𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑎𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝐾𝑎 𝑆𝑎𝑓𝑎𝑟 | 18+

Chapter 5- Rescue her

Shayantika's Armani

It was Eve, and I still hadn't had lunch. The thought of facing my father's wrath kept me holed up in my room, away from his angry eyes. My room felt like a prison as I sat on the edge of my bed, scrolling through the endless stream of articles being published about the disaster I had caused. Headlines flashed before me: "Singhania LMTD Declines All Deals with SA Star Enterprise." The weight of these words bore down on me, crushing me with every passing second. Tears streamed down my face as the reality of my mistake sank in.

My stomach growled, a harsh reminder of my hunger. Reluctantly, I decided to venture out of my sanctuary, hoping to find something to eat in the kitchen. But as I stepped out, I was greeted by my father's angry shout. "Shayantika!!" His voice cut through the air like a knife. I flinched, my heart racing with fear.

"Hm.. pappa," I managed to respond, my voice trembling.

"Look what you've done!" he roared, his face red with rage. "We're on the brink of bankruptcy. Either you fix this or you're no longer our daughter. You're a failure!" His words were like daggers, each one twisting deeper into my already shattered heart. Before I could react, he closed the distance between us and slapped me hard across the face. The smack echoed in the hallway, and my cheek stung as my tears mixed with the pain. "You have one week to fix this," he demanded, his voice cold and unyielding.

My world seemed to collapse in on itself. My father had never laid a hand on me before. This was a first, and it was all because of my actions. My mouth quivered as I tried to speak, my voice barely a whisper. "Pappa, you... you never... laid your hand... on me." The words came out haltingly, my heart breaking with each syllable.

For a moment, I saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes, but it quickly vanished as he turned away. "Fine, I'll get the partnership back," I said, my voice firm despite the pain. I turned to see my mother standing nearby, her eyes filled with tears. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. If I hadn't slapped Mr. Singhania, I wouldn't have been slapped in return, and my mother wouldn't be crying. The burden of my mistake was almost too much to bear.

"Give me Mr. Singhania's number," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. I needed to try to make things right. My father handed me the number, and I retreated to my room, the weight of the day pressing heavily on my shoulders. I was starving, but the hunger seemed secondary to the emotional turmoil I was feeling. My parents didn't seem to want me; they wanted perfection. My tears flowed freely, showing no sign of stopping.

I took out my phone and texted Mr. Singhania:

Me: Hello Mr. Singhania, sorry to disturb you, but I need to talk to you about our business. If you would spare me some time.

I watched as the text was read but received no reply. My despair grew, and I curled up in the corner of my bed, hugging my knees. My mother soon appeared with a plate of food, and despite the flood of tears, I felt a surge of relief. I wasn't alone; my mother was here.

She sat beside me, feeding me with gentle care. After I ate, I lay down on her lap, finding solace in her presence. "Shayantika, your father asked me to say sorry to you," she said softly. Her words were a balm to my aching heart. I looked up at her, tears still streaming down my face. "Tell him he doesn't need to apologize. It's all my fault," I said, my voice muffled and broken.

She nodded and continued to run her fingers through my hair. "You know, today when I was driving to the office, I accidentally crashed into his car. There was no real damage, but he was saying things like a poor girl like me could never pay for his car. It was all so unfair," I confessed. My mother's soothing touch and calming presence were a rare comfort in this storm of emotion.

"You did right by standing up for yourself," she said gently. "He shouldn't have judged you, and he shouldn't have declined the deals. He has fault in this too." Her words were a small but precious validation amidst the chaos. I nodded, finding some strength in her support. My mother had always been my rock, helping me through anxiety and panic attacks. She was the one who truly understood me and provided a sanctuary from my fears.

Two Days Later:

I was stumbling out of one of my friend's houses, the effects of too much drinking making my vision swim. I had lost track of time, and as I drove home, I was barely in control of my senses. The alcohol dulled my reactions and clouded my judgment. Suddenly, a child appeared in the middle of the road—a small figure that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. My instincts kicked in, and I swerved sharply to avoid hitting the child.

I managed to get out of the car, my movements unsteady and clumsy. The child stood there, crying and lost, their tiny body trembling in the cold night air. "Hey, kiddo, what are you doing out here all alone? Are you lost? Where are your parents?" I asked, my voice slurred and wavering.

Before I could do more, a hand clamped over my mouth, and a cloth was pressed against my face. The suddenness of it all left me gasping for breath. Panic surged through me as I tried to fight back, but my movements were sluggish and weak from the alcohol. A man in a full-face mask grabbed my wrist, twisting my arms behind my back and securing them with ropes. I struggled, but the rope cut into my skin, and the duct tape over my mouth rendered me virtually mute.

As I was forced to the ground, the rough asphalt scraped against my knees, adding to the agony of my predicament. Tears flowed freely from my eyes, mixing with the dirt on my face. The masked figures surrounded me, their intentions dark and menacing. They roughly handled me, their hands violating my sense of safety and dignity. The pain from the rocks digging into my skin was excruciating.

One of the men sneered, "Huhh, so weak!" His voice was filled with contempt. Another barked orders, "Get this bitch in the car!" My attempts to scream were muffled by the tape, my cries barely more than inaudible whimpers.

As the men lifted me and forced me towards a black car parked nearby, I saw a figure emerging from it—another man, dressed in a suit, running toward us. The sight of him was a glimmer of hope in the darkness, a potential savior in the midst of my nightmare. My heart raced with a desperate hope that he might intervene, that he might be the key to escaping this hellish situation.

Every moment felt like an eternity, the darkness of my captors contrasting with the faint light of hope that the approaching man represented. I clung to the hope that he would be my salvation, my last chance to escape from the clutches of my captors and find a way out of this terrifying ordeal.

TO BE CONTINUED

So how was it, guess her savior? hehe. follow for the next part.

and the next part will be a good one❤❤❤💥