Utsav
"Dad did this!"
Aditya's voice cracked like a whip through the sterile silence of the hospital corridor. His eyes were on fire, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white.
"And I will kill him now, Bhai. I. Will. Kill. Him."
I let out a slow exhale and placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"I won't stop you," I said calmly. "It's your life, your battle. But Aadi..." -I took a step back, hands sliding into my pockets- "Aditi needs you here right now. Not chasing ghosts in your rage."
His jaw tensed, but he didn't look away. His breathing was uneven, nostrils flaring with fury. I continued, tone level.
"If uncle is behind this," I added, "I won't stop you from going after him. But think, Aadi. Think like I taught you. Be strategic. Don't run into fire with your eyes shut. Uncle doesn't leave trails. You know that. He hides things. He plays long games. And we don't even have proof-yet."
"He did this," Aditya cut me off abruptly, his voice sharp and unwavering. "I know he did this."
I sighed again. The kind of sigh that comes from knowing words won't fix what's already unraveling.
"Listen to me, Aadi. You're losing control," I said, voice lower now, like trying to steady a wildfire. "What have I always told you? Watch. Observe. Calculate. Then strike. That's how you win."
But my words didn't reach him this time.
Not today.
"You don't understand, Bhai!" he snapped. "You can't! Because you have no heart."
That one stung-but I didn't let it show. Not yet.
"You can't feel! You don't love anyone. Everyone in your life is just a transaction to you, an asset. That's all they've ever been."
His chest was rising and falling rapidly. His pain was pouring out, violent and raw, and still I said nothing. Still I stood still. I let him.
He stepped closer and jabbed a finger against my chest, voice dropping to a bitter whisper.
"A heart surgeon," he said, eyes gleaming with hatred and grief, "with no heart. Great irony, isn't it?"
I stayed silent. Not because he was right, but because I knew this wasn't really about me.
This was about him-breaking.
And in that moment, I understood something very clearly:
He needed to fall apart.
Because if he didn't... he'd become like me.
And God help me, I never wanted that.
Yes, Aditya had inherited a lot from me-my composure, my calm, my discipline. But not the trauma. Not the emptiness. Not the cold, carved-out shell I lived in. And if this pain stayed trapped inside him, if he kept pretending to be composed while it boiled beneath... it would turn him to stone too.
So I let him scream.
I let him cut me open with his words.
"What happened, Bhai?" he sneered. "No orders today? No lectures? No instructions? You're the cold dictator in the house, right? Then go and kill my fcking dad* for trying to kill my Aditi!"
His voice cracked, and this time, tears streamed freely down his face.
"You have no heart, Bhai!" he shouted again. "You've never loved anyone! That's why you can't understand my pain! Maya is just a pawn to you, isn't she? Nothing more. Just another piece on your f*cking chessboard-"
I saw Maya shift from the corner of my eye, watching us with wide, stunned eyes. Her body had gone still, like she'd heard something she wasn't meant to. Something that broke her, too.
But I didn't react.
I stayed there, motionless, letting Aditya bleed his grief into me-because I could take it.
Until he crossed one line too far.
"Perhaps you were the reason your mom-"
And that was it.
The dam broke.
Before I even realized it, my hand had fisted his collar and slammed him back against the wall with a crack. The rage I buried so deep erupted in a single moment of blind fury.
And then-
I punched him.
A brutal, clean strike across his face.
Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth as he gasped, stunned. My voice thundered through the hallway.
"DON'T!" I roared.
"Don't ever bring my mother into this. Ever again. Do you understand me?"
My voice dropped, low and venomous.
"I let you scream. I let you say whatever you wanted. But not her. Never her."
Aditya looked up at me now-not as a younger brother. Not even as a cousin.
He looked at me like he finally saw the man behind the mask-and the monster underneath it.
The one even I couldn't always control.
I realized what I'd done, what I'd become in those few seconds-and my grip loosened. I stepped back, jaw clenched so hard my teeth hurt, fists trembling at my sides.
Silence fell again.
I couldn't speak. Couldn't even breathe for a moment.
All I could feel was the old weight in my chest. The one that never went away.
"I need some air," I muttered. And without another word, I turned and walked away.
Through the corridor. Past Maya. Past Ishanvi. Past the pain.
At that moment, I wasn't Utsav Mehrotra-the mafia strategist.
Not the emotionless manipulator. Not the surgeon. Not the lion.
I was just a son.
A son who lost his mother far too early... before he even understood what death truly meant.
And the grief I buried inside me long ago?
It was no longer just a scar.
It was a wound that never healed.
I found myself standing near the hospital's back gate-the only place untouched by people, cameras, or noise.
It was quiet.
Almost painfully quiet.
Just how I wanted it.
The back garden wasn't much-concrete pavement, a couple of rusted benches, and a dying neem tree-but in this moment, it felt like a sanctuary. A pocket of stillness amidst the chaos I had unleashed inside.
I dragged in a breath, trying to control my heartbeat.
I never lose control.
Not in front of my enemies.
Not in front of my family.
Not even in front of myself.
But today... one word had shattered that illusion. One name that clawed through the walls I had so meticulously built-
Mom.
Just hearing that word had been enough to tear the calm off my skin like acid.
I closed my eyes, willing the darkness away. But instead of silence, the old memory returned.
Uninvited.
Unforgiving.
Unfinished.
---
4-year-old Utsav -
"Mumma... Mumma, please don't go," I sob, crawling across the floor, my knees scraped and bleeding. My small palms are wet-from blood, or tears, I don't know anymore.
My mother is lying on the floor, wrapped in her torn, blood-stained sari. Her forehead is bleeding, hair disheveled, and yet she still tries to smile at me.
"Utsav... Utsav beta... go inside," she whispers, voice trembling. "I said go inside, baccha. You need to be safe... for you, for us, for your sister..."
"No, Mumma!" I cry, grabbing her face with both my tiny hands, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes. "I won't go anywhere. Please stay with me. Please..."
Her hand trembles as she touches my cheek. "Be brave, beta... please..."
And then they come.
The door bursts open.
The monsters.
Dressed in black. Masked. Laughing.
They grab her.
They drag her across the floor.
My mumma kicks and screams, fighting like a warrior, but they don't stop.
"No! No, please!" I scream, voice shrill, echoing through the walls. "Don't take my mumma away! Don't take my mumma, PLEASE!"
I try to run, but my leg won't move-
I'd fallen earlier, and it's bruised badly.
I can't stand.
I can't save her.
And then-
A scream.
Her scream.
The most gut-wrenching, agonizing sound I will ever hear.
And fire.
Flames erupt outside the room, orange and angry, as her body burns right before my eyes through the half-open door.
They're laughing.
They're laughing while she burns.
And I-
I sit there on the floor, powerless, four years old, watching my world turn to ashes.
---
Present
"Mr. Mehrotra?"
A soft voice pulled me back. I blinked rapidly, vision blurry from memories more than emotion.
I turned.
Maya.
She stood at the entrance of the back gate, her oversized coat clutched tightly around her as her eyes studied me. Eyes full of something I hated.
Pity.
"What are you doing here, Miss Shekhawat?" I asked flatly, turning away from her. I kept my voice smooth, indifferent-struggling to lock the monster back inside its cage.
"You should be with Aditi."
"I was," she replied softly. I could hear the hesitation in her steps as she approached, her shoes crunching lightly on the gravel.
"Sometimes... sharing about pain helps, Mr. Mehrotra," she said gently, placing a tentative hand on my shoulder.
I stiffened instantly.
Wrong move.
"Remove your hand before I break it," I said in a low, cold voice without turning.
She quickly pulled back, and I could feel her disappointment even though I didn't see her face.
I didn't need to.
It hung in the air between us like smoke after a fire.
But I didn't care.
I wasn't here to play lover.
I wasn't here to explain my demons.
And if she thought I was broken enough to beg for comfort-she was wrong.
I looked down, jaw tightening again.
Her nightwear peeked out from under the oversized coat. My gaze sharpened.
Thin cotton, vulnerable. Loose neckline. Exposed ankles.
And suddenly, rage surged for a different reason.
What were men in this hospital seeing when they looked at her like this?
Did they know she was mine-even if only on paper?
Even if this relationship was fake-my ring still sat on her finger.
And that made her mine to protect.
Mine to command.
Even if I had to ruin her to prove it.
"Come with me," I ordered abruptly.
She blinked, taken aback. "Where?"
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to answer.
I took her wrist firmly-but not roughly-and started walking toward the car.
No one would see her like this again.
Not until I said so.
The entire car ride, she was relentless.
A storm in lipstick and silk, wrapped in confusion and defiance.
"Where are we going, Mr. Mehrotra?" she asked again for the third-maybe fourth-time, her voice sharp with suspicion. "I mean, really? I just touched your shoulder and now you want to kill me?"
She huffed, arms crossed. Her words were dramatic, filled with that typical Maya flair, but behind them I could hear something quieter.
Fear.
No, not fear of me killing her. Fear of not understanding me.
I didn't reply. Didn't flinch. My eyes remained fixed on the road, hand resting loosely on the steering wheel.
But inside?
A part of me was-annoyed.
Another part? Slightly amused.
Did she really think I would take her to some private warehouse to strangle her just because she touched my shoulder?
Tch.
She didn't understand me yet.
But she would.
Soon.
Fifteen minutes later, my car rolled to a stop outside Mumbai's largest and most extravagant shopping mall. A luxury fortress of glass, steel, and overpriced illusions.
She blinked in confusion.
"Get out," I ordered coolly, opening my door without waiting for her reaction.
She hesitated, still trying to read me like I was some open book when in reality I was a locked vault guarded by beasts.
But eventually, she obeyed.
We stepped into the glimmering mall, the air thick with perfume samples and consumer greed. Neon lights. Expensive handbags. Laughing couples.
I walked with purpose, cutting through the crowd like a blade. She trailed behind.
"Pick whatever you want," I said, voice clipped. "But make it decent."
She turned to me, eyes wide.
"Fix yourself in the dressing room. I'll be here," I added, leaning against a pillar, eyes sharp but posture relaxed.
For a moment, she just stared at me. Those green eyes, wide with something between disbelief and growing curiosity.
As if she was starting to see through the cracks I never allowed anyone to glimpse.
She thinks I care. That I've fallen for her.
Foolish girl.
I don't love her. I don't even like her most days.
But still-she's mine.
To claim.
To destroy.
To ruin.
That's enough.
She finally nodded slowly, almost in disbelief, and wandered toward the women's section while I stood amidst the chaos of shoppers and noise. My eyes scanned the mall, but not because I cared about fashion or foot traffic.
I was observing people.
How men walked too close to their girlfriends.
How women clutched overpriced handbags like trophies.
How the world was obsessed with distraction.
They were all running-running from their own emptiness, filling it with color and cost. Smiling. Laughing.
Fools.
Money won't save them from the loneliness that eventually eats everyone.
I turned away from the crowd just as Maya re-emerged.
Gone was the girl in the messy bun and oversized coat.
Standing before me was someone else entirely.
She wore a loose, cobalt-blue jumpsuit that hung elegantly over her petite frame. Her hair still pulled into a lazy bun, her skin fresh with no makeup, eyes fierce despite everything.
And just like that-
She returned to being Maya Shekhawat.
The girl who never begged. Never broke.
I didn't let my eyes linger long.
But my body betrayed me.
A flash of heat coiled in my gut.
My throat tightened. My grip flexed.
She was delicate. Small. Breakable.
If I pushed-just lightly-she'd bruise.
And then, a darker thought slithered in.
What would it feel like to have her beneath me? To press myself inside the fire she keeps hidden behind those bold words? To make her scream my name in agony or ecstasy-whichever I choose?
My jaw clenched. My self-control snapped back in place.
Calm. Cold. Always in control.
I strode toward the counter, pulling out my wallet, but before I could pay, her voice cut in sharply.
"Mr. Mehrotra, I can pay for this," she said, stepping beside me.
Her tone was laced with frustration and pride, like a child trying to stand tall in a room full of giants.
I didn't even glance at her.
"If you had a mind, you'd have worn something from the house instead of showing up to a hospital in a f*cking nighty," I replied dryly.
"Now shut your mouth and let me pay."
My words were ice, and her expression flickered with a thousand emotions-shame, defiance, embarrassment.
I didn't wait for her to respond.
I walked out of the mall without looking back.
But of course, she followed.
Like a shadow that doesn't realize it's tethered to you.
Just as I reached the car, she called out, louder this time.
"I'm a Bollywood star, Mr. Mehrotra!" she snapped, arms folded tight across her chest. "I don't need your money to invest in me or my things!"
Her voice trembled slightly-not from fear, but from sheer frustration.
I stopped, turned slowly, met her eyes.
Calm.
Flat.
Unbothered.
"You're mine," I said softly.
Not loudly. Not aggressively.
Just... truthfully.
"That's enough."
She didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just stood there, frozen.
Like my words hit a nerve she didn't know existed.
I opened the car door, got in, and shut it behind me with finality.
She didn't follow me immediately.
She stood there on the pavement, hands clenched, chest heaving, trying to process the weight of what I'd said.
And me?
I stared at her through the windshield.
Beautiful. Fierce. Infuriating.
But still-
Mine.
Not because of a contract.
Not because of some twisted romance.
Because I said so.
Because in my world, things don't have to make sense. They just have to belong.
And Maya Shekhawat?
She's my chaos to tame.
My fire to smother.
My pawn to move.
One way or another-
Utsav Mehrotra always wins.
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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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