Utsav
"So? How are you feeling?"
My voice was low, calm, and detached-almost too calm for a man sitting in front of a bloodied enemy. Mr. Khurana knelt in front of me, beaten to a pulp. Blood streamed down his swollen face, a grotesque blend of bruises and cigarette burn marks. His hands were tied tightly behind his back, body trembling from pain, humiliation, and fear.
Beside him stood his wife-her feet bound, a gag stuffed in her mouth, and a gun pressed to her temple. Her wide, terrified eyes never stopped pleading. The gag muffled her whimpers, but fear? That... I could hear loud and clear.
"Kill me, Utsav," Mr. Khurana rasped, his voice cracking as he spoke.
His wife let out a broken gasp through her gag.
"But spare my family... Please. I'm your enemy-not them. Let them go."
He begged.
I leaned back in my chair, legs crossed one over the other, arms folded casually across my chest. My expression betrayed nothing-eyes cold, sharp, unreadable. I sat like a king in his courtroom, as if this room and their fate belonged to me.
And it did.
To my left stood Kabir, unmoved. To my right, Reyansh-silent as a shadow. Both held weapons at ease, their expressions mirroring mine: emotionless.
"So you want me to kill you... but spare your family?" I repeated, a mocking smirk curling on my lips.
The hypocrisy in his plea was almost laughable.
I leaned forward, my face mere inches from his.
"How about I kill your entire family... and spare you?"
The words slithered out of my mouth like venom. The shift in his expression was instant. His eyes widened, pupils dilating in shock and horror.
Fear.
I cherished it.
Before he could react, Kabir stepped forward and placed a gleaming blade against Mrs. Khurana's neck-right at the artery. One wrong move, one push, and she'd bleed out in under a minute.
She began to scream. The room turned chaotic.
"Please! Please, Utsav... please! Leave me! I'm your mother's age!"
Her voice was hoarse, trembling.
"SHUT UP!"
My voice cracked through the air like a whip. Her words sliced something inside me-a wound not yet healed.
My eyes flared red. The calm I wore like armor cracked, if only for a second.
I stood abruptly, hands still calmly tucked into my pockets.
"I said shut up."
My tone had turned dangerously soft now-calm like the eye of a storm. That kind of quiet? It was always the deadliest.
She stared at me, eyes raw and vulnerable, tears streaking down her cheeks.
And I loved it. That despair. That helplessness. The same helplessness I once felt.
"Don't ever use that word with your filthy mouth," I spat in a low, threatening tone.
My jaw clenched as I stared her down.
"Don't ever say the word 'mother' again. Not in front of me."
Mr. Khurana's voice broke through my rage. This time softer, begging.
"Please, Utsav... leave her. Do whatever you want with me, but please spare my wife. I'm begging you... I'm begging-"
Now he was shattered.
He had started with arrogance. But the moment his wife became the target, the warrior in him crumbled.
Good.
My lips twitched into a cold, calculating smile.
"Kill her."
I didn't speak to Kabir or Reyansh.
I spoke to him.
To Mr. Khurana.
His head jerked back in disbelief.
"What...?"
"You heard me," I said flatly. "Shoot her."
I stared straight into his wife's eyes-watched the terror bloom in them like fire on dry leaves. She thrashed, screamed behind the gag, legs kicking helplessly. Kabir held her tight, a stone wall of discipline and silence.
"No... no please! Don't make me do this. Please... I can't kill my wife!"
Tears spilled freely from Mr. Khurana's eyes now. His voice trembled like that of a desperate child.
"Kill me, Utsav. Kill me instead. But don't... don't make me do this, please!"
I stood motionless.
Silent.
Watching him.
Broken.
Helpless.
Just like me... that night.
That cursed night that changed everything.
Please... please don't take my mumma away. I'm begging... mumma! Please!
My fists clenched inside my pockets.
"You thought even once?" I asked, my voice steel.
"You showed mercy?"
Each word landed like a bullet.
His sobs turned more desperate.
"I didn't kill your mom, Utsav! I was just a pawn. I swear! The real boss-he's out of reach!"
My eyes closed.
Even after all these years... that night still crawled beneath my skin like a ghost. I saw her face. Heard her screams. Smelled the blood.
But I opened my eyes, and the softness vanished again.
"I know you're a puppet, Mr. Khurana. A worthless one. But even pawns can bleed. And tonight... you will."
I stepped forward.
"And then maybe, just maybe-your screams will bring me peace."
I glanced at Reyansh.
He understood immediately-one look was enough. Without a word, he stepped forward, untied Mr. Khurana's bloodied wrists and placed a loaded gun in his trembling hands.
"Shoot your wife," I said, my voice composed, eerily calm-like a storm just before it strikes.
There was no emotion in it. No rise, no fall. Just a command.
He stared down at the weapon like it was a snake slithering in his palm. His bloodshot eyes flickered between the gun and the woman still sobbing beside him-his wife. She was thrashing, feet tied, head shaking frantically, her muffled cries choking in the gag Reyansh had stuffed in her mouth earlier. Her tearful gaze darted between me and the man she'd spent decades with. Pleading. Dying silently.
I took a step back and watched.
The irony was delicious.
This-this entire play of power-was unfolding in their own home. The house where they ruled. Where he made men kneel, where she probably smiled with pride at his cruelty.
But today, they were the ones kneeling. And I?
I was the lion pacing freely in their den.
That age-old line played in my mind: Apne ghar mein to chooha bhi sher hota hai.
A mouse might pretend to be a lion in his own territory.
But it was all bullshit.
A lion... is always a lion-whether he's on his turf or someone else's. And today, I was that lion. Roaring inside their palace of false pride.
Mr. Khurana suddenly turned to me, gun now shaking in his hands-but this time, aimed directly at my chest.
"You made a mistake, Utsav," he hissed. "I'll shoot you... before your men can shoot me."
Reyansh reacted instantly, raising his weapon, ready to end him in a blink. But I raised my hand.
"Wait."
And then, to Mr. Khurana-who thought he had the upper hand for a fleeting, foolish second-I said coolly:
"Shoot."
To most men, the sound of death is terrifying. The final breath, the trigger click.
But not to me.
Death wasn't a threat.
It was a relief I had postponed. A game I wasn't ready to end-not until my goal was reached.
His hands trembled. He was bluffing. Weakness screamed through his veins.
"Go on," I continued, stepping closer. My expression sharpened into something unreadable. "Shoot me, if it'll give you satisfaction. But before you do that... I have something for you."
His face twitched.
"W-what?" he stammered, voice cracking.
My jaw clenched, a cruel smirk curving my lips. I already knew I had won.
I nodded at Reyansh, who pulled out a small tablet and held it in front of Mr. Khurana. The screen flickered to life.
A video played.
His daughter-early twenties, innocent smile-was walking through her college campus, laughing with her friends. She was unaware of the camera trained on her from a distance. Unaware of the predator that had marked her.
Unaware... that my men had her in their sights.
"No..." Mr. Khurana whispered, a tremor of panic breaking through his bones.
"No," he repeated, louder this time, voice breaking into a thousand desperate pieces.
But I didn't flinch.
"Shoot your wife, Mr. Khurana," I said, walking back to my seat with effortless calm. I lowered myself into the chair and crossed my legs. One hand held a lit cigarette, lazily resting on my knee.
"Or my men will shoot your precious daughter."
I had no personal hatred for the girl. She was just a pawn in my larger game. A tool. A way to squeeze power from a weak man.
"You have two choices," I added, exhaling smoke slowly, the room thick with silence.
"Your wife... or your daughter."
I let that settle. Let it ferment in the hollow of his chest.
"One has lived her life. Grown old. Learned the world. The other... has her whole life ahead of her. Hope. Youth. A heartbeat that still dreams. And youth, Mr. Khurana... is the only hope left for this rotten country, isn't it?"
He broke.
Mr. Khurana fell to his knees once again, sobbing uncontrollably-harsh, heavy sobs that rattled his ribcage. He looked like a man trying to dig his way out of a grave with bare hands.
I didn't flinch.
No cry-no matter how raw-could melt me now.
Not anymore.
"So... is this a yes?" I asked, almost bored, as I blew another smoke ring into the stale air.
He nodded slowly. Brokenly. His shoulders trembled with shame.
Then, his shaking hands raised the gun... and pointed it at the woman who'd stood by him for decades.
His wife thrashed harder, her gag falling loose as she screamed-
But before she could say another word-
BANG!
A shot rang out.
And silence followed.
Mrs.Khurana's body dropped first, falling beside his wife in a heap of blood and regret.
Kabir released her-he had never truly needed to restrain her.
But in that final moment, Mr. Khurana's hand twitched-just barely-and he turned the gun toward me. His finger grazed the trigger, lips mouthing something I didn't catch.
A last act of vengeance?
A final attempt at dignity?
It didn't matter.
BANG. BANG.
Two bullets tore into his chest.
Reyansh and Kabir. Efficient. Brutal. Unhesitating.
The silence returned.
I sighed-neither disappointed nor impressed.
Another traitor buried. Another night written in blood.
But the war was far from over.
"Clean the mess."
My voice cut through the air like a knife-calm, sharp, final.
I rose from the chair, brushing a few invisible creases off my shirt. Composed. Untouched.
Like nothing had just happened.
No bullets.
No blood.
No death.
My movements were smooth, almost elegant. I adjusted my cuffs with the precision of a man preparing for a business meeting, not leaving behind a crime scene.
The cigarette between my fingers had burned down to the filter-just a smoldering end now. I dropped it casually onto the marble floor and lit a fresh one, letting it rest between my lips.
Kabir stepped forward and lit it for me without needing instruction, the flame steady in his unshaking hand. His face was carved from stone-stoic, unreadable.
He never reacted. Never questioned. Just followed.
"Make sure you clean it so thoroughly that not a single shadow of suspicion remains," I said, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.
Kabir nodded once.
"Got it, sir."
That voice of his-always obedient, always steady. If there was one man in my entire world who would walk into fire at my word, it was Kabir. Loyal to the bone.
But I never showed him what that meant to me.
In my world, loyalty was currency. Rare. Expensive.
And trust?
A luxury I could never afford.
With a final glance at the blood-stained marble, I turned and walked out of the house, the cigarette trailing smoke behind me like a memory.
I moved through the corridor in calm, calculated strides. The same way a man might exit a dinner party-not a slaughterhouse. My shirt was crisp. Not a wrinkle out of place. Not a drop of blood had dared touch me.
When I stepped outside, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting Mumbai into its familiar golden gloom. I pulled my phone out of my pocket just as it began to ring.
Aadi.
I answered it without hesitation.
"Yeah, Aadi."
His voice crashed through the speaker, frantic and broken-something I'd never heard from him before.
"Bhai! Come to the hospital-Aditi... Aditi... I swear to God, I'll kill Dad today!"
My jaw clenched. His panic was unfamiliar, almost disorienting. Aadi had always mirrored me-cold, composed, detached.
Because I taught him to be that way.
I taught him how to hold back emotion like a weapon, how to control chaos even when bleeding.
But today...
Today, something had snapped inside him.
"What happened?" I asked, voice even. Flat.
"Aditi met with an accident!" he choked out. "She lost so much blood... she-she was barely breathing when we got here. And I know it. I know Dad did this! He planned this! I'll kill him-"
I closed my eyes briefly and let out a sharp sigh.
That wasn't new.
Not for our family.
Rajveer Mehrotra-our uncle.
The strategist. The puppet master behind the curtains.
The man who wore a smile while planting daggers behind your back.
"I'm coming," I said, and without waiting for a response, disconnected the call.
I didn't waste words. I didn't offer comfort or reassurance.
Because in our family, promises meant little.
Only action mattered.
I slid into the driver's seat of my car, lit another cigarette, and drove off into the night-towards the hospital. Mumbai's largest medical facility-one that ironically bore the Mehrotra name on its donor wall.
The city lights blurred around me, neon streaks painting the windshield. But my mind wasn't on the road-it was ten steps ahead.
Uncle's schemes never surprised me. They were as calculated as a game of chess. And Aditi? She was the unfortunate pawn this time.
He never wanted Aditya to marry her.
He made his disapproval look soft-returning from the U.S. with grand speeches about family unity and wanting to be part of the wedding. Playing the concerned elder. Pretending.
But I knew better.
He only waited for the perfect moment.
And then he struck.
Just like always.
That was Rajveer Mehrotra-the most dangerous man in our family.
Not because he screamed.
Not because he threatened.
But because he waited.
He observed. Calculated.
And when the moment was right, he destroyed everything-quietly.
Aditi was just a move on his board.
But what he didn't know...
Was that this time, he had overplayed his hand.
And I was coming.
Not to talk.
Not to negotiate.
But to make sure that when this game ended... the king bled, not the pawns.
The car sliced through the night like a blade, headlights casting long shadows on the cracked city roads.
I kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gear, cigarette between my fingers, its ember glowing like a dying star. My mind wasn't occupied with worry-it was focused on control. On what needed to be done next.
Aditi's accident wasn't just a tragedy-it was a message.Rajveer's signature was all over it: silent sabotage dressed in family concern. He wanted to test how far we'd bend before breaking. But he forgot one thing-I don't bend.
And when it comes to those I consider mine, I break others.
He started a game tonight, but I'd make sure he wouldn't live to finish it.
The lion had played quiet long enough.
Now, it was time to tear the cage apart.
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"Do let me know your thoughts about this chapter in the comments section. If you liked it, please don't forget to vote. Your single vote is enough to give me the courage to keep writing more.
And please, don't judge the characters solely based on the starting chapters. There's so much yet to unfold. Especially Utsav - I know his personality might seem negative at times, but trust me, he's about to go through a powerful journey of transformation.
Let the story breathe a little before forming opinions. Big twists are coming."
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