Author's pov-
It was a somber Sunday morning in the Sehgal mansion, a house that was usually alive with banter and chaos.
The echoes of Siara's screams from the previous night still haunted everyone, leaving an air of guilt and regret heavy in every corner. The younger clan, known for their mischief, sat unusually quiet at the breakfast table. The absence of Siara and Mahir was palpable, like a gaping hole in their morning routine.
The silence was broken when Avya suddenly choked on her tears, her voice trembling, "You know, she saved me that day... without even thinking about herself. Even after all the times I was rude to her, she didn't hesitate. She doesn't deserve this. None of it. Why did this have to happen to bhabhi?" Her voice cracked with emotion, and the room grew heavier with her words.
Kabir, who had been lost in his thoughts, straightened up and cleared his throat, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with determination. "Listen up, all of you," he said, his tone firm but gentle. "Don't act differently with Siara bhabhi. She won't like us showing pity to her, and if she sees even a trace of it, she won't hesitate to beat the life out of you. Just... be normal. She doesn't need a family walking on eggshells around her. She needs us to be the same as we've always been."
Divya, her eyes still red from crying, nodded fiercely. "Yes! She's still our Ice Queen. That's who she is, and that's who she'll always be. I don't ever want to see her like she was yesterday-broken. It was unbearable. We need to show her that nothing has changed because she's still the strongest of us all."
Dadi who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke, her voice steady but tinged with emotion. "Siara doesn't need our pity, but she does need our respect. For everything she's endured, for the strength she's shown. She's not just our daughter in law, she's a survivor, a fighter. And if she needs us, we'll be there-not out of guilt, but because she deserves a family that stands by her, no matter what."
Siara's father in law who is known for his stoicism, spoke next. "Siara is a force of nature. Yesterday, we saw her break, and it broke all of us. But you know what? That won't define her. If anything, it's our job to make sure she knows this family will fight tooth and nail for her. And anyone who's wronged her..." his voice dropped into a deadly calm, "They'll regret the day they crossed her."
The younger clan exchanged determined glances, their resolve solidifying. Siara wasn't just their bhabhi; she was their Ice Queen. And they would do everything to make sure she never felt alone again.
As Siara and Mahir walked into the dining room, their synchronized sneezing echoed through the space, catching everyone's attention. Siara, true to her Ice Queen demeanor, walked with her usual stoic grace, while Mahir quietly pulled out a chair for her, his expression unreadable. But the younger clan wasn't about to let this golden opportunity slip away.
Myra smirked, leaning back in her chair, "Well, well, look who decided to make an entrance-Dr. and Mr. Achoo-Sehgal. Should we call the WHO? This feels like an epidemic."
Divya dramatically said,"Featuring Mahir Sehgal as the brooding hero and Dr. Siara Sehgal as the sneezy damsel in distress. Brought to you by Vicks! Coming soon to the theaters near you. Tagline: 'Mr. and Mrs. Rock met rain, A tale of glares and emotional constipation'"
Kabir smirked, shaking his head. "I'm just wondering what kind of exclusive bonding activity leads to both of you catching a cold at the exact same time. Care to explain, bhai?"
Mahir gave them all a flat look, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Wow, the collective IQ of this table is truly astounding. Do I applaud now or later?"
Just then shivay leaned over dramatically. "The way bhabhi is looking at us, I'd like to update my will."
"His identity cards are not updated and he is talking about updating his non existent will," Kabir exclaimed while continuing with his breakfast.
The room arrupted into laughter and The banter filled the room with warmth, breaking the lingering tension from the previous day. Siara's cold demeanor remained, but for a fleeting moment, her eyes softened.
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Mahir sat in his study, the dim light casting shadows across his sharp features. His jaw clenched, and his fingers drummed against the polished desk as his phone vibrated. Answering the call with a curt tone, he listened to his secretary's voice on the other end.
"Sir," the voice wavered slightly, sensing Mahir's intensity. "We tried retrieving the CCTV footage from your birthday party, but it's been damaged"
Mahir's grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. His eyes darkened, a storm brewing within them. "Damaged?" he hissed, his voice low and dangerously calm. "Or destroyed deliberately?"
"Destroyed Deliberately, sir. This was no accident," the secretary confirmed.
Mahir cut the call abruptly, his hand steady as he immediately dialed another number. The silence as he waited was thick, oppressive. When the call connected, his tone was icy and commanding.
"My birthday party," he began, his voice a lethal whisper that promised devastation. "Your sister saw someone that night. The CCTV footage has been wiped clean." He paused, his words deliberate. "You call yourself one of the best Hackers, then Retrieve it. If they erased the trace, find the shadow."
The voice on the other end replied with confidence, promising swift action.
Mahir's lips curled into a cold, ruthless smirk as he ended the call. He leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes staring into nothingness, his mind calculating. His voice, though soft, carried the weight of an unbreakable vow.
"Their dark days have begun," he said, each word dripping with venom. "They'll wish they had erased themselves along with that footage."
His eyes bloodshot , and his resolve solidified further. "This isn't just revenge anymore," he murmured, his voice a dangerous promise. "It's a war."
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Meanwhile, The garden was alive with the chaos of the younger clan's impromptu football match. Laughter, shouts, and playful banter filled the air, but Siara sat in her usual stoic silence, observing everything with her sharp, calculating eyes. Myra was beside her, casually scrolling through her phone, oblivious to the storm brewing next to her.
Out of nowhere, Siara broke the silence, her voice cold and measured. "Who was that man you were dancing with at Mahir's birthday party?"
Myra froze mid-scroll, caught off guard by the unexpected question. She thought for a moment before realization dawned, and her face twisted in disgust. "Oh, him. Rohan Khurana, CEO of Khurana Industries. Total creep. He flirts with every girl at every party. He asked me for a dance, and I couldn't exactly refuse. But I felt so uncomfortable with him that I left after a while. Why do you ask, Bhabhi? Do you know him?"
Siara didn't answer immediately. Her expression darkened, her piercing gaze staring straight ahead as if she was seeing something-or someone-not present. When she finally spoke, her tone was icy, cutting through the warm evening like a blade. "You'll never see him again," she said flatly.
Myra blinked, confused by the abruptness of the statement. "What do you mean? Did something happen?"
Siara stood, her movements deliberate and controlled, like a predator preparing to strike. Without looking back, she added in a tone so final it sent a chill down Myra's spine, "Stay away from any of his friends. That's all you need to know. I mean it Myra"
And with that, she walked away, leaving Myra sitting there in stunned silence. Myra's confusion quickly turned to unease. She had seen Siara angry before, but this was something else entirely-a quiet, seething rage that promised nothing short of destruction.
From the edge of the garden, Shivay paused mid-game, noticing the tension on Myra's face. "What happened?" he asked, jogging over.
Myra shook her head slowly, still staring after Siara's retreating figure. "I think I just saw the devil in her eyes," she murmured.
And somewhere far away, Rohan Khurana had no idea that the noose of his fate had just begun to tighten.
_______________________________________
khurana residence
The Living room was cloaked in an eerie silence, save for the faint sound of the wind whistling through the broken window. Darkness wrapped itself around the living room like a shroud, but the figure on the sofa was unmistakable-a woman dressed entirely in black, exuding an aura so chilling, it felt like death itself had taken a seat.
The jagged shards of glass glinted faintly in the dim light, scattered like the remnants of a shattered soul. She lounged back on the sofa, her posture deceptively relaxed, as though she had all the time in the world. Her eyes, two pools of unrelenting rage, remained fixed on the staircase. The air was thick with the promise of violence, simmering just beneath the surface.
The quiet wasn't peaceful-it was suffocating, like the calm before a hurricane. Her fingers drummed once, twice, against the armrest, the sound sharp and deliberate, like a countdown.
A vase sat on the edge of the coffee table, and without looking, she reached out and flicked it with a casual precision. It fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces, each shard catching the faint light like tiny daggers. The sound echoed in the silence, slicing through the stillness like a scream.
Upstairs, a man stirred. His heavy footsteps thudded against the wooden floor as he descended, irritation lacing his every movement.
"What the fuck is going on here?" His voice was sharp, dripping with arrogance and irritation. He scanned the room, his gaze landing on the shadowy figure sprawled across his sofa.
"Who the hell are you, and how did you get in?" His anger grew as his confusion mounted. His hand hovered near his phone to call the security but something about the woman's presence froze him in place.
Then, with a flick of the light switch, the room flooded with brightness-and his world darkened.
The color drained from his face as he took in the sight before him. There she was, Siara Malhotra-the woman whose fear had once been his twisted delight, whose tears he had savored like wine. Now, she sat before him, a vision of calculated vengeance, her face illuminated by the harsh light.
The silence that followed was deafening, her stillness unnerving. Then, with a deliberate slowness, Siara uncrossed her legs and leaned forward slightly.
His attempt at bravado faltered, but he smirked, masking his unease. "Well, well," he drawled, "looks like the Malhotra princess has woken up. I guess you came back for part two?"
His taunt hung in the air, daring her to react.
Siara didn't flinch. She didn't move. Her expression didn't waver. Instead, she smirked-a cruel, calculated twist of her lips that sent a chill down his spine. Her voice was low, measured, and terrifyingly calm.
"Careful," she murmured, her gaze dropping to the shattered glass near his feet. "You might get hurt."
Her words carried a weight that made the air feel colder, the room darker, the man smaller.
The smirk faded from his face as the realization struck like a thunderbolt. Siara wasn't here just for revenge-she was here to annihilate. The aura around her was suffocating, and for the first time in his life, the man felt truly helpless. His palms grew clammy as his bravado began to crack, the flicker of fear in his eyes betraying his feigned composure.
He instinctively reached for his phone, fumbling to dial for help, but before he could press a button, the sound of wood splintering echoed through the house. The front door burst open with a deafening crash, and stormed in a force that made his blood run cold.
Men clad in black filled the room like a tidal wave, their steps synchronized, their presence suffocating. Leading them was Aarav Malhotra, a living embodiment of vengeance, his eyes burning with a fire that promised no mercy. Behind him were Siara's brothers, their faces grim, their hands clenched into fists that ached for retribution. And then there was Mahir and devansh-silent, dangerous, Mahir's gaze locked on Rohan like a predator toying with its prey.
Rohan's phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor, the sound sharp in the tense silence. His eyes darted around the room, panic setting in as he realized there was no escape. He tried to maintain his posture, forcing a smirk onto his trembling lips. "What's this? A family reunion?" he said, his voice shaky but laced with false confidence.
But his words fell flat, drowned by the weight of the scene before him.
The Malhotra family had come with a singular purpose: destruction. Yet as their eyes fell on Siara, sitting on the sofa like a queen presiding over her court of doom, even they paused.
Aarav's breath hitched. The girl who had once been the heart of their family, the light in their lives, now sat cloaked in darkness. Her calm, chilling presence was more terrifying than any rage. She wasn't just seeking justice-she was justice itself, embodied in human form.
Mahir's jaw tightened, his gaze softening momentarily as it flicked to his wife. "Siara," he called out, his voice low, his concern masked by the steely edge of his tone.
Aarav's fists clenched, the protective instincts of a father warring with the pride and pain he felt seeing his daughter like this. He took a step forward, his voice heavy with suppressed fury. "Doll, what are you doing here?"
She rose slowly, her movements deliberate, her eyes never leaving Rohan's pale, trembling form. "Finishing what you came to start," she said, her voice cold, resolute.
Rohan stumbled back, his earlier arrogance completely shattered. "You think you can do this?" he stammered, looking from Siara to the men who now surrounded him. "You think you can just walk in here and-"
He couldn't complete his sentence as Siara, now standing mere feet from Rohan, tilted her head, her smirk widening. "You asked me earlier if I came for part two." She leaned in closer, her voice a whisper that chilled him to the bone. "This isn't part two, Khurana. This is the beginning"
Her family stood behind her like an impenetrable wall, their silence speaking volumes. They hadn't just come for destruction-they had come to witness the reckoning Siara had become. And in that moment, Rohan knew there was no salvation, no escape. The Malhotras didn't just bring hell with them. They were hell.
"How do I look tonight, Khurana?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her dark eyes locking onto Rohan's.
Everyone froze, including her family. Aarav Malhotra and Mahir exchanged a quick glance, caught off guard by the unsettling calmness in her voice. Her brothers, who were used to her innocent and lively nature in past, now saw a side of Siara that was both terrifying and mesmerizing.
Rohan's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. The question was so unexpected, so surreal, that for a moment, he forgot how to speak. His mind raced, trying to grasp the twisted turn the situation had taken.
She took a deliberate step closer, the soft click of her heels echoing in the oppressive silence. "Come on," she said, her tone mockingly sweet. "Don't be shy. You had so much to say years ago. Surely you have an opinion now."
Rohan barely got the words out-"You bitch, shut up if you think I'm scared of yo-" that's when Siara's fist collided with his face like a thunderous strike, cutting him off mid-sentence.
The crack of the impact echoed through the room as his head snapped back violently, and he stumbled before collapsing onto the floor with a grunt of pain.
"You were saying something, Khurana?" Siara's voice was calm, a chilling contrast to the storm brewing in her eyes.
Rohan groaned, clutching his face, but before he could fully process what had just happened, Siara grabbed him by the collar and yanked him to his feet. Her movements were precise, fueled by years of bottled rage and unyielding resolve.
Her fist slammed into his stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs with a strangled gasp. She didn't give him a moment to recover before delivering a brutal uppercut to his jaw. The sheer force sent him reeling backward, his body crashing into the side table, scattering glass and photo frames to the floor. But Siara was relentless.
"Don't tire too soon, Khurana," she hissed, stalking him like a predator cornering its prey. "We have the whole night to enjoy" Her voice dripped with venom, her every word has a deeper meaning. The men standing in the doorway exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of her words sinking in.
Rohan staggered, trying to steady himself. He glared at her, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "You... psycho..." he wheezed, but his insult was cut short when Siara stepped forward, delivering a sharp, brutal kick to his ribs.
"You want me to go faster?" she growled, catching his arm as he tried to swing at her in desperation. Her grip was ironclad as she twisted his arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees. The sickening crack of his shoulder dislocating echoed in the room, followed by his pained scream.
"Don't worry, Khurana," she whispered, leaning close to his ear, her tone almost mocking. "You'll be thoroughly satisfied tonight. Oh,-sorry. I meant hospitalized."
Rohan's cries of agony filled the air, but Siara didn't flinch. Her family stood frozen, their hearts breaking as they watched the woman they had failed, her pain manifesting as unyielding fury. Each word she spoke, each strike she delivered, cut through their guilt like a blade.
Rohan's body shook as he tried to pull himself up, but Siara's boot slammed onto his back, pinning him to the floor. She crouched down beside him, grabbing a fistful of his hair to force him to look up at her.
"Beg, let me see how you beg" she asked, her voice dangerously low. "My mistake, you're in no condition to beg"
Rohan's eyes darted to her family, desperation replacing arrogance. "Y-you... you're just going to stand there and watch this?" he stammered, his voice trembling.
Reyansh Malhotra stepped forward, his face carved from stone. His voice was a low rumble, filled with unspoken rage. "Want us to join her?"
Rohan tried to protest, but Siara didn't let him. She grabbed him by the collar, yanking him to his feet only to drive her knee into his stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground once more.
"Want me to hit harder?" Siara's voice was icy, her lips curling into a smirk.
Her family could only watch as Siara unleashed years of bottled pain and fury, her strikes precise, calculated, and relentless. Rohan was no longer a man-he was a broken shell, each blow stripping him of his arrogance and reducing him to the pathetic creature he truly was.
Rohan roared, charging at her in blind fury, but Siara sidestepped, hooking her foot around his ankle and sending him crashing face-first into the floor. The impact left him dazed, groaning in pain as she stood over him.
"Can't move?" she spat, delivering a sharp kick to his side that sent him rolling across the room. He clutched his ribs, gasping for air.
Rohan's hand shot out, grabbing a shard of glass from the broken vase. He swung it at her in desperation, but Siara caught his wrist mid-swing. Her grip was vice-like, her eyes blazing with cold fury.
"Waiting for someone to save you? Maybe your father?" she asked, twisting his wrist until the glass fell from his hand. She didn't release him-instead, she slammed his arm against the wall, the impact reverberating through the room.
"Your father or your brothers won't come to save you, How long you'll hide behind them" she hissed, slamming her knee into his ribs, sending him crashing into a nearby chair. The wooden frame groaned under his weight before splintering into pieces, leaving him sprawled on the floor.
His hand scrambled for a piece of the broken chair, and he swung it toward her in a last-ditch effort. Siara ducked effortlessly, her reflexes sharp as a blade. She seized his arm, twisting it behind his back with bone-snapping force.
"Is that all you've got?" she taunted, her breath hot against his ear. "Come on, Fight me. Oh, I forgot you can't Fight."
Rohan coughed, blood spilling from his lips as he tried to drag himself away. But there was no escape. Siara's shadow loomed over him, her presence suffocating, her wrath unrelenting.
Siara gripped his hair, her fingers digging into his scalp as she yanked his head back, forcing him to look at her father. Aarav Malhotra stood frozen, his face pale, the horror of what his doll had endured reflected in his eyes. His hands trembled slightly, unable to mask the guilt and pain that surged through him.
She leaned down, her voice a cold whisper that sliced through the air, every word dripping with venom. "The day you touched me, you touched his pride," she said, her tone low but carrying a brutal finality.
Rohan's eyes flickered, a mix of fear and defiance, but his body was broken-every movement was sluggish, desperate. He spat blood onto the floor, a futile attempt to regain some semblance of control.
Siara lifted her fist, and for a moment, the room held its breath. She brought it down hard on his face, the sickening crack of bone echoing in the silence. Rohan howled, but Siara didn't pause, her eyes locked onto him with an intensity that seemed to burn right through his soul.
"Do you know what you took from me, Khurana?" Her voice was ice, yet her actions were anything but. She slammed her knee into his ribs again, hearing the sickening crunch of cartilage beneath the force. Rohan's breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to move, to fight back, but his body was already betraying him.
"You took my innocence," Siara growled, her eyes narrowing. "You took my peace. You took the woman I was supposed to be. And now? Now you'll understand what happens when you try to break someone like me."
Behind her, her family watched in stunned silence. Aarav Malhotra's fists clenched, his jaw tight as he saw his daughter pouring years of suppressed pain into every strike. Her brothers stood frozen, their usual bravado stripped away as they witnessed the depth of her suffering. Even Mahir, who had seen Siara's strength countless times, was shaken.
Her fists struck with brutal precision, each blow landing harder than the last. Her knuckles were split and bleeding, but she didn't stop, didn't flinch. She slammed her fist into his jaw, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack.
The sharp sound of her strikes echoed in the room, drowning out his groans and gasps. His head snapped back with every punch, the force leaving his features almost unrecognizable.
Her movements were almost mechanical, each action driven by a deep, unquenchable rage. Her elbow came down on his already fractured ribs, and then again, her strength seemingly endless. Blood stained her hands, dripping onto the floor, but she remained unfazed.
Her pace didn't slow, her body relentless despite the blood staining her skin and the tremors in her arms. It was as though she was fighting ghosts, exorcising years of torment with every brutal blow. Rohan's body was nothing more than a broken, bloodied heap beneath her, barely clinging to life, but she continued, her fury unstoppable.
He coughed, spitting out blood, his lips trembling as he tried to form words. His voice was barely a whisper, a weak, pitiful croak that cracked under the weight of his pain. "S... sorry..."
Siara ignored his apology, she was beating him continuously. The rage in her was like a wildfire, unstoppable, consuming everything in its path.
But then, in the midst of the madness, her father's voice broke through. It was low, a growl that seemed to shake the very walls of the room. "Get up, doll. You're hurting yourself."
The words were simple, but they carried the weight of years of love and pain, of a father who had seen his daughter suffer in ways no parent should ever witness. Siara didn't hesitate. She didn't question him. Without a word, she stood up, her eyes still locked on Rohan, her face a mask of fury.
It was then that Mahir stepped in. He moved toward her with a quiet determination. He reached her side, his gaze sweeping over the bloodied scene, his jaw set with quiet fury. He gently wrapped his handkerchief around her knuckles, his touch soft yet firm, as if he was trying to steady her soul as much as her body. The bloodstains on her hands were a testament to the depths of her pain, the sacrifices she had made, and the vengeance she had unleashed.
Aarav Malhotra moved with purpose, his movements calculated and cold. He wasn't a man who had ever shown weakness, and tonight, his wrath was as terrifying as a storm. He walked over to Rohan, who was still struggling to breathe, his face pale, blood staining the floor around him. There was no begging now-Rohan had already spoken his last plea, but it wouldn't be enough.
He didn't waste time. He pulled out his gun, the sound of it sliding free of the holster echoing in the silent room. He pressed the barrel against Rohan's forehead with a coldness that made even the most hardened men shiver.
"Who were the other two?" His voice was lethal, like the calm before a storm.
Rohan's body trembled, but he couldn't escape the inevitable. With his strength failing, his vision blurring, he choked out the names, his voice broken by terror and pain. "Shourya Agnihotri... and Dev Mathur..."
Siara's father didn't flinch, didn't even blink. The truth was now in the air, and he would make sure Rohan felt every ounce of it. Without hesitation, he fired. The shot rang through the room, striking Rohan in the leg, the force of it making his body jerk, but still he didn't die. He couldn't die yet. Not until the full price was paid.
He stepped back, his eyes cold, and fired again-this time hitting Rohan in the arm. The man screamed, a guttural cry that echoed off the walls, but it didn't matter. The damage had been done, and the answers had been given.
One more shot. Aimed carefully at Rohan's other leg, ensuring he wouldn't escape, but also ensuring that death wouldn't claim him yet. The final shot, a message sent.
Rohan collapsed, his body writhing in pain, barely conscious, but alive-alive to witness the consequences of the choices he had made. His blood pooled beneath him, but he was nothing more than a tool now, a broken man who had answered to the wrong people.
Aarav Malhotra stood over him, his gun still in hand, his chest heaving slightly as he took in the sight of the man who had hurt his daughter, his pride. Tears freely flowing from his eyes "Your death is coming," he said, his voice as cold as ice, "but not tonight."
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