Her Only Fault

Fire in the cage

The ropes bit into her wrists, leaving angry red marks. Her body ached from sitting in the same position for hours, but her mind burned hotter than the pain. Fear had ruled her since the moment they dragged her here—but fear was giving way to rage now.

She wasn’t just a girl tied to a chair. She was Anshita Bedi. And she would not break.

The heavy door creaked open again. The sound sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t flinch this time. Her head snapped up, eyes blazing.

Avyan Singh Rathore walked in, tall and commanding, his black shirt clinging to muscles that moved like coiled steel. He was on the phone, voice low, calm, terrifying in its control.

“Haan… Kabir ko aur intezaar karwao. Har ghadi uske liye ek zehar banegi.”

He ended the call and turned toward her, those storm-grey eyes locking on her like a predator spotting prey. But this time, Anshita didn’t shrink back.

“Tum sochte ho mujhe tod doge?” she spat, her voice trembling but strong. “Main kabhi nahi tootungi. Sun rahe ho? Main kabhi nahi todungi! Aur Kabir tumhe—”

She didn’t get to finish.

In one swift, brutal motion, Avyan slammed his hand on the armrest of her chair, making her flinch as the wood cracked under his palm. His other hand shot to her throat—not choking, but holding just tight enough to send a message: Shut up.

His face hovered inches from hers, his jaw tight, eyes blazing with a fury that could burn cities.

“Naam mat lo uss kameene ka mere saamne!” His voice thundered like a storm tearing through silence. “Jo naam meri behen ki zindagi barbaad kare… main uss naam ko sun bhi nahi sakta.”

Anshita’s breath hitched as his fingers pressed into her delicate skin, but she didn’t look away. She stared right back into his eyes, fire for fire.

“Tum… tum mujhe dara nahi sakte,” she choked out. “Tum sirf… ek darinda ho.”

Something snapped inside Avyan. His grip tightened for a heartbeat before he yanked his hand away, his breath coming heavier now. His lips curled into a dark smile that made her blood run cold.

“Darinda? Tumhe lagta hai tumne mujhe dekha hai, Anshita? Tumhe lagta hai yeh… mera asli chehra hai?”

He suddenly grabbed the back of her chair and spun it around with a violent jerk, making her gasp as the ropes cut deeper into her wrists. The world tilted for a moment before the chair slammed against the wall with a bone-shaking thud.

Avyan’s voice was ice now, deadly calm—the kind of calm that comes before a storm.

“Jo tumne abhi kaha na… uska hisaab tumhe dena hoga.”

Her heart pounded in her ears, but she didn’t look away. Her voice cracked, but her words were knives.

“Mar do mujhe. Lekin main tumhare samne kabhi nahi jhukungi.”

He stared at her for a long moment—those stormy eyes flickering with something dangerous, something primal. Then, without warning, he bent down, his hands gripping the arms of her chair as he leaned in so close she could feel the heat of his breath.

“Marna? Tumhe lagta hai main tumhe mar dunga? Nahi, Anshita… tum meri zinda saza ho. Har pal tum mere qaid mein rahogi. Har saans meri marzi se chalegi.”

His voice dropped to a whisper that made her skin crawl.

“Aur tum jhukogi. Tumhe todne ka maza mujhe tabhi milega.”

Anshita jerked her face away, tears burning her eyes—not from fear, but rage. She wanted to scream, to fight, to claw at him—but the ropes mocked her helplessness.

Avyan straightened slowly, his expression carved from stone. But his fists clenched at his sides, his own control hanging by a thread. He had wanted to break her spirit—but something about her defiance lit a fire in him he wasn’t prepared for.

As he turned to leave, his voice floated back, low and deadly:

“Tumne aag lagayi hai, Anshita. Ab dekhte hain… yeh aag kis kis ko jalati hai.”

The door slammed shut, leaving her trembling—not from fear this time, but from the storm raging inside her.

And somewhere in the darkness, a new battle had begun. Not between Avyan and Kabir. But between Avyan and his own control.