umeed

Chapter 1

In the opulent confines of a grand mansion, a scene of brutality unfolded. A man, wielding a whip with chilling authority, delivered punishing blows upon a young man in his early twenties.

Boy: "Ahhh please mat maro... dard ho raha hai..." The boy's cries echoed through the lofty halls, tears streaming down his face.

Man: "This is your punishment for not obeying me," the man declared callously, his voice cutting through the air.

Boy: "Sorry... so... sorry... please..." The boy pleaded in anguish as the whip struck him again.

Ignoring his pleas, the man roughly seized the boy by his hair, forcing him to stand trembling on the cold, marbled floor. The boy's legs quivered uncontrollably under the excruciating pain inflicted upon him.

The man's fingers clenched tightly around the boy's hair as he dragged him out of the room, the boy stumbling to keep up. With a swift, brutal motion, he flung the boy into a cramped, poorly lit chamber. The impact with the hard floor elicited a sharp hiss of pain from the boy.

Ankit:"Yehi pade raho. Aaj koi khana nahi milega tumhe," the man declared coldly before slamming the door shut and locking it, leaving the boy alone in the suffocating silence of the small room.

Rohit Sharma and Ankit Mehta had been in a relationship for the past two years. In the beginning, Ankit was everything Rohit had dreamed of—loving, attentive, and kind. But as time passed, Ankit's true nature emerged, revealing a cruel and abusive side.

Rohit sat on the cold, hard floor, his back pressed against the grimy wall. His body was a canvas of pain, covered in bruises and fresh wounds, some of which still oozed blood. Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision. He had been in this room many times before. The small bulb hanging from the ceiling cast a feeble light, barely penetrating the thick shadows that cloaked the room. The air was heavy with the stench of dampness and neglect, and the floor was littered with debris and dirt.

Despite the filth and darkness, Rohit had grown accustomed to this oppressive environment. He lay down on the icy floor, curling into a fetal position, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. The coldness seeped into his bones, but he welcomed it—it was a distraction from the pain and despair that filled his heart. Closing his eyes, Rohit let exhaustion take over, his mind slipping into a fitful, troubled sleep.
Rohit opened his eyes with a jerk as he felt cold water splashed on his face. He hissed in pain as the wounds from yesterday burned. Blinking to clear the blurriness, he saw Ankit standing over him, grabbing his jaw in a tight hold.

Ankit:"Nashta kaun banayega, huh? Tujhe kya laga, aaj tu aaram karega, huh?" Ankit sneered, squeezing Rohit's cheeks even harder.

Rohit:"Na...hi...ma...mai...ba...banata hu," Rohit stammered, hissing in pain.

Ankit:"Mujhe 15 minutes mai nashta ready chaiye, samjha?" Ankit demanded, leaving the room.

Rohit struggled to his feet, his legs shaky and weak. Each step sent a wave of pain through his body, making him wince and cry out.

Rohit:"Ahhhh," Rohit whimpered, tears streaming down his face.

Despite the agony, he forced himself to move toward the kitchen. He knew that if breakfast wasn't ready in the given time, he would face another round of punishment. With every step, he felt the weight of his suffering, but he had no choice but to push through the pain and prepare the breakfast.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, a man lay peacefully in his bed. As the sun's rays peeked through his window, he opened his eyes. This was none other than Mr. Virat Kohli, a businessman and a notorious mafia leader.