Her Majesty's revenge..

𝙎𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙎𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙨

Rajan’s fingers clenched the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles ached. The city lights blurred past, his mind racing faster than the car itself. For days, he had been driven by rage—certain that Adrian had Kira, or had killed her. Every decision he’d made, every act of cruelty towards Maya, was fueled by that belief.

But then Adrian had looked him in the eye earlier that day—no fear, no hesitation, only a fierce protectiveness—and swore that Maya’s life mattered to him far more than any vendetta. That she was precious. That he couldn’t risk her for anything.

Those words had cut deeper than any blade.

Because if Adrian was telling the truth… then Maya was suffering because of him. Because of his obsession. Because he had dragged an innocent girl into the storm meant only for Adrian.

And Rajan couldn’t ignore that guilt anymore.

Rajan’s hands were clammy on the steering wheel, each turn of the car heavier than the last. He had made his choice. He couldn’t allow Maya to continue suffering—not when she had been pulled into a nightmare meant only for Adrian and himself. He had driven for two hours through Cambridge’s empty, rain-slicked streets, his mind running over Adrian’s words again and again: “I can’t risk her life. She’s too precious.”

Rajan had believed him. And he had also believed that the only way to bring some sense of closure to his torment over Kira was to show Adrian the consequences of the world he’d created. But now, as the building loomed ahead—an abandoned structure in the heart of the industrial district—Rajan didn’t know what to feel. Relief? Guilt? Fear?

The car door slammed, and he ran up the cracked steps to the warehouse, Adrian following silently behind him. The heavy metal door groaned as they pushed it open, and the smell hit them first: metallic, thick, suffocating. Blood. Sweat. Death.

And then they saw her.

Maya.

She lay sprawled on the cold concrete floor, her small frame covered in blood and bruises, hair clinging to her sweat-soaked cheeks. Her wrists were raw from the ropes that bound her, and her clothes were torn and stained. Around her were fifteen bodies, lifeless, grotesque in their final positions. Thirteen were shot cleanly—precision, cold, and methodical. Two others were crushed by bare hands, their faces broken beyond recognition.

Rajan stopped dead, his stomach twisting. The scene was horrifying. Terrifying. The kind of sight that would make a man swear he would never take another step in his life.

Yet, in the midst of that terror, something flickered inside him. Relief.

He knew this style. The deadly precision, the brutal efficiency, the hand-to-hand savagery—it was unmistakable. Whoever had done this had not come to kill her. Whoever had done this had come to save her.

But alongside that relief, guilt clawed at him. This was Maya. An innocent. A girl dragged into a nightmare because of his obsession, because he had once believed Adrian had killed Kira. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve the blood, the fear, the pain.

Rajan’s knees weakened slightly as he stepped closer, gaze fixed on her trembling body. He had punished himself for her pain, shocking his own flesh to mirror hers, yet it hadn’t been enough. He had been too late, too naive.

Adrian, standing a step behind him, didn’t move immediately. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, his sharp green eyes softened, shadows of tears brimming at the edges. He knelt beside Maya slowly, careful not to jostle her injured body. His hands hovered over her, hesitant, as though touching her would make her vanish into nothing.

“She’s… alive,” Adrian whispered, voice thick with emotion. But his words were meaningless compared to the silent cry ripping through his chest. Every wound on her body, every blood-stained strand of hair, every bruise whispered pain to him, and he had been powerless to stop it.

Rajan’s voice broke, barely audible. “I—I didn’t know… she would… survive this.” His throat tightened, guilt coiling like a snake around his heart. “I… I couldn’t stop it.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened, fury and heartbreak mingling in his expression. “You didn’t do this,” he said, voice hard but controlled. “I can see that. You’ve been punishing yourself already. You’ve already—” He cut himself off, eyes snapping back to Maya’s fragile form. “The only person who could’ve done this—who could’ve saved her—is someone who cared enough to kill anyone in their way. Someone like me.”

Rajan’s stomach dropped. Adrian’s words were truth laid bare. Whoever had slaughtered the fifteen men had done it with precision and rage. And Adrian had been willing to spill blood to protect her, just as Rajan had feared all along.

Adrian reached for her gently, brushing a bloodied strand of hair from her cheek. His green eyes were filled with pain, love, and something else—a burning determination. “I won’t let anything happen to her,” he whispered, almost reverently. “Not now. Not ever.”

Rajan’s eyes flicked between Adrian and Maya, the weight of guilt and relief warring in his chest. He had dragged an innocent girl into his vendetta. He had thought punishing himself would ease his conscience. But seeing Adrian here, seeing Maya’s life hanging by a fragile thread, he realized it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

He swallowed hard. “She… she reminds me of Kira,” he murmured, voice low, heavy with regret. “The way she fights, the way she… endures. God, Adrian… I—I didn’t mean for this. I thought…” His voice cracked. “I thought she could handle it. But she’s… she’s not ready for any of this.”

Adrian’s gaze didn’t leave Maya. His hand hovered protectively over her, as though daring anyone to come closer. His voice was quiet, but every word carried authority. “She won’t face this alone anymore. I’ll make sure of it.”

Rajan’s chest heaved. Relief and terror intertwined. Relief that she was alive. Terror at what she had endured. And guilt, searing and relentless, for having been the cause of any part of her suffering.

The room was silent except for Maya’s shallow breathing. Outside, the city waited, unaware of the m******e inside this abandoned warehouse. But inside, two men—one a hero in action, the other a pawn of his own conscience—stood frozen in shock, watching over the girl who had unknowingly survived hell.

Adrian’s hand finally touched her shoulder lightly, as if anchoring himself as much as her. “You’re safe now,” he whispered. His green eyes, so full of pain, love, and fury, didn’t waver. “I’ve got you.”

Rajan stepped back, guilt and fear etched into his face. Relief still lingered, but it was fragile, fragile like the girl on the floor. And deep down, he knew that whatever came next, this night would haunt them forever.

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