Raghav stood near the window, phone pressed to his ear, the city lights blurring beyond the glass.

“Bring her,” he said quietly.

A pause.

“Yes,” he continued. “Tonight. When she leaves the hospital. No noise. No witnesses.”

Another pause.“Don’t kill her,” he added. “Not yet.”

The line went dead.

Avantika stepped out of the hospital gates later that night, her bag slung over her shoulder, exhaustion weighing down her steps. The street was dim, almost empty.  Just a few passing vehicles, the hum of the city settling into sleep.

She walked faster. She didn’t see the car until it slowed beside her.

The door opened. Hands grabbed her from behind.

She tried to scream, but a cloth pressed hard against her mouth. Panic surged as she struggled, her bag slipping from her grasp, hitting the ground with a dull sound.

“Don’t fight,” a voice warned close to her ear.

The world tilted, blurred, then darkness swallowed everything.

She woke to pain. Cold bit into her wrists.

Chains. Her arms were pulled above her, metal cutting into her skin as she shifted weakly. The room was unfamiliar. Concrete walls, dim light, the air thick and stale.

“Please…” Her voice trembled, barely louder than a whisper. “Please, let me go.”

A man stepped forward. Not Raghav. Just one of his men.“You should’ve kept quiet,” he said flatly.

She shook her head. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The answer came without mercy. The whip cracked through the air, sharp and sudden. Pain exploded across her back, stealing her breath. She cried out despite herself, her body trembling against the chains.

“Stop— please—” she gasped.

Another strike followed. Then another. Not enough to kill. Enough to break.

Tears streamed down her face as her strength drained away, every movement pulling against the chains, every breath burning.

Between the pain, one thought kept repeating in her mind —

Why?

She sagged against the restraints, shaking, barely conscious, the sound of her own breathing loud in the silence.

The door creaked open slowly. Footsteps entered the room.

Avantika lifted her head weakly. Her vision swam, blurred by tears and pain. Blood soaked her clothes, dark and sticky where the whip had torn through skin. It clung to her back, her arms, her sides. Every breath pulling against raw wounds. She was shaking uncontrollably.

A figure stopped in front of her. A black hoodie, the hood pulled low. A mask covering his face, hiding everything except his eyes.

Those eyes.

They watched her without emotion. She swallowed hard, her throat burning. Fear tightened her chest, but desperation forced the words out.

“Please… please,” she begged, her voice breaking completely now. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Please, just let me go.”

Her body sagged against the chains, blood slowly trailing down her skin. She could feel it warm, heavy, undeniable proof of how far this had gone.

“Please…” she whispered again, voice barely holding. “Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?”

The man stepped closer, just enough for his shadow to fall over her. “You ask too many questions,” he said calmly.

She shook her head, tears slipping down.

Silence.

Then he spoke again, low and final.“I’m the son of the hospital’s managing director.”

Her breath hitched. Understanding struck her harder than the pain.

“So this is about the hospital,” she whispered. “About what I saw.”

“You crossed a line,” he replied. “You should’ve known better.”

“I was doing my duty,” she said, voice breaking. “People were getting hurt. Records were—”

“You should have stayed quiet,” he cut in.

Her shoulders slumped. That was when she understood everything. Why she was here. Why no one came for her. Why mercy wasn’t an option.

She closed her eyes, a single tear slipping free.“So this is the price of telling the truth,” she murmured.

“I’ll leave,” she whispered desperately. “I won’t say anything. I swear. I’ll disappear. Please… just leave me.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t answer.

He stood there, silent, as if deciding whether her words mattered at all.

“I only did my duty,” she said, sobbing now. “Patients were getting hurt. Records were missing. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t see it. I never wanted revenge. I never wanted this.”

Her knees buckled, chains rattling as she struggled to stay upright.

“Please,” she cried again. “I’m begging you.”

“You crossed a line.”

“No—” she shook her head frantically. “You’re protecting the wrong person. Please, listen to me—”

“No more words.”He stepped closer.

The knife appeared in his hand, the blade catching the dim light for a second before settling against her throat. Cold. Exact. Final.

Her breath hitched violently.

Tears streamed down her face as she stared into his eyes, searching for, that might save her.

She found nothing. One clean motion.

Pain exploded, sharp and blinding. Her body went slack instantly, chains biting deeper as her strength gave out. Sound drained away, replaced by a roaring silence.

Her vision darkened. Her last clear memory was his eyes. calm, detached, already finished with her. As her blood soaked further into her clothes and the floor beneath her.

He stepped back, watching until she went still.

Satisfied. Without removing the hood or the mask, he turned and walked away.

Believing it was over.



“Sir?” The voice cut through his thoughts like a blade.

Raghav blinked, breath uneven, his chest rising sharply as if he’d been dragged out of deep water. The hospital room came back into focus white walls, muted lights, the steady beep of the monitor beside him.

A nurse stood near the door. “Sir, the doctor asked you to rest. Your heart rate just spiked.”

He stared at her for a second too long.“I’m fine,” he said curtly.

She nodded, adjusting the IV before leaving the room quietly. Silence settled again.

Raghav leaned back against the pillows, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

That night…

He remembered the blood. Her voice breaking as she begged.

So how was this possible?

How had she stood in front of him days later, alive, composed, untouched by fear? How had those same eyes looked at him without recognition?

His fingers curled slowly against the sheet.

I watched you go still. His chest tightened.

Was it shock?

Was it exhaustion?

Was it guilt playing tricks on him?

Or had he been wrong?

The question clawed at him, relentless.

Did I imagine it?

Did she really survive?

His heart thudded painfully as another thought followed.

What if she remembers everything?

He turned his head toward the window, city lights blurring beyond the glass.

She had given him her blood.

Saved him.

And he didn’t even know how she was still breathing. The certainty he once carried was gone. In its place was something far worse.

Doubt.

And doubt, for a man like Raghav, was unbearable.

--------



She stepped into his room again. Raghav’s eyes found her instantly, and didn’t move after that.

Avantika walked in with the file in her hand, her expression calm, professional. “How are you feeling now?” she asked, already checking the monitor.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even hear her.

All he could see was her. The way she stood. The way she moved without fear.

Alive.

Her lips kept moving with instructions, questions but the words dissolved before they reached him. His chest felt tight, suddenly too tight, like the air around him had thickened.

Still, his eyes didn’t leave her face. Not even when his breath shortened.

Not even when pain flared sharply through his chest.

His fingers twitched against the sheet.

Avantika noticed instantly.“Raghav?” she said sharply now, stepping closer. “Look at me.”

No response.

She glanced at the monitor, heart rate spiking, oxygen levels dropping. “Okay,” she said quickly, calm but firm. “Stay still.”

She moved fast. One hand checked his pulse, fingers pressing against his wrist, precise and sure. Too sure. Too close. The contact sent another wave of dizziness through him.

His breathing hitched.

Without hesitation, she reached for the oxygen mask and fitted it over his face.

“Breathe,” she instructed. “Slowly. Focus on your breathing.”

Her eyes stayed on him, sharp, assessing, unreadable. Air filled his lungs again but his gaze never broke from hers.

Even now. Especially now.

She leaned back slightly once his breathing steadied, watching the monitor settle.

“That happens when you overexert,” she said evenly. “You need to rest.”

Raghav swallowed, the mask fogging faintly with his breath. He was breathing again.

But the pressure in his chest hadn’t fully gone. Because it wasn’t just his heart struggling.

It was the realization settling deeper with every second. The woman he couldn’t stop looking at was the same one he had believed he erased.

And no amount of oxygen could fix that.

The oxygen mask was removed a few minutes later.

Raghav’s breathing had steadied, though his chest still felt tight not from pain now, but from her being so close.

“There’s still discomfort?” Avantika asked, already reaching for the stethoscope again.

He nodded slightly. “Here,” he said, lifting his hand weakly and indicating the area near his heart. “It feels… heavy.”

She studied his face for a second, then stepped closer.“I need to check,” she said quietly. “Tell me if it hurts.”

Her fingers brushed his chest first. The moment she touched him properly, his breath caught.

Just… stopped.

It felt like she had placed her hand on something dangerously exposed, something that shouldn’t be touched.

Avantika felt it immediately.

His heartbeat jumped under her palm, sudden and strong, like it had been waiting for her.

She frowned slightly. “Relax,” she said softly, more instruction than comfort. “You’re tense.”

He tried. He failed.

Her hand moved a little, pressing gently, listening, feeling. Clinical. Careful.

But for him, the world narrowed to that single point of contact. Her touch wasn’t gentle in a way that comforted.

It was gentle in a way that undid him. His chest rose unevenly. His fingers tightened around the sheet, knuckles whitening as he forced himself not to react.

“Does it hurt?” she asked again, eyes focused, unaware of what she was doing to him.

He shook his head slowly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “No.”

“Then why did you—”

“If you touch me like that again,” he interrupted, voice low, uneven, “I’ll definitely faint.”

She froze. Then she looked at him properly.

Not as a patient this time, as a man saying something ridiculous at the worst possible moment.

“Excuse me?” she asked flatly.

“That area,” he added, swallowing, “is… very sensitive right now.”

Avantika straightened immediately, pulling her hand back. Her expression shifted, not flustered, not embarrassed.

Suspicious.

“This isn’t a movie,” she said coolly. “And I’m not here to entertain you.”

“I wasn’t joking,” he said.

“That’s exactly the problem,” she replied.

She picked up the file again, deliberately increasing the distance between them. “Your vitals are stable. The sensation you’re feeling is normal post-procedure. Nothing dramatic.”

He watched her, the way she dismissed it so easily, the way she didn’t realize how close she’d come to something dangerous.

“Doctor,” he said softly.

She didn’t look up. “Rest,” she said. “And stop overthinking every

sensation.”

She turned to leave.

Raghav lay back against the pillows, a slow smile touching his lips.

Something darker.

She thought he was talking nonsense. She had no idea how close he already was to losing control.

And that made it worse. Much worse.