Her Only Saviour

86. The elegance of justice

𝕷𝖔 𝖒𝖆𝖆𝖓 𝖑𝖎𝖞𝖆 𝖍𝖚𝖒𝖓𝖊
𝕳𝖆𝖎 𝖕𝖞𝖆𝖗 𝖓𝖆𝖍𝖎 𝖙𝖚𝖒𝖐𝖔

𝕿𝖚𝖒 𝖞𝖆𝖆𝖉 𝖓𝖆𝖍𝖎 𝖍𝖚𝖒𝖐𝖔
𝕳𝖚𝖒 𝖞𝖆𝖆𝖉 𝖓𝖆𝖍𝖎 𝖙𝖚𝖒𝖐𝖔

𝕭𝖆𝖘 𝖊𝖐 𝖉𝖆𝖋𝖆𝖆 𝖒𝖚𝖉𝖐𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖐𝖍𝖔
𝕬𝖞𝖊 𝖞𝖆𝖆𝖗 𝖟𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖍𝖚𝖒𝖐𝖔

~~~~~~~~

The air inside the dungeon felt heavier now. A slow, cloying tension thickened as the sound of Rishi’s ragged sobs reverberated in the background—echoes of a broken ego, flayed pride, and bleeding skin.

But none of the three women glanced his way anymore.

They had moved on.

The next chair creaked ominously as the metal bolts anchoring it were released.
Ranjit Mehra—the self-proclaimed kingmaker, slumlord, and  manipulator—tried to keep his smirk intact.
His jaw clenched. Shoulders stiffened.
But the fear in his eyes betrayed him.

“Let’s make one thing clear,” he spat. “This isn’t going to end well for you. I’ve got men—connections. You don’t even know what I can do to you once I’m out.”

He tilted his chin with forced arrogance.

And then—click.

The stilettos stopped right beside him.

Aarvi stood to his left. She leaned forward, her voice as gentle as a breeze brushing through rustling leaves. “Still so full of himself. It’s almost cute.”

“Cute,” Naina repeated, appearing on his right, “but tragically outdated.”

Ranjit jerked his wrists against the cuffs. “You think this is over once I’m out? My men—”

“You have no men,” Nandini’s voice sliced through him, cold and amused as she walked into his view. “The office you used to run has been reduced to digital ash. Your assets are frozen. Your bank accounts? Drained. Evidence against you? Public.”

Aarvi added sweetly, “You’re trending on the dark web, Ranjit. Even the rats won’t protect you now.”

That smirk died.

And now, his silence was louder than before.

Nandini picked up a long, thin piece of wire—flexible, polished, metallic. “Do you know what this is?” she asked, twirling it between her fingers.

Ranjit blinked.

“A garrote?” Aarvi guessed.

“No,” Naina replied calmly. “It’s a memory wire.”

Nandini moved behind him. “Every twist… every pull… brings back one memory I buried deep. Every bruise on my body. Every scream I bit back. Every time I was called by names.”

The wire slid under his collar and tightened—not enough to choke—but enough to press hard against his voice box.

“Remember the day?” she whispered into his ear. “You held my arm while Rishi shoved that iron rod near my belly.”

She tugged.

Ranjit choked slightly.

Aarvi walked forward and pulled a little wooden box from the tray.

“Let’s remind you what that felt like.”

She opened it. Inside: a cluster of sharpened pins—each gleaming under the overhead light.