The vivid reds in wedding symbols of celebration , Happiness and Joy . But what will happen if the same red colour change into the colour of blood betrayal and the symphony of despair.
Meera sweet little innocent girl end up being the pawn in the d...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The heavy wooden door to my private dungeon groaned on its hinges as I pushed it open, the sound echoing through the underground chamber like a death knell. The dungeon was a relic from the old days of the Rajvansh legacy—built by my great-grandfather during the British era when justice was often a personal matter. The walls were carved from solid stone, thick enough to muffle any sound from reaching the outside world. Iron brackets lined the walls, remnants of a time when chains and shackles were tools of interrogation. Gas torches flickered in their holders, casting dancing shadows that made the already intimidating space feel like something out of a medieval nightmare.
The air was thick and musty, carrying the scent of damp stone and old metal. Water dripped steadily from somewhere in the darkness, each drop marking time like a metronome of doom. This place had seen its share of confessions over the decades, though it had been years since anyone in the family had needed to use it for its original purpose.
Until now.
In the center of the chamber sat a single wooden chair, its surface worn smooth by age and use. And occupying that chair, the traitor.
Supposedly at my mercy, he managed to look infuriatingly relaxed. His dark hair was disheveled, his white shirt wrinkled and slightly torn from his earlier struggle with my security team, but that damned smirk was still playing at his lips.
I nodded to my men—who had been standing guard approched me. "Leave us," I commanded, my voice echoing off the stone walls. "I want to speak with our guest privately."
"But sir," Kiran protested, "are you sure that's wise? Your arm is still—"
"I said leave," I repeated, my tone brooking no argument. "And close the door behind you. No one comes in until I call for you."
They exchanged worried glances but obeyed, filing out of the chamber with reluctant steps. The door slammed shut behind them with a finality that seemed to reverberate through my bones.
Now it was just me and the man who had betrayed everything I held sacred. Without warning, I drew back my good leg and delivered a powerful kick to his chair from behind. The force sent both traitor and the chair tumbling backward, and he hit the stone floor with a satisfying thud.
"Kya yaar," Aditya groaned from the floor, struggling to right himself despite his bound hands, "tumhe lato se kya kuch jyada hi pyaar hai kya? Subah se do laat already maar chuka hai. Kuch toh khayal kar iss najuk si jaan ka."
I rolled my eyes at his theatrical complaints. "Nautanki," I muttered, but I couldn't quite suppress the slight upturn of my lips. Even in this situation, even knowing what he had done, his ridiculous antics were still somewhat amusing.
I hauled him upright and set the chair back in place, pushing him down into it with perhaps more force than necessary.
"How is Riya?" he asked suddenly, his voice losing some of its earlier playfulness.
