Where Shadows Learn To Dream

The Ultimate Moment of Madness

Aanya

The house was eerily quiet when I was summoned to my husband’s room. My heart pounded in my chest as I made my way down the long corridor, every step heavy with dread. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The air was thick with tension, and I could feel it sinking into my skin, making my pulse race.

As soon as I entered the room, Mr. Shekhar stood there, an eerie stillness surrounding him. His eyes, once merely cold, now burned with a fury I’d never seen before. My breath caught in my throat as I realized—he knew. He knew about Raghav and me.

"You thought you could fool me?" His voice was a low growl, vibrating with the threat that lingered beneath the surface.

Before I could utter a word, he lunged at me. His hand shot out, grabbing my arm with a bruising force, and dragged me closer. "You thought you could betray me, you worthless thing?" His other hand came down in a sharp, cruel strike across my face. Pain exploded in my cheek, and I gasped, stumbling backward. But there was no escape.

He struck again. Harder this time. The back of his hand hit my temple, and stars danced in front of my eyes. I crumpled to the ground, the cool marble floor biting into my skin.

"You don’t get to make a fool of me," he spat, pacing around me like a predator circling its prey. "I should’ve killed you the moment you walked through that door."

I tried to crawl away, but his foot slammed into my side, and I yelped in pain. "Look at you. Pathetic." He kicked me again, harder this time, and I curled into myself, shielding my ribs. "All this time, you were just a little whore, weren’t you?"

Tears blurred my vision, but I fought them back, refusing to let him see me cry. The humiliation burned worse than the pain. I had nothing left—not even my dignity.

Through the haze of agony, I heard him call for the servants. "Bring Raghav. Now."

I froze, my heart sinking. Raghav. No. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t drag Raghav into this.

The door flew open, and Raghav stormed in. His eyes locked onto mine for a brief moment—cold, calculating, but I saw something flicker there. And then his gaze shifted to his father, filled with a rage that matched Mr. Shekhar’s.

"Get away from her," Raghav’s voice was low, dangerous.

Mr. Shekhar scoffed, turning to face his son. "Oh, you want to play the hero now, boy?" He sneered, his lip curling in disdain. "You think you’re any better than her?"

Raghav didn’t waste time on words. He charged at his father, his fist connecting with his jaw in a brutal punch that sent Mr. Shekhar staggering back. The force of the blow reverberated through the room, but Mr. Shekhar recovered quickly, snarling as he grabbed Raghav by the collar.

"You’re a disgrace, just like her," Mr. Shekhar spat, shoving Raghav hard against the wall. The thud echoed in the room as Raghav grunted in pain. But he didn’t back down. He swung again, his knuckles splitting against his father’s face.

"How dare you take away everything that is mine?" Mr. Shekhar roared, his hands wrapping around Raghav’s throat, slamming him against the wall with crushing force. Raghav gasped, his fingers clawing at his father’s hands, but Mr. Shekhar’s grip only tightened.

My heart stopped in my chest. They were going to kill each other. This was madness—pure, uncontrolled hatred between them, spilling out in brutal blows. I struggled to stand, my entire body screaming in pain as I tried to move.

Raghav’s face was turning red, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his father’s hands crushed his windpipe. And then I saw it—the statue on the mantle. Mr. Shekhar’s eyes darted to it, and in an instant, I knew what he was planning.

He released Raghav, and he fell to the floor, coughing and gasping for air. But Mr. Shekhar didn’t care. His attention was focused on the statue, his hands reaching for it, lifting it high above his head, ready to bring it down with deadly force.

"No!" I screamed, terror freezing my blood. Raghav was still struggling to stand, barely able to defend himself.

Time seemed to slow in that moment. I saw the rage in Mr. Shekhar’s eyes, saw the intent to kill, and my heart stopped. He was going to kill Raghav. He was going to end this in the most brutal way possible.

And then Raghav’s voice cut through the haze of fear. "Aanya!" His voice was sharp, filled with panic, calling out to me.

I didn’t think. I couldn’t. Instinct took over. I grabbed the nearest object I could find—a heavy iron rod—and with every ounce of strength I had left, I swung it at Mr. Shekhar’s head.

The impact was brutal. The rod collided with his skull with a sickening thud, and he staggered, the statue slipping from his grasp. His eyes widened in shock as he stumbled back, his hands flying to his head where blood was beginning to pour.

And then, he collapsed.

The silence that followed was deafening. My heart raced, the rod still clutched in my shaking hands as I stared at his body on the floor. His chest rose and fell erratically for a few moments, and then—nothing.

Mr. Shekhar stopped breathing.

I dropped the rod, my hands trembling uncontrollably. My vision blurred, and all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears.

Behind me, I heard footsteps. The servants. The wives. They had heard everything. They had heard the fight, the violence, the screams—and yet no one had come to stop it.

No one had dared to intervene.

I turned to look at Raghav, who was still catching his breath, leaning against the wall for support. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, neither of us moved.

What had I done?