Author's pov-
Siaraâs gaze remained fixed on the cold floor, her mind drowning in the horrors of her past. Every scream, every betrayal, every agonizing second clawed its way back into her memory, but her faceâher face was a canvas of merciless resolve. She carried death in her very presence, wrapped around her like a cloak of inevitability.
Mahir reached out, his fingers gently prying open her clenched fists. His touch was light, barely there, as if he feared she might shatter like fragile glass. Her knuckles were bloodless from how hard she had fisted them, her nails biting into her palms. He didnât speakâhe didnât need to. His presence alone was enough, grounding her when everything else threatened to pull her under.
They stepped inside, and Siara lifted her gaze.
The scent of blood was thick in the air, coppery and suffocating. The dimly lit room reeked of iron, of suffering, of justice delivered with cruel precision. Her eyes landed on the barely-breathing bodies sprawled across the floorâmen who once wore masks, who once laughed as they broke her, now reduced to nothing more than living corpses.
Limbs mangled. Faces unrecognizable. Bones shattered.
Their handsâonly one remained for each of them. The other had been taken. Cut off.
The pool of blood beneath them spread like a dark omen, soaking into the concrete. Their wheezing breaths, the way their bodies twitched in agonyâit was a pathetic sight. They werenât men anymore. They were nothing but remnants of their own monstrosity.
And then her gaze shifted.
To the woman.
Her mother.
A gun trembled in her hands, her knuckles white from how tightly she held it. She was crying, not just with her eyes but with her entire being, her body wracked with the kind of pain that only a mother who has lost her happy child could understand.
She stood over them, her face streaked with tears, Her body trembled, her lips parted as she gasped for air between her sobs but her grip on the gun never wavered.
"My dollâ" her voice cracked, raw with unspeakable pain, "S-she⦠she endured all t-that."
Her chest rose and fell unevenly, her shoulders quaking as a fresh wave of agony surged through her.
And thenâ
Bang!
The deafening gunshot shattered the silence.
One of the man on the floor let out a strangled cry as the bullet tore through his thigh, blood spurting across the already-soaked concrete. His body convulsed, his screams echoing through the room, but no one moved. No one dared.
Her motherâs breath came in short gasps, but her hands no longer trembled as violently. Something in her had already snapped.
Across the blood-streaked floor, one of the menâno more than a dying huskâlet out a weak, ragged breath. His body was broken in ways no one could comprehend, and yet, through the pain, he managed to let out a wheezing chuckle.
No remorse.
No guilt.
No fear.
Just filth dripping from his lips.
"S-Sheâ¦" he coughed, his voice a hoarse rasp, "she asked for it."
The words slithered through the room like venom, poisoning the air, igniting a wildfire that could never be extinguished.
Her head lifted slowly, her tear-filled eyes locking onto the wretched excuse of a man lying before her.
"A-asked for it?" she whispered, her voice unsteady, her tear-filled eyes landing on himâher fury unmistakable.
Her fingers curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms so deeply that blood pooled in the creases of her skin.
"She asked for it?"
Her voice wavered with something far more dangerous than sorrow. A quiet, simmering rage that threatened to spill over, to consume everything in its path.
Without hesitation, she took a step forward, snatching the bloodstained knife from the table.
"How?" she asked, her voice eerily soft.
The man didnât answer. He didnât need to. His silence was an admission, a taunt, an echo of every vile accusation ever thrown at innocent girls.
"By wearing clothes of her choice?" she asked, her tone rising, raw and broken. "By being a girl? By living her life? By simply⦠j-just existing?"
A sharp, twisted sob escaped her throat.
And She moved.
With the force of a motherâs unbearable grief, with the rage of a thousand stolen daughters, she plunged the knife into his back. The blade tore through flesh, through muscle, through bone, sinking deep into his spine with a sickening squelch.
He let out a strangled, guttural scream, his body convulsing violently as blood spurted from the wound.
But she didnât stop.
She gritted her teeth, her grip tightening around the handle as she twisted the knife, ensuring he felt every single ounce of pain her daughter had endured.
His screams turned into gasping whimpers, his body spasming as he choked on his own agony.
The woman who had once been so sensitive, so fragile, was now shedding blood with her own hands. Her delicate hands, which once braided her daughterâs hair, which once wiped away her babyâs tearsâ
Were now soaked in blood.
And she did not flinch. She did not hesitate.
She yanked the knife out with a sickening squelch, her hands coated in crimson, and for a moment, her body swayedâoverwhelmed, breathless, consumed. Then, her knees gave out beneath her.
She fell. Not from exhaustion. Not from weakness.
But because the weight of her daughter's pain was too much to bear. "She tried to k-kill herself," she choked out, "My baby⦠s-she didnât want to live."
Her fingers curled around the knife as she squeezed her eyes shut, as if hoping, praying, that when she opened them, she would wake up from this nightmare. That she would wake up in a world where her daughter still smiled. Where she still twirled barefoot in the rain. Where she still giggled in her sleep, whispering dreams of faraway places.
But nightmares didnât end when you were already living inside one.
"No daughter should have a mother like me," she whispered, her voice barely audible but ringing with unbearable grief. "I am as much her culprit as you all are."
The room was suffocating in its silence.
No one spoke. No one moved.
"She was just an innocent girl!" Her mother screamed, her wail of anguish so raw that it sliced through the air like a blade. "She had dreams! She had a future! Sheâshe wanted to be a dancer! She wanted a happy life!"
She let out a sob, shaking her head violently, her fingers digging into her scalp.
"And weâ" her voice cracked as she looked up at the ceiling, as if demanding answers from the heavens themselves. "We took everything from her. Everything!"
Her voice broke, and she let out a whisper that felt like a death sentence."This motherâ¦" she gasped, her eyes filled with devastation, "killed her own daughter. We don't deserve to be called her parents Aarav. We don't even deserve to live."
Siara stood still, watching. Feeling. This was not just her revenge. It was every motherâs revenge. Every fatherâs. Every brotherâs.
Her vision blurred, the edges of her world softening as emotions she refused to feel clawed at her insides. She watched her motherâthe woman who had once burned her own skin to save her from fireânow drowning in a different kind of flame. A fire that would never fade.
And yetâ Siara did not let her tears fall.
Because pain like this⦠pain like theirsâ
Deserved to be felt.
Deserved to be carried.
Forever.
Just like she did.
Siaraâs father wiped his face, but the tears kept falling. Her brothers, strong and composed in every other moment, stood there in silence, their hands trembling at their sides.
Siara moved forward.
Her strides were heavy, deliberate. Each step echoed like a death knell in the suffocating silence. Her faceâvoid of emotion, void of lifeâbelonged to a woman whose soul had died long ago.
And when she spoke, her voice was not cruel. It was not soft. It was something worse. Empty. "You donât need to die," she said, her words falling like quiet thunder.
The family was shocked to see her there. The daughter they had failed.
The sister they had lost long before they even realized it.
She stood before them, a ghost draped in flesh, a woman carved from the ruins of a girl who once dared to dream. She only exhaled, her gaze locked onto the woman who had given her life and, in the same breath, let it be stolen. "Death is an easy escape," she continued. "A few minutes⦠and itâs over. Just like that. I chose it once, I failed"
"Try to survive," she murmured.
Thick, Suffocating Silence.
Not even the dying men groaned anymore. Not even the walls dared to breathe.
"Trust me," she said, and for the first time, her voice waveredânot with weakness, but with truth. "Every second will feel like hell."
"You will survive, Maa," she continued, and for the first time, her voice cracked."Just like....... I did."
Her mother let out a choked sobâa sound so broken, so final, it didn't belong to the living. Her father and brothers were no better. They stood frozen, as if grief had turned them to stone.
Siara's gaze, slow and deliberate, fell upon the almost-corpse men lying in their own blood. The scent of death clung to the air, thick and suffocating. A soft chuckle escaped her lipsâlight, almost amused as she moved forward, unhurried, savoring the moment.
The men met her gaze, but there was no fear. No remorse. Not a single flicker of regret. And that? That made it so much better.
"Long time no see," She murmured, crouching down beside them. Her voice was smooth, taunting. "Looks like my family took good care of you. Hope you all are.... thoroughly satisfied by now."
She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable, her gaze landed on him. The man whose eyes she recognized. The man who had raised a camera that night and captured her ruin in a single frame.
"Great photography skills, by the way."
The man's breathing grew shallow, but he said nothing.
She reached out, almost gently, brushing a single bloodstained finger across his cheek. Then she pointed toward her family, her voice lowering to a whisper. "They all believed it," she chuckled. "Your masterpiece."
The man flinched, but Siara had already moved on.
Her eyes locked onto another. The one whose face was already painted with the agony her brothers had carved into him.
She crouched closer, her lips curling as she said, "Had a word with your sister."
The man's eyes widened when she said "She told me to kill you brutally. To make sure you beg for every breath."
She leaned in just enough for him to hear her next whisper. "And Aarav Malhotra's daughter, always keeps her promises."
She turned to the last one. The one who still had the audacity to glare at her, even as his body failed him. Even as death waited with open arms.
Siaraâs breath stilled. The room around her faded, dissolving into the past, dragging her into the suffocating darkness where monsters didnât hide under bedsâthey whispered in her ear. "Donât struggle, baby," his voice slithered through her memories.
The memory struck like a blade, but she did not flinch. "Your dear Papa won't come to save his princess."
"But donât worry⦠heâll find you soon." The words clawed at her skull, dragging her deeper, deeper.
The icy grip that tightened, nails digging into her flesh. Her breath was steady. Her pulse was not.
"Sorryânot you." He leaned in, breath reeking of liquor and sin.
"Your naked body." His voice slithered through her memories, smooth, sickeningâfull of certainty that she was nothing more than a moment of entertainment, a fleeting pleasure he could ruin and discard.
The past shattered. Siara inhaled sharply, her mind snapping back to the present, back to the half-dead man before her.
She tilted her head, studying him with the same cruel amusement he had once used on her, she leaned in. "Your father is trying to find you...Heâll find you soon."
A pause. A beat of silence thick enough to suffocate. She then smirked when she whispered,"Sorry⦠not you."
His breathing turned ragged, his body trembling nowânot from the pain, but from something far worse. Fear of Death.
Siara didnât look away, didnât blink, as she reached for the gun resting on the side table. The cool metal felt almost natural in her grip, an extension of her vengeance, of everything stolen from her. She lifted it, her finger resting lightly on the trigger, her gaze never leaving hisâthe man who had once reduced her to nothing. Not anymore.
"Your not-so-naked, dead body." She said and with thatâshe pulled the trigger. The gunshot shattered the silence, a violent echo against the bloodstained walls.
The bullet tore through his chest, and this time, he was the one left gasping, he was the one struggling to breathe. Not her.
Tears slid down her face, but they were not tears of grief. They were tears of strength. Tears that spoke of a woman who had crawled through the depths of hell and survived. Tears that did not beg for sympathy, but demanded recognitionâof a womanâs ability to endure, to rise, to reclaim. Tears that screamed a truth the world had silenced for too longâWomen are not weak. They were made weak. By a world that fears her strength, by a society that binds her in chains of obedience, by those who mistake silence for submission.
Her breath hitched, but her hands did not shake and She pulled the trigger again.
Not once.
Not twice.
Not thrice.
With every shot, she stripped away the power they once held. With every bullet, she buried the ghosts of her past, one by one, until there was nothing left of themâonly pain, only fear, only justice.
The other two watched in horror, their bodies broken, their fate sealed. They knew.
They knew. She wouldnât stop.
And thisâthis was their time to pay.
Desperation clawed at them. Bloodied hands scrambled against the floor as they tried to crawl away, tried to escape the fate that had once been hers.
But Siara didnât let them. She turned, her movements slow, measured. Death itself standing before them. Thenâshe fired.
Once. Twice. Again.
Each shot was final. Each bullet a sentence.
And by the time the gun clicked empty, the room was silent.
No cries. No pleas. No mercy.
All that remained was a bloodbath. A massacre of men who once walked as monsters but now lay as nothing.
Not breathing.
Not surviving.
Not existing.
Siara stood amidst the carnage, The weight of vengeance did not crush her. Noâshe carried it like a crown. Siara Malhotra had served justice. To herself.
Mahir stepped closer to her, his gaze steady and unwavering as he murmured, âJustice, at last. Even if itâs painted in blood.â
.
.
.
.
.
The silence in the room was suffocating. Not the kind that brought peace, but the kind that crushed, that choked, that made it impossible to breathe.
Siaraâs knees buckled, and she slid down onto the cold, bloodstained floor. Her arms wrapped around herself, as if trying to hold together the pieces of a soul that had been shattered long ago. The ice queen, untouchable, unbreakableâwas gone again. She was not the untamed storm. She was just a woman.
A woman whose pain was too vast, too unbearable to be contained in a single body.
Her sobs tore through the silence, raw, unrestrained, the kind of cries that had no end. She turned to her father, who had sunk to the floor beside her, his body trembling, his mind barely able to comprehend the weight of what had been done to his little girl.
Her broken voice trembled as she spoke, each word carving through the walls of his soul.
"W-why⦠w-why did this happened to me?" Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. "W-what wrong⦠I-I ever did to anyone?" Her fingers dug into her arms as she clung to herself, her body convulsing with grief. "W-why me, Papa?"
She was looking at him, begging him for answers he would never have.
Because what could a father sayâwhen the girl he once carried in his arms, the daughter he swore to protect, was now crumbling before him?
What words could ever undo the agony?
What comfort could exist in a world that had failed her so cruelly?
Tears streamed down his face, but he had no voice, no strength to speak. He could only stare at her, his heart breaking in ways that no man should ever have to endure.
Because a father is meant to be his daughterâs shield.
And yetâhe had not been there when she needed him most.
And now, she wasnât asking for justice. She wasnât asking for revenge.
She was just asking why.
And that was the one answer he would never have.
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Hey Readers â¤ï¸
Hope you enjoyed this chapter! If it moved you, donât forget to vote and comment your thoughts.
The next chapter will be up soon, so stay tuned!
Much love,
Author