HER BETRAYAL HIS REVENGE

CHAPTER:39

AUTHOR'S POV

The night was eerily silent as the Rathores and Aparajita's family emerged from the warehouse. The sky hung heavy, cloaked in an overcast gloom, as if even nature had felt the weight of their ordeal. The remnants of the battle inside still echoed in their minds, every injury and every betrayal a wound far deeper than the physical scars they bore.

Arjun, with Diksha unconscious in his arms, led the way. His face was set in grim determination as he carried his wife, her body limp, her breathing shallow. Behind him, Vivaan supported a half-conscious Tara, her head resting against his shoulder, her legs barely able to carry her weight. Both of them were shadows of their former selves, beaten down by the cruelty of the people who had once been trusted friends.

As they stepped into the cold air, the guards rushed forward, their faces pale with concern as they realized what had transpired inside. The security head, his jaw clenched, was already barking orders into his phone. Within minutes, sleek black cars rolled to a stop behind them, doors flung open to offer safety and, perhaps, salvation.

One by one, they piled into the vehicles. Rajendra, Anjana, Aayansh, and the rest-each of them broken in ways they could hardly fathom, but alive. For now, that was all that mattered. They had survived, but survival was a bitter pill to swallow when so much had been lost.

As the last of the family members took their seats, there were only two left standing. Aparajita and Abhimaan.

The tension between them was palpable, like a live wire humming with the threat of pain. Aparajita stood by the car door, her hand gripping the cold metal, her eyes hollow, her body slumped in exhaustion. She didn't look at him-not once. It was as though he didn't exist.

Abhimaan, however, couldn't tear his gaze away from her. He had been avoiding this moment, afraid of the weight it would carry, afraid of what it would mean to look into her eyes and see the person he had once loved reduced to this fragile shell.

Finally, they both slid into the back seat of the car. Aparajita, too exhausted to fight her own body, rested her head against the window. The cool glass was a temporary relief against the whirlwind of emotions inside her. She closed her eyes, hoping for a brief escape from everything, but peace did not come.

Abhimaan, sitting beside her, couldn't bring himself to look away. He hadn't truly seen her in so long. The woman beside him was not the Aparajita he had known-the vibrant, strong-willed, fearless woman who had once been the light of his life. This version of her was haunting. Her eyes, once so full of life, were dull, sunken into dark circles that told the story of endless nights spent in fear and pain. Her hair, once silky and flowing, was now rough and brittle, tangled from neglect. Her skin had paled, her body thinner, frailer, as though the weight of what she had endured had drained her of life itself.

And yet, in that brokenness, she was more powerful than ever.

Abhimaan's heart twisted in his chest as he watched her. He remembered the small things-those moments when life had been simple, and love had felt so natural between them. He could still picture her on lazy Sunday mornings, lying in his lap, demanding a head massage. She had always hated oiling her own hair, and every Sunday, without fail, he had sat behind her, his fingers working through her scalp as she sighed in contentment. She used to laugh about how spoiled he made her feel. It had been their ritual-one of the many little pieces of their life together.

But now? That world was gone, shattered by the cruelty he had inflicted upon her.

He smiled briefly at the memory, but it quickly faltered. How could he smile when the woman he had once loved more than anything was now beyond reach? He had done this. He had turned her into a shadow of herself, all because he had allowed himself to be consumed by the lies of others, by the manipulations of men like Alok. He had let his own insecurities and doubts destroy the one thing that had ever truly mattered to him.