Author's POV

The dim light barely illuminated the sprawling dark room where Rudra and Raghav sat, the air thick with smoke and the sharp scent of cheap liquor. The clinking of glasses filled the space as they celebrated their first big victory.

Rudra’s eyes gleamed coldly in the half-darkness, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “That bastard Devesh actually thought he could save himself by dragging Alpha into this.”

Raghav chuckled darkly, swirling the drink in his glass. “Yeah, Bhai. Such a fool. And no shame at all—ready to sell his own daughter like a prostitute.”

Rudra slammed his glass down with a harsh thud. “Exactly. That’s the kind of scum we’re dealing with.”

He leaned forward, voice low but filled with deadly intent. “Now, the next move is on that Rajendra mama. He’s been playing both sides for too long.”

Raghav nodded eagerly, eyes burning with anticipation. “Bhai, when you give the word, I’ll make sure he pays for every betrayal.”

Rudra smiled, cold and ruthless. “Good. This war is just beginning.”

The shadows around them seemed to grow deeper, swallowing the room in darkness as their plotting continued.

Rudra leaned back in his chair, a sinister smirk curling his lips as he took a slow sip of his drink. His eyes glinted with cruel amusement.

“Rajendra has one weakness,” he said, voice low and mocking, “He’s damn fond of taking handjobs. Can’t keep his hands off anyone.”

Raghav let out a harsh, guttural laugh, slamming his glass on the table.

“True that, Bhai. That bastard’s got no shame.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a vicious whisper, “I say we chop his dick off. Serve it to his loving jija Devesh... in a burger. Let him taste his own filth.”

Rudra chuckled darkly, eyes shining with sadistic delight.

“Perfect. That’ll teach them all a lesson. No one crosses us and gets away clean.”

The room filled with their chilling laughter, echoing into the night like a promise of coming violence.

Rudra stood up, stretching slowly, the dark grin never leaving his face.

“I’ve got to go now,” he said, voice calm but heavy with menace, “Meeting with sasur ji.”

Raghav smirked, shaking his head with mock admiration.

“Bhai, you really are a bastard. No one does it like you.”

Both burst into low, cruel laughter that filled the shadowy room — a sound that promised more chaos to come.

Meeting room

The boardroom was spacious, its long polished table reflecting the dim lights overhead. The air was thick with tension even after the formal meeting had ended. Rudra sat with a relaxed yet menacing posture, his gaze sharp and unyielding as he watched everyone around him.

Advik was sitting beside Ariadna. His eyes softened as they lingered on her. Ariadna looked impeccably elegant — her hair perfectly styled, her attire graceful, and her naturally pink cheeks flushed delicately. But despite the poised appearance, her eyes betrayed the story her lips refused to speak — they were heavy, red-rimmed, and carried the weight of long, silent tears. The pain of Rudra’s betrayal was etched deep within her.

Rudra’s cold eyes shifted to Devesh, who sat rigid, his expression taut with anger and helplessness. Rudra’s voice broke the silence with a mocking tone, "Sasur ji, what’s wrong? Why are you so tense? You look like you’ve lost sleep over this."

Devesh’s eyes blazed. He slammed a fist on the table, making the glassware rattle. “Shut up, you bastard! First, you eloped with my daughter, and now you mock me? Have you no shame?”

Rudra smirked, the cruel twist of his lips revealing satisfaction at Devesh’s anger. “Sasur ji, your daughter will soon be the mother of my children. Yet, you still refuse to give me the respect I deserve? A little shame would suit you better.”

The room went still as Rudra’s words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown. Rudra then turned towards Mrityunjay, his voice hard and commanding. “Salle shab, teach him some respect.”

Mrityunjay rose slowly, his gaze sharp and steady as he faced Devesh. “Control yourself. This is a meeting room, not a battleground. If you want to save face, keep your anger in check.”

Devesh’s chest heaved with frustration, but he lowered his hand, unwilling to escalate the situation further for now.

Advik cleared his throat softly and glanced at Ariadna. “We must set aside personal feelings. If we let this consume us, it will weaken everything we’ve built.”

Ariadna didn’t respond, her eyes fixed on the polished floor, trembling faintly as if holding back the storm inside.

Rudra’s gaze flicked to her, a strange flicker of something unreadable—perhaps regret or cold calculation—briefly crossing his features.

He spoke again, voice low but commanding, “Enough distractions. Our enemies won’t wait while we bicker.”

Mrityunjay nodded in agreement. “Meeting’s over. Focus on your tasks. Remember, we stand united, no matter how deep the wounds.”

Slowly, they all rose, the tension still palpable but contained for the moment. As they exited the boardroom, unspoken plans and brewing vengeance filled their minds, foreshadowing the fierce battles that lay ahead.

The room was filled with the soft murmur of quiet conversation and the clinking of cutlery. Rudra’s office, usually a place of tension and command, felt unusually calm this evening. Around the large, polished wooden table, Rudra sat with Raghav, Ariadna, and a few trusted allies, sharing a modest meal after a long day of meetings. The aroma of rich spices and slow-cooked food filled the air, mingling with the subtle scent of leather and old books that always lingered in Rudra’s domain.

Advik stood, excusing himself politely. “I’ll bring the drinks,” he said with a small nod, his steps light as he left the room.

The others resumed their meals, the peaceful moment a fragile bubble amidst their turbulent lives.

Minutes later, the soft footsteps of Advik returned. In his hands was a tray carrying four glasses, each filled with a deep amber liquid—whiskey, strong and smooth, meant to ease the weight of their burdens, if only for a moment.

Rudra’s eyes followed Advik’s approach as he moved toward the table. As the tray came near, Rudra instinctively reached out his hand. But before taking his own glass, he stopped and, with deliberate care, lifted Ariadna’s glass first. He poured a measured amount, filling her glass to the brim.

Ariadna’s eyes met his, surprise flickering for a moment before she smiled softly. “Thank you,” she said gently, her voice carrying a warmth that seemed almost fragile.

Rudra’s gaze shifted subtly from Ariadna to Advik, keenly studying the younger man’s expression. Advik’s eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity, maybe even a hint of concern, as if questioning what the gesture meant between Rudra and Ariadna.

Then Advik stepped forward, holding out a glass for Rudra. As his hands reached forward, a sudden tremor shook them. The glass wavered and slipped, crashing against Rudra’s chest. The whiskey spilled instantly, soaking into the fabric of Rudra’s dark shirt and dripping down his torso.

“Sorry, bhai! I didn’t mean to—” Advik’s voice was quick and filled with apology as he immediately reached to steady Rudra.

Rudra stood up quietly, expression unreadable. “Come with me,” he said with quiet authority.

Without waiting, Advik led him toward the adjacent changing room, a small chamber used to freshen up after long meetings. The door closed behind them, shutting out the distant voices and the clatter from the dining area.

Advik grabbed a clean towel from the shelf and began dabbing gently at Rudra’s soaked shirt. As he moved the fabric aside to check the extent of the wetness, his eyes caught sight of something unexpected — a blackened, red-bruised mark on Rudra’s left chest.

The mark was distinct, cruelly designed in the shape of a letter — a stylized ‘A’ burnt deeply into the skin, its edges jagged and raw.

Advik’s breath caught, his fingers pausing mid-motion as he stared at the brand. “Bhai… what is this?” he asked, voice low but filled with concern.

Rudra’s eyes flickered coldly, a dark shadow crossing his face. He looked at Advik with a sharp glare. “None of your business,” he said curtly, pulling his shirt back down.

Advik blinked, taken aback by Rudra’s harsh tone, but he didn’t press further.

Rudra shifted slightly, regaining his usual calm. “Let’s get back,” he said quietly, voice steady now.

Advik finished helping him with the damp shirt, and they left the changing room together, returning to the dining area where the others remained, unaware of the silent stories etched on Rudra’s flesh.

As Rudra and Advik stepped out of the changing room, the quiet hum of the office returned, but Advik’s mind was elsewhere. He watched Rudra’s calm, composed figure—unyielding on the outside, yet beneath that steel exterior, something far darker stirred.

Advik moved back to the table silently, but his thoughts churned relentlessly.

What is wrong with this husband and wife? he wondered, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. What kind of twisted fantasy and love do they share?

His mind flashed back to that one unforgettable day — the day he had seen a similar mark burned into Babhi’s skin. It was on her shoulder, a distinct, jagged letter ‘R’, raw and painful-looking. At the time, it had seemed like a cruel punishment or some sick brand of possession.

And now, here it was again — the matching scar, the ‘A’ etched on Bhai’s chest.

Is this love? Advik thought bitterly. This isn’t love. They’re both psycho, playing some dangerous game with fire.

He clenched his fists, uneasy. To him, the marks weren’t symbols of affection or devotion — they were scars of obsession, control, and pain. And whatever twisted bond Rudra and Babhi shared, it scared him.

He glanced at Rudra, who was now talking quietly with Raghav and Ariadna, his face a mask of power and control. But Advik knew — beneath all that dominance, there was a storm of darkness that only those marked like him could see.

Somewhere else in brothel

The brothel’s stifling air hung heavy with lust and decay. The low murmur of whispered deals and stifled moans blended into a sinister symphony. Flickering candlelight painted grotesque shadows across the cracked walls. In the heart of this den of sin, Devesh lounged like a king in his throne—a predator feeding on his prey.

His eyes burned with cold calculation beneath a mask of twisted pleasure as the woman’s lips worked silently, performing the degrading act with mechanical precision. Every sound, every breath, was drowned out by the roar of unspoken violence simmering beneath.

In a shadowed corner, Rajendra’s hand moved with lazy ease, yet his gaze was sharp, burning with contempt as it fixed on Devesh. Breaking the heavy silence, his voice slipped out, laced with venom and dark amusement:

“Jija ji, you’re a true bastard. Does didi even know how you waste your time here, lost in filth and sin?”

Devesh’s eyes snapped open, icy and lethal. A growl escaped him—low and dangerous, like a beast warning its prey. His voice was cold steel, sharp enough to cut through the thick haze:

“Your sister? She’s no better. Slutting herself out to anyone who throws money at her. Don’t pretend you’re clean when your own blood is drenched in the same filth.”

The woman’s motions faltered, the charged atmosphere tightening like a noose. Devesh leaned forward, voice dropping to a venomous whisper that left no room for doubt:

“Forget her. What matters is Shivam—the weak little dog your precious didi keeps alive like a secret talisman. We’re going to rip him out and tear apart whatever lies they’ve built around him.”

Rajendra’s smirk thinned, the weight of Devesh’s threat sinking deep. The candle’s flame shivered, casting monstrous shapes that mirrored the violence poised to erupt. In this cesspool of corruption, loyalty was bought and sold, and power was the only truth.

Devesh’s voice rang out sharply, commanding with absolute authority, “On your fours, move your ass.”

The girl’s eyes sparkled with a mix of submission and sly seduction as she responded, her voice low and teasing, “Yes, sir.”

Rajendra’s gaze darkened with a reckless desire as he leaned forward, his voice rough yet eager. “I want to join you as well.”

A slow, provocative smile curled on the girl’s lips, her voice dripping with anticipation. “Then come, sir. I’m yours.”

Without hesitation, the three of them came together—a charged collision of hunger and dominance. In the dim light of the brothel’s shadowed room, their movements became a heated dance, fueled by raw passion and unspoken power. The air was thick with intensity, every glance, every touch laced with the dangerous thrill of

control and surrender intertwined.

In that moment, boundaries blurred and all that remained was the fierce, unrelenting fire that consumed them all.