That night, the silence of Sriya’s room felt heavy, muffling her quiet sobs like a shroud. The memory of the day’s incident was a tight, cold knot in her chest. Maya.

The name alone was a sharp prick of fear. If her stepmother found out, the truth would be unrecognizable, twisted into a narrative where Sriya was at fault, deserving of scorn. Maya was a master manipulator, and a single piece of ammunition could be used to systematically erode the already fragile foundation of Sriya's standing in her father’s eyes.

She was lost in this familiar, suffocating anxiety when the door creaked open. Janki Aunty, her refuge in that cold house, entered, holding a plate laden with dinner. Janki’s movements were quiet, her presence a balm. She didn’t need words to know the storm raging inside Sriya. The tension radiating from the girl’s slumped shoulders and shadowed eyes was enough. Something had happened at college, something that had magnified the underlying sadness Janki had always sensed in her. But she held her tongue, opting only for a silent prayer for the strength her child needed.

Janki gently placed the plate down and sat on the edge of the bed, her hand reaching out to tenderly stroke Sriya's hair. This small, maternal gesture was the final catalyst. Sriya turned, shedding her stoic composure, and buried her face in Janki’s embrace, the dam finally breaking. The fear, the humiliation, the sheer injustice—it all poured out in silent, shaking sobs. Janki simply held her, a pillar of unconditional love, her steady patting a silent permission for Sriya to release the burden she was carrying. Let it all go, child. Just for a moment, was the unspoken message.

When the sobs finally softened to shuddering breaths, Janki knew it was time. She pulled back just enough to look into Sriya's tear-streaked face.

"Sriya ..... baccha, kya hua batao? ( Sriya child ,What happened, tell me?) I know something has occurred there that is making you so upset. Tell me everything." Her voice was a low, concerned murmur, all worry and no judgment.

The brief silence stretched, heavy with unspoken trauma, before Sriya began to recount the day's events. Every word was a knife in Janki’s heart. Hearing the sheer malice and cruelty directed at Sriya, Janki felt a burning, familiar agony. Why was fate so relentlessly cruel to this girl who had already lost her mother and her peace?

Janki pulled Sriya into a fierce hug, rocking her gently. "Don't worry, my child. It is not your fault

. Everything will be fine baccha. " Her words felt weak, inadequate against the monstrous forces Sriya was fighting, but they were all she had. She held her, a human shield, until the last tremor of fear left Sriya’s body.

Only after ensuring Sriya ate a little and had finally drifted into an exhausted sleep did Janki leave the room. The kitchen offered no warmth. Her hands trembled as she dialed a number she knew by heart.

After a few tense seconds, a gruff, distinctly masculine voice answered from the other side. "Sriya kaisi hai? (How is Sriya?)"

The immediate concern in his voice twisted a knot of guilt in Janki’s stomach, but she pushed it aside. She recounted the incident, her voice low and tight with urgency, the words tumbling out like stones.

"I want you to come back, Aayush," she finally whispered, using his full name for emphasis. "She needs you. Only you can give her hope. And the way Maya Madam is behaving lately, it frightens me. This incident... I fear it might even be her plan."

On the other end, Aayush Jakirwar’s blood ran cold. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. Sriya, his little sister, his precious responsibility, tormented again. He had protected her fiercely from Maya's insidious cruelty when he was there, but Maya had been clever, maneuvering to separate him from his family under the guise of opportunity.

"Mai aa raha hu, Kaki, jaldi hi (I am coming, Kaki, very soon). And this Maya... she will have to face the consequences for her actions." His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "If she is behind this, I am not going to leave her easily."

Janki nodded, though he couldn't see it. "Arun kaisa hai?" she asked, changing the subject to their other concern.

A heavy sigh echoed through the phone line. "Arun still considers himself unlucky, but he continues to smile and pretend in front of me as if nothing happened." Aayush's anger ratcheted up another notch. "I will not spare this Maya."

Janki hummed, a sound of weary agreement, and told him to take care of himself and Arun, urging them to return as soon as possible. The line went dead, but the resolve in the air remained thick.

The Next Day

The afternoon sun filtered weakly through the dusty window of the restaurant. Sriya felt a hollow kind of relief when the manager, a man whose kindness she was grateful for, announced an early closure due to his sudden engagement.

Early release. It meant fewer hours, less money, but also less exposure. After finishing her final food delivery—a mundane task that ironically offered a brief escape—Sriya found herself walking the familiar, dreaded path home. Home. The word tasted like ashes on her tongue. It was a house, a battlefield, a place she was bound to, not a sanctuary. She had nowhere else to go, no friend's house to seek refuge in until the sun went down.

All morning, her phone had vibrated relentlessly with calls from her elder brother, Aayush. She had ignored every single one. The fear of breaking down in front of him, of allowing her pain to cross the miles and burden him, was too great. He was thousands of miles away, building a future for himself and trying to keep his own demons at bay.

If I answer, I'll cry. And if I cry, he'll worry. And if he worries... he'll come back.

The thought of him sacrificing his opportunities, his life abroad, for her sake was unbearable. She had to be strong, had to fight her battles alone—or at least, she told herself she did. She tucked her phone deeper into her pocket, silencing it. Let him think I'm busy. Let him think I'm fine. It was a fragile, self-destructive lie she desperately needed him to believe.

Sriya's taxi stopped outside her house. She paid the driver and stepped out, feeling a wave of relief. She was happy to be home, but then she saw all the fancy, dark cars—BMWs, Mercedes, and Scorpios—parked right along the street. It looked like a big, important group had arrived. She quickly remembered that her stepmother, Janki, had told her a guest was visiting.

She looked over at the lawn. Her father, Rajiv, and Maya were talking to an older man. There were also two women, a middle-aged man, three young men, and a girl sitting nearby. Suddenly, everyone stood up, hugged each other, and started laughing loudly. It seemed like a party or a celebration, not just a business meeting.

Sriya felt uncomfortable, but she decided it wasn't her problem. They're probably just my father's friends or colleagues, she thought. She hurried inside and went straight to her room—her favorite safe place.

Sriya flopped onto her bed and pulled out her sketch notebook from the drawer. She wanted to forget the strange day and the unsettling scene outside. She started drawing, using the blank page to let out all her feelings and worries. She was so focused on her art that she didn't hear anything else. She was completely lost in her own world, drawing everything she felt.

She was almost finished with her drawing when she heard a loud, sudden bang—her room door had opened and shut quickly. She still didn't look up, trying to stay hidden in her art.

Then, a hand came right into her view. It quickly grabbed her sketch notebook and threw it across the room.

Sriya's head shot up. Her eyes went wide with fear. Standing in front of her was Maya.

Maya was looking at her with a face full of pure hatred and disgust. The happy smile she had for the guests was completely gone. She looked down at Sriya as if she were dirt.

Sriya felt a chill. The safe feeling she had from being home vanished completely. She was trapped, and Maya was ready to hurt her.

Maya’s grip on Sriya’s arm was a vise of cold, sharp fury. With a savage jerk, she hauled Sriya upwards, forcing her into a clumsy, unbalanced stagger. The sudden, violent movement only fueled Maya's already volatile rage.

"Ghatiya ladki (Disgusting girl)..." The words spat from Maya's mouth like venom. She shoved Sriya backward with a brutal, unexpected force. Sriya lost her footing completely. A sharp, searing pain shot through her as her tailbone hit the wooden floor with a sickening thud. A painful, involuntary cry escaped her lips.

Maya stood over her, a picture of sneering contempt. "Tu kahan un logon se mili ...kahi jakar so to nhi gyi us ladke ke sath ?

(Where did you meet those people, did you go and sleep with that boy somewhere)?

Before Sriya could try to explain Maya interrupts her "Now shut up, get ready, and come downstairs quietly, or I swear I will beat this inauspicious face of yours until it’s raw and red."

Every word was a calculated insult, delivered with an expression of profound disgust that made Sriya's stomach turn. She felt a wave of nausea, her spirit recoiling from the sheer ugliness of Maya’s presence.

Before Sriya could even process the assault, Maya leaned down, a frightening light in her eyes. A fistful of Sriya's hair was instantly captured in Maya's iron grip, her head yanked back to force her gaze to meet the hateful one above her. Then, a sharp, stinging blow landed across Sriya's cheek. The sound echoed in the room, and the pain exploded across her face.

"Aur haan, ye rone jaisi shakl bana kar aayi toh tere liye aur tere un dono bhaiyon ke liye accha nahi hoga

(And yes, if you come down looking like you've been crying, it won't be good for you or your two brothers)."

Maya’s voice dropped to a chilling, low register. "Make sure to be presentable. If you deny anything downstairs, then I'll make sure your dear brothers will be dead there."

Sriya’s blood ran cold. The pain of the slap vanished, replaced by a deep, paralyzing terror. Her brothers. Her protectors. The mere thought of them being hurt—or worse—because of her was unbearable. She had no idea what was happening, what "downstairs" meant, or who these people were, but she knew one thing: her brothers' lives were the ultimate ransom. She would not let them be harmed.

Before the terror could find its voice, Maya released her hair, pushing her violently back onto the hard floor. The woman cast one last, icy glare and swept out of the room, slamming the door shut.

Sriya lay there, stunned. Confusion warred with terror. What demand had she been given? What was she supposed to agree to? Tears welled up, escaping the control she desperately tried to exert. What did they want?

The door clicked open again, and Sriya flinched, bracing for another attack. But it was Janki Aunty, her kind, familiar face etched with distress. Seeing her, Sriya scrambled up and lunged into the older woman's comforting embrace, burying her face in her shoulder and sobbing uncontrollably.

Janki Aunty hugged her tightly, stroking her hair, a silent reassurance in the face of the terrible news. "They fixed your marriage, Sriya," Janki whispered, the words a heavy, final tolling bell.

Sriya pulled back, the announcement ripping through her grief. Her eyes widened, tears forgotten for a moment in the shock. Her breath hitched.

"K...kya... p...papa...n...ne... (Wha...what... Dad... di...)"

Janki nodded grimly, confirming Sriya’s worst fear before the question was even finished. It was her father's decision, tainted by Maya’s malice, but sanctioned by the only man who could sell her future.

B..but...I...I...d...d...don't...w...wa...want...t...this..." The words were fractured by her desperate sobs, useless protest against an overwhelming, unknown fate.

Sriya broke down anew, the sobs shaking her small frame. There was no escape.

The realization settled heavily in her heart: she was to be a pawn, a sacrifice. Her life, her choice, meant nothing compared to the safety of her brothers. She had to behave like a Happy Bride—a performance to save the two most important people in her life. Janki gently urged her to prepare before Maya returned to inflict more pain.

Downstairs, the atmosphere was suffocatingly bright and falsely cheerful. Sriya descended the stairs, her feet moving mechanically, her body a vessel for a fear-ridden soul. The drawing-room was filled with an insidious peace—her father smiling stiffly, and Maya, transformed into the ideal stepmother, doting and charming.

Seated opposite them was the Desai Family.

Sriya's heart gave a violent lurch. The Desai Family? The shock was profound, a staggering blow to her already fragile equilibrium. Why them? They were the ones who had shown her kindness, who had saved her dignity just yesterday from that horrible incident at the farewell party. She had barely recovered from that trauma, the memory of their timely help still fresh. And now, they were here, asking for her hand in marriage.

Why? The question echoed in the hollow space of her mind. What do they want from me?

Is this their price for saving me? The confusion was a swirling vortex, dragging her deeper into an abyss of dread.

Aryan's pov

The scent of stale concrete and raw, unadulterated rage filled my nostrils. I didn't see the hospital staff or the sterile white walls anymore; all I saw was the terrified, bruised look on Sriya’s face.

They dared to touch her. That thought alone was a searing brand on my soul, overriding every logical instinct. No one—no one—lays a hand on what is mine. And from the moment I saw her fragile form, fighting off those animals, she became irrevocably mine to protect.

I left the hospital and drove straight to the Nexus, the silent, decaying husk of a building that housed the true beating heart of the Desai Syndicate. Outside, it was a forgotten ruin; inside, it was an armed, alert network where our mafia operations were meticulously executed. The greetings of my fully armed bodyguards were nothing but static noise. I was fueled by pure, blinding, homicidal intent.

My destination was the Basement. The torture chamber. The final stop for anyone foolish enough to cross the Desai line, or, as now, to threaten a member of the Desai family. We didn't believe in quick, clean deaths. We believed in justice measured in agony.

I strode into the dim, cavernous space. The only illumination came from a few naked bulbs hanging precariously, casting long, grotesque shadows. The air was thick with the stench of blood, sweat, and fear.

Siddharth was already there. My quiet, reserved brother, who had only recently started opening up. Since he learned of Sriya, there was a subtle, profound shift in him. He hadn't met her in a truly personal sense, but somehow, some primal bond had formed. From then on she was our responsibility too protect her.

Siddharth was a storm of silent fury, the metallic rod in his hand rising and falling with cold, calculated precision against the bound figures.

The sight of those bastards, tied to their chairs, their faces already swollen and bloody, did little to soothe the inferno in my chest. It only stoked the flames.

"Give me that."

I snatched the rod from Siddharth’s grip. The weight of the cold metal felt right, a perfect extension of my anger. The sound of their whimpering pleas was a high-pitched whine that I utterly ignored. I raised the rod and brought it down. Again. And again.

CRACK. THUD.

The basement echoed with the sickening sounds of impact, punctuated by their gut-wrenching screams. Mercy was a foreign concept here; today, it was a debt of pain being violently collected. Some of them mercifully passed out.

"Wake them up," I growled, my voice raw.

My guards didn't hesitate. A bucket of icy water was thrown over the unconscious forms. The shock was immediate. They gasped, sputtering, and awoke to their nightmare.

And I began again. The rod was too quick. Too impersonal. I needed to feel the damage. I dropped the rod. They watched, eyes wide with incomprehension and renewed terror, as I approached the nearest one, my hands bare.

My hands—hands trained for precision and brutality—became weapons of personalized torture. I punched them until they bleed out totally, they screamed , begged but now the rage inside me is on the peak whatever they do how much they beg doesn't matter now , they shouldn't touch her not only her but also not a single girl in the world , some of them lost their sense but my bodyguard were fast enough to make sure they came back in thier sense cause now being unconscious can't save them from me . The scream that tore from the man's throat was the sweetest sound I had ever heard.

This was for Sriya. They would beg for death. And I would make sure they earned it first.

After, some hours of torture made them fragile, they can die anytime but I'll not let them today they have to face my wrath, my fury and my anger which is burning in my chest for them.

An guard come ahead, holding my phone i got an call from my chote Papa. I immediately picked it up as i want to know it's about Sriya .On the call chote papa told me that she came in her sense and now she will get discharged from the hospital.

I sighed in relief, hearing this but don't know why I feel like I'm in some peace. The rage i was feeling a while ago is reduced a little just by hearing about Sriya . I was in my thoughts then my chote papa spoke " Aryan...kl hum Sriya ke ghar rista lekr chalenge make sure her father and she agrees for this ...do you get it .jo aaj hua vo kabhi na ho isliye jitni jaldi ho ske utni jaldi Sriya ko Desai family ka part banana chahiye.

I don't want her to face something like this again. No one will touch her in future.

I nodded on his order this just not an order it's a mission we have to complete, cause whatever happened today i don't want her to get hurt again.

I don't know if i love her or not , but I'm definitely sure that she is my peace, my solence.

______

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In February you will get proper updates .

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Wrt_Sunlight 💓💗

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