A Desi romcom Indian story, where the main lead is not any kind of mafia or any emotionless. Rude, Ruthless man.
He is a kind man, who makes a priority of his family and wife first. He is. Standard. Unlike those leads who curses there family uneven...
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"Ouch! Dekh ke nahi chal sakte kya?" she muttered, rubbing her head as the sharp pain faded into a dull ache.
Annoyed, she tilted her head to see the person who had bumped into her, but the irritation in her eyes quickly transformed into something else—shock, disbelief.
There he stood.
The man who once claimed to love her. The man who betrayed her for a friend who ended up betraying him.
A bitter smile threatened to curl on her lips, but she swallowed it down. She wasn’t someone who got lost in emotions, nor was she the kind to wallow in heartbreak. She had known about his deception long before he had the courage to admit it. Yet, she had stayed quiet, watching, waiting—for him to dig his own grave.
And he had.
Now, looking at his guilt-ridden face, she realized something—she had moved on. But there was a part of her that wanted to see just how low he could still sink.
"I’m sorry, jaan! I’m really, really sorry," he pleaded, his voice thick with desperation as he took her hands in his own. "She used me. She was a whre. Please believe me… jaan, please."*
Her fingers twitched, a wave of disgust washing over her.
"What sorry, huh?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "And don’t you dare call anyone a whre. If anyone fits that title, it’s you. You’re the traitor. She didn’t even know about me, but you? You knew. You made that choice."*
She yanked her hands away, turning on her heel to leave, but he wasn’t done yet.
His grip on her arm was sudden, forceful—too strong for her to shake off immediately. A sharp gasp left her lips as his fingers dug into her skin, leaving behind the promise of bruises. She hissed in pain, her body tensing.
And then he made a mistake.
He raised his hand. Not to hit her, but to wipe the sweat off his brow, as if she was exhausting him.
Something snapped inside her.
"Leave me, asshole!" Her voice rang out, her fury igniting like wildfire.
He had the advantage—his build, his strength—but she wasn’t the type to bow. She was Advantika Bhavani, the queen of the night. She had never been afraid of men like him, and she wasn’t about to start now.
With a swift movement, she twisted his wrist, forcing him to bend forward. A sharp cry escaped his lips.
But she wasn’t done.
A fierce kick landed against the back of his knee, making him crumble to the ground with a grunt. Before he could recover, her fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his head back, forcing him to meet her gaze.
Her eyes burned—rage, power, and something dangerously unshaken.
"Listen carefully, you pathetic excuse of a man," she seethed, tightening her grip on his collar. "I am Advantika Bhavani. I am not someone you can mess with. If I ever see your pathetic face again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself."
