this time, he would make sure Mahira was never hurt again.

Aarush’s voice boomed through the hospital corridors.

"DAISY!"

His desperate call sent chills down everyone’s spine, but it was Daisy who turned first—only to freeze in pure horror.

Her sharp eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat as she saw the horrifying sight before her.

Mahira.

Her small, fragile body lay limp in Aarush’s bloodied arms, her face pale, bruises marring her once flawless skin.

Her clothes were torn, soaked in crimson. The wound on her head bled freely, staining his shirt. The sight was nothing short of nightmarish.

For a second, the world around Daisy blurred.

But then—her instincts kicked in.

"STRETCHER! NOW!" she barked at the nearest staff, already rushing forward.

The entire hospital lobby fell into chaos. Nurses, doctors, and staff turned, their faces morphing from confusion to pure terror as they recognized the unconscious girl in Aarush’s arms.

Mahira.

The sweet, kind-hearted doctor. The girl who was like a younger sister to them all. Their chief.

Gasps filled the air. Some nurses covered their mouths in shock. Others sprinted toward them, their hearts racing with dread.

Aarush barely registered any of it.

His arms tightened around her as the stretcher arrived, his legs refusing to move, his heart screaming no—but Daisy's firm hand gripped his wrist.

"Aarush, put her down!" she demanded, urgency dripping from her voice.

His jaw clenched, his entire body stiff. His mind screamed at him to hold on, to not let her go, but Mahira’s soft breath against his chest was so weak.

If he didn't let go now—if he delayed even a second more—

With a sharp exhale, he forced himself to move.

He carefully laid her down on the stretcher, brushing a stray strand of blood-matted hair away from her face.

His fingers trembled as they lingered on her cheek for the briefest moment.

And then—they took her away.

Daisy and the other doctors rushed her into the OR, their voices urgent but distant in his ears.

The cold emptiness of his arms sent a shiver through him.

His hands curled into fists. Blood—her blood—stained his skin. His clothes. His soul.

And as he stood there, frozen, his heart pounding in his ears, one thought burned into his mind—

He was never letting this happen again.

Aarush’s body trembled with rage. His fists clenched so tight that his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood.

But he didn't care. The fire in his chest burned hotter, stronger.

His vision blurred red.

And then—he sprinted back to that room.

The moment he stepped inside, his eyes found him.

That disgusting, pathetic excuse of a man, still sprawled on the floor, groaning in pain.

His shirt was half-open, his face already swollen from the earlier beating.

But even in his disheveled state, there was still that look in his eyes. That sick, twisted smirk.

Something inside Aarush snapped.

With a roar, he lunged forward, grabbing the man by the collar and yanking him up.

"YOU TOUCHED HER?!" Aarush’s voice was dark, raw, almost unrecognizable.

His fist crashed into the man’s face.

A sickening crack echoed through the room as the man’s nose broke, blood splattering everywhere.

The man stumbled, clutching his face, but Aarush didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

Another punch.

Then another.

Each strike was fueled by the unforgivable.

The man screamed, but Aarush didn’t care.

She was unconscious.

She was bleeding.

She was broken because of him.

Aarush grabbed the man’s collar again, lifting him only to slam him back down on the cold, hard floor.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GET AWAY WITH THIS?!" His voice was deadly.

The man coughed, his lips stained red, but through his pain, he smirked again.

"What’s the big deal? Just a woman—"

Aarush lost it.

His knee slammed into the man’s gut, knocking the air out of him. His hands gripped the nearest object—a metal rod—and wham—it connected with the man’s ribs.

The man screamed.

But then—a sharp pain pierced through Aarush’s side.

His breath hitched.

He looked down.

A knife.

The man had stabbed him.

Again.

And then again.

But Aarush barely felt it.

Pain meant nothing right now.

Rage drowned it all.

He ripped the knife out himself, throwing it away before landing another brutal punch to the man's jaw.

The man’s head slammed against the floor, and his entire body went limp.

But Aarush still wasn’t done.

He raised his fist again—

But suddenly, arms yanked him back.

"STOP, SIR!"

He thrashed, snarling like a caged beast, but more hands grabbed him.

The male staff had finally recovered from their shock and were now pulling him away.

But Aarush wasn't stopping.

Even as ten of the hospital’s male staff held him back, he struggled.

His muscles strained, veins bulging in his arms, his chest heaving with pure wrath.

And then—

"ENOUGH!"

A voice cut through the chaos.

Ashwin.

He stood at the entrance, his expression unreadable.

"Take him away." Ashwin’s voice was calm but firm, directed at the police officers who had just arrived.

The police wasted no time. They grabbed the barely conscious man and dragged him out, his groans of pain barely audible over the sound of Aarush’s ragged breathing.

Ashwin turned to him.

And for the first time in his life—he sensed fear in his own eyes.

Not fear for Aarush.

Fear of him.

Aarush had never looked like this before.

Bloodied. Trembling. A dangerous, dark fury still burning in his eyes.

Even with ten men holding him back, he still looked like he was ready to tear through them all.

"Aarush." Ashwin’s voice was quiet now.

But Aarush wasn’t listening.

He was still staring at the door where they had taken him.

And for the first time in his life—Ashwin saw what it truly meant to want someone dead.

A sudden wave of dizziness hit Aarush like a freight train.

His vision swam, the world tilting violently around him.

And then—his knees buckled.

For the first time that night, his body gave up before his mind did.

The last thing he saw was Ashwin’s widened eyes, his lips parting in a panic—

And then—darkness.

A loud thud echoed as his body collapsed onto the cold, bloodstained floor.

Silence followed for half a second.

And then—

"AARUSH!"

Ashwin sprinted forward, his heart lurching into his throat.

The staff rushed in, some of them kneeling beside Aarush while others ran to grab a stretcher.

His breathing was shallow.

His pulse was erratic—deafeningly loud in the eerie silence.

Blood. So much blood.

Ashwin’s hands clenched into fists as he saw the stab wounds on Aarush’s torso, the deep gashes where the knife had plunged in.

How had he not noticed before?

"Shit, he's losing too much blood—" one of the doctors muttered, pressing down on the wounds to slow the bleeding.

"We need to move him to the OR—NOW!" The doctor's sharp voice cut through the panic.

They wasted no time.

The stretcher was brought in, and they carefully lifted Aarush onto it, wheeling him out in a rush.

Ashwin followed, his breath uneven, his mind racing.

How had things escalated to this?

First Mahira.

Now Aarush.

His chest tightened painfully.

The doctor shot him a look as he rushed alongside the stretcher. “He held on for too long, Sir. His body couldn’t take it anymore.”

Ashwin swallowed hard. “Just—just save him.”

The doctor didn’t answer.

He just pushed the stretcher faster, disappearing into the OR.

Aswin stood there, fists clenched, jaw locked—watching as the person he cared about fought for their life.

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Rage coursed through his veins, demanding blood for every tear she shed. 🥀