ʙᴏᴏᴋ 𝟷 ɪɴ ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴇʏ sᴇʀɪᴇs
Tia ᥫ᭡ Saransh
"I like you. Saransh ji, I truly do a lot, but I'm not sure what love is because I've never felt it."
"Then let me show you what love feels like by painting you in the color of my love, sona.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
"S...
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In a dimly lit basement that smelled of dampness and despair, a man hung suspended above a cauldron of boiling oil. The heat radiated upwards like a furnace, and the air shimmered with the intensity of it all. His skin was already blistering from the oil's vapor, each painful breath a reminder of his imminent fate. He squirmed against the ropes that bound him, the raw, searing pain igniting a primal instinct to escape. But escape was not an option; not today.
Enter Saransh, a figure cloaked in darkness, his presence almost ethereal. He strode into the room with a calm that belied the tempest brewing within him. His eyes, hollow and void, were a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in his heart-a heart that beat for vengeance. Saransh was no ordinary man; he was a force of nature, a tempest ready to unleash fury upon those who dared cross him.
Sitting in front of a flickering light, Saransh lit a cigar, the smoke curling around him like a ghostly specter. His half-naked body was a canvas painted with the blood of Tia, his wife, a cruel reminder of the horrors she had endured for the past eight hours. A bullet wound marred his left arm, a testament to the battle he had fought to protect her.
Around him stood twenty guards, their faces devoid of emotion, like robots programmed to obey without question. Behind Saransh, Alex wore a devilish smirk, his eyes glinting with sadistic glee as he observed the man suspended in agony. Saransh's gaze, however, was fixed on Daksh, the man who had brought this torment upon his life.
"Turn on the cameras. Let's make this meeting interesting," Saransh commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos brewing within. Alex flicked a switch, and the flickering lights illuminated the scene, revealing a hundred faces on the other side of the screen, all waiting for Saransh's decree.
As Saransh leaned into the camera's gaze, the atmosphere shifted. The viewers were paralyzed, their eyes wide with fear. They were witnessing the infamous Hydra, a man who wouldn't hesitate to spill blood for the sake of his own. But beneath the surface of this ruthless persona lay a man shaped by love and loss, a man who had once been a boy longing for family.
Saransh's mind drifted back to his childhood, when his grandfather had taken him in from the orphanage, offering him the family he had craved. The warmth of that love had ignited a fire in his heart, a passion to protect those he cherished. And now, that love was threatened, pushing him to the brink of madness.
As Saransh stepped into view, smoke billowed around him, obscuring his features momentarily. When he emerged, his fiery eyes locked onto the camera, and a palpable tension filled the air. The audience on the other side went numb, shivering at the sight of the man known as Hydra-the ruthless leader of the Indian mafia, a man who wouldn't hesitate to spill blood for those he loved.
