The men nodded immediately.

No hesitation.

One of them grabbed a metal bucket from the corner of the room, ice clinking audibly inside as water sloshed against the sides. He didn't slow as he reached Akshita first.

The water came down in a violent cascade.

Akshita gasped sharply as the freezing shock tore her back to consciousness, her body jerking as icy water soaked her hair, clothes, and wounds.

Before anyone could react-

Another bucket.

Reva.

She jolted violently, breath hitching as the cold hit her like a physical blow. Her hands twitched weakly against the restraints, teeth chattering as her eyes snapped open, unfocused at first-then sharpening the moment she took in the scene around her.

"Rayan-?" she whispered hoarsely, panic threading through her voice.

The third bucket followed immediately.

Shivansh sucked in a broken breath as the water drenched him, a sharp groan leaving his lips as consciousness slammed back into his battered body. He blinked hard, chest rising unevenly as he took in the carnage, the blood, the guns-

And Shivangi.

Bloodied. Drugged. Still standing.

"Boss..." he rasped.

The woman watched it all with satisfaction, clapping her hands slowly as their awareness returned. "Perfect," she said cheerfully. "Now everyone's awake."

She turned back toward Shivangi, eyes glittering with vicious delight.

Rayan fought harder now, desperation breaking through his composure as his gaze darted between Akshita, Reva, Shivansh-and Shivangi. "Stop," he choked out. "Please. This is between you and me. Leave them out of it."

Avinash's fists shook at his sides, every instinct screaming to tear the room apart. "Touch her again," he growled, voice low and lethal, "and I swear there won't be enough of you left to bury."

The woman laughed, long and cruel, clearly savoring their helplessness.

"Oh, Avinash," she said mockingly. "You still don't understand, do you?" Her eyes locked onto Shivangi again. "This was never about killing her."

She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a venomous whisper meant for all of them to hear. "This is about breaking her."

She walked slowly toward Shivangi.

Unhurried.

Anticipating.

Shivangi stood with her back to the wall, wrists locked behind her now, shoulders squared by sheer force of will. Blood trickled from her split lip, sliding down her chin, dripping steadily onto the concrete.

Her eyes were calm.

That, more than anything, irritated the woman.

She lifted a hand lazily. “Start small,” she said.

One of the men stepped forward, baton in hand—thin metal, deceptively light. Not electrified. Not lethal.

Yet.

He struck Shivangi’s shoulder.

Once.

The sound was dull. Controlled.

Shivangi’s jaw tightened. Her breath hitched for just a fraction of a second—but she didn’t make a sound.

The woman frowned. “Again.”

The baton struck her ribs this time.

Shivangi exhaled sharply through her nose, pain flashing across her eyes—but she stayed silent, shoulders trembling as she absorbed it.

Avinash thrashed violently. “STOP—!”

A gun barrel slammed into his jaw, snapping his head back. “Watch,” the woman said lightly, not bothering to look at him. “Or I take his eyes first.”

She turned back to Shivangi, head tilted. “Still playing the hero?” she mocked. “Still pretending you’re unbreakable?”

She gestured again.

This time, the baton came down harder.

The impact knocked the breath from Shivangi’s lungs. Her knees buckled before she forced herself upright again, teeth sinking into her lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

A thin red line slipped down her chin.

Dripped.

Hit the concrete.

Shivansh flinched.

A sharp inhale tore from his chest—not a gasp.

A slow, deep breath.

His shoulders, once slumped in defeat, straightened just slightly.

His fingers curled against the floor.

Once.

Twice.

Reva noticed.

“Shivansh…?” she whispered, fear threading her voice now. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer.

His head remained bowed.

But his breathing was… wrong.

Too controlled.

The woman circled Shivangi, tapping the baton against her palm. “Pain,” she murmured, “is never about strength. It’s about how long you can endure it.”

She nodded.

The baton struck again—angled this time.

Shivangi coughed.

Once.

Then again.

Blood splattered the floor.

Rayan let out a broken sound, half-sob, half-scream. “Shivu—please—look at me—”

Her knees gave out.

She collapsed forward, restrained hands useless as she hit the floor hard.

She coughed violently.

Blood pooled beneath her mouth.

That’s when Shivansh swayed.

At first, it looked like weakness.

Dizziness.

His head dipped forward, chin nearly touching his chest. His breathing stuttered, uneven and shallow.

“I—” he whispered hoarsely, confused. “I don’t feel—right—”

Avinash turned sharply, alarm cutting through his rage. “…Shivansh?”

Shivansh swallowed hard.

The room tilted.

Something cold slid down his spine, coiling tight in his chest. His vision blurred. A pressure built behind his eyes, heavy, suffocating.

Another wet cough from Shivangi.

Blood.

Fresh.

Shivansh groaned softly, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. “Stop—” he muttered, voice strained. “Please—stop—”

The baton lifted again.

Shivangi didn’t even have the strength to react.

That sound—

Her body hitting the floor again.

The blood.

That was it.

Shivansh’s head snapped up violently.

His breathing steadied instantly—too suddenly.

His posture changed, spine straightening unnaturally. The confusion drained from his face, replaced by something colder. Sharper.

His pupils dilated.

Dark.

The restraints creaked as his muscles tensed—not straining yet.

Just testing.

Ace felt her stomach drop. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered shakily.

Raven’s voice was barely audible. “That’s… not normal.”

Reva stared, hands shaking violently. “Shivansh…?”

He didn’t look at her.

He looked at Shivangi.

At the blood.

At the way her chest struggled to rise.

Something inside him locked into place.

The restraints snapped.

Metal screamed.

Silence slammed into the room.

One of the men laughed nervously. “What the hell—”

Shivansh rose.

No—

Not the man they knew.

The way he stood was wrong—too balanced, too aware. His head tilted slightly, eyes calculating, presence pressing down on the room like an incoming storm.

He looked at the woman.

Then at the men.

Then back at Shivangi.

Blood bubbled weakly at her lips.

The moment the restraints snapped, the air itself seemed to recoil.

Shivansh moved first.

Not in anger.

Not in haste.

With purpose.

The man closest to him barely had time to widen his eyes before Shivansh’s hand closed around his wrist and twisted with brutal precision. Bone gave way with a sickening crack, the gun clattering to the floor as the man screamed.

Shivansh stepped into him, driving an elbow into his throat, cutting the sound short. He caught the collapsing body before it hit the ground and used it as a shield as bullets tore through flesh that was already dead.

He released the body and advanced.

Every step was measured. Every strike final.

A blade appeared in his hand, taken from a fallen man without anyone noticing when. He drove it into one attacker’s abdomen and wrenched it free in a smooth arc, turning to slash another across the chest before the first even hit the ground. Blood sprayed across the concrete, slick and dark, the stench of iron filling the room.

That was when the others broke free.

Akshita tore herself. She moved straight toward the group of attackers, eyes burning, fury sharp and focused. A man lunged at her; she ducked under his swing and drove her knee into his ribs, hearing them crack as he folded. She took his weapon mid-fall and turned, slicing through another attacker in a fluid motion.

The woman—the one who had orchestrated this nightmare—tried to step back, only to find herself intercepted by Akshita. The chaos of the room blurred around them: bullets, blood, screams, and bodies crumpling. Akshita leaned close, voice low, lethal, almost intimate as she whispered into the woman’s ear, words that cut deeper than any blade:

“You shouldn’t have touched my blue eyes. I don’t like another woman’s hand on my man, and definitely not someone who hurt my best friend.”

The woman staggered, fear flashing across her face even as she tried to fight back, but Akshita didn’t give her a chance. Every movement was precise, merciless—driven by rage and loyalty alike.

Reva moved like a storm held barely in check, ripping free and grabbing a fallen gun. Her shots were deliberate—one to the knee, one to the shoulder, another straight through an eye—dropping men instantly. Her face was streaked with blood, her expression cold and focused.

Ace laughed sharply as she swung a metal rod through the nearest attacker’s skull, the echo of cracking bone filling the space. Blood spattered her arms, but she barely noticed, moving with unrestrained ferocity.

Raven was a shadow among the chaos. Silent. Swift. Each swing of her blade precise, cutting tendons, opening throats, leaving bodies collapsing in her wake. The moment anyone realized her presence, it was already too late.

Shivansh was a storm in himself. He moved with deadly grace, each strike clean, calculated. One man tried to ambush him from behind; Shivansh pivoted, catching him mid-step and driving his fist through the man’s chest, the wet crunch of broken ribs echoing as he spun, already on his next target.

Avinash moved like a wall beside Rayan, snapping his restraints with brute force. Weapons appeared in Rayan’s hands as they fought in perfect synchronicity, Avinash breaking bones, Rayan finishing what needed finishing. They were chaos given form, unstoppable, and terrifying.

Blood coated the floor, walls, and every inch of the combatants’ clothing. The metallic stench hung thick in the air, but none of them faltered.

And then, slowly, the last man fell.

Silence slammed into the room like a hammer.

Shivansh dropped to his knees beside Shivangi. The storm inside him vanished, replaced by trembling hands and a tenderness reserved for only one person. He gathered her broken body into his arms, cradling her as if she were made entirely of glass.

“Jaana,” he whispered, forehead pressing to hers. “Open your eyes, please.”

The world froze.

Rayan halted mid-breath.

Avinash went rigid, fists unclenching.

Akshita’s chest heaved, blood and adrenaline still coursing through her.

Reva’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Jaana?

Only one person had ever called her that.

Their whispers were stunned, almost reverent. “Veeranshu? HOW?”

Shivansh didn’t answer.

His gaze lifted slowly to the woman Akshita had subdued earlier, still breathing, broken but alive. Without hesitation, he dragged her across the blood-soaked floor by her hair, expression empty of mercy.

It didn’t matter if she was man or woman.

Anyone who had hurt his jaana was not meant to live.

And not meant to die either.

Shivansh tightened his grip instinctively when a faint tremor ran through Shivangi’s body.

At first, he thought it was just another spasm of pain.

Then her lashes fluttered.

Once.

Twice.

A shallow breath dragged into her lungs, ragged but real.

“Jaana…” Shivansh breathed, the word breaking from him like a prayer he hadn’t known he was still capable of saying.

Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused, glassy with pain, drugs, and blood loss. For a moment, she only stared at the blurred shape above her, the warmth of arms holding her when everything else felt cold and distant.

“I’m… okay, Shiv—” she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracking as she tried to piece herself together.

Then the word caught up to her.

Jaana?

Her brows furrowed. Her gaze sharpened just a fraction as confusion sliced through the haze.

“Wait…” she breathed, struggling to lift her head despite the pain. “Jaana? Veeranshu?” Her eyes widened, disbelief flooding them as she looked at his face properly. “What? How?”

Shivansh didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because in that moment, all he could see was her—alive, breathing, looking at him like he was a ghost from her past that should not exist.

Before anyone could speak again, the shadows at the far end of the room shifted.

Shadow burst inside.

She was soaked in blood—someone else’s, judging by the way it dripped from her clothes and hair—but she stood tall, unshaken, eyes sharp as they assessed the carnage in seconds. Her gaze flicked over Shivangi, over Shivansh, over the broken bodies and the woman barely conscious on the floor.

“We need to leave,” she said, voice clipped, urgent. Then she turned slightly, addressing the women behind her without hesitation. “Now. And take that woman too.”

There was no argument.

No questions.

This wasn’t over.

It was merely paused.

Rajvansh Mansion

The lights were too bright.

Too clean.

The smell of antiseptic and polished marble clashed violently with the memory of blood, iron, and screams still ringing in everyone’s ears.

They were gathered in the living room, tension coiled tight around every breath. Shivangi sat supported on the couch, wrapped in blankets, her injuries treated as much as possible for now. Her eyes never left Shivansh.

No one else’s did either.

Shivansh stood a little apart from them, silent, unnervingly still. His gaze hadn’t wavered from Shivangi since they arrived, as if looking away might make her disappear. Though his hands had been wiped clean, dark stains still marked his clothes, his sleeves, his collar.

It was Akshita who noticed it first.

The slight sway.

The way his fingers suddenly pressed against his temple.

“Shivansh—?” she started.

He staggered.

Clutched his head with a sharp, broken groan.

Then collapsed.

“SHIVANSH!” several voices shouted at once as Avinash lunged forward, catching him before his head hit the floor.

Panic erupted instantly.

Shivangi tried to rise despite her injuries. “Shiv—no—Shivansh—!”

Moments later, his eyes fluttered open.

But they were different.

Confused.

Disoriented.

“What…?” he murmured, blinking rapidly as he took in the room. “Why is everyone shouting?”

Silence fell.

Slowly, he pushed himself upright, wincing as his body protested. His gaze moved from face to face—Rayan, Avinash, Akshita, Reva, Ace, Raven—and his confusion deepened into visible shock.

“Why do you all look like that?” he asked, voice unsteady. “Did something happen?”

Then he looked down.

At his hands.

At the dark stains soaking into his clothes.

The color drained from his face so fast it was frightening.

“What the hell…?” he whispered.

He inhaled.

And froze.

The smell hit him properly this time—metallic, thick, unmistakable.

Blood.

His stomach lurched violently.

“I—no—” he choked, staggering back a step, one hand flying up to cover his mouth and nose. “I can’t—God—I hate blood. I hate the smell—”

He turned sharply and retched, vomiting onto the floor, his entire body shaking as if rejecting the reality around him.

The room went deathly still.

Because everyone remembered.

Everyone had seen him earlier—standing in a room soaked in blood, surrounded by broken bodies, breathing calmly, moving like death itself.

Unaffected.

Unbothered.

More than fine.

Avinash steadied him immediately, grip firm but careful. “Easy,” he said quietly. “You’re safe.”

Shivansh wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand, chest heaving as he tried to breathe through the nausea, eyes wide with horror as he looked at himself again.

“I—I don’t understand,” he said hoarsely. “Why am I covered in blood? Why does it smell like this?”

His gaze lifted then.

Locked onto Shivangi.

Something twisted deep in his chest—fear, concern, something instinctive and raw that he couldn’t explain.

“Boss?” he asked, stepping toward her without thinking. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

The shock rippled through the room again.

Shivangi stared at him with confusion just like everyone else.

Reva was the first to break the silence.

Her voice was soft—but it trembled.

“Shivansh…” she said slowly, searching his face like she might find the answer written there. “You don’t remember anything? Not… even a second of what happened?”

Shivansh frowned, genuine confusion creasing his brow. He shook his head once.

“No,” he said honestly. “Nothing. It’s just… blank.”

Amyra leaned forward from where she stood beside Shivangi, her expression tight with concern. “Then tell us this,” she said gently. “What’s the last thing you do remember?”

Shivansh closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temple as if concentrating hurt. When he opened them again, his gaze was steady—but frightened.

“I was at home,” he said slowly. “Everything was normal. I was… making coffee.” A faint, confused breath left him. “Then Shivangi ma’am called. She said she was going to Rajvansh Mansion and wanted me on standby in case something came up.”

He looked around the room again, at the bloodstains that still hadn’t been cleaned, at the tense faces watching him like he might shatter.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s the last thing I remember.”

A heavy, horrified silence followed.

Shivangi’s fingers tightened around the blanket in her lap.

That meant—

Everything after that. The basement. The torture. The killing.

He remembered none of it.

Ruhi suddenly straightened, pulling out her phone with shaking hands. “I’m calling Rey,” she said, already dialing. “He needs to see this. He needs to know.”

She turned to Samaira, eyes sharp despite the fear swimming in them. “Sam. Show him.”

Samaira nodded once, her jaw tight. She opened her phone, hands steady despite the chaos inside her, and turned the screen toward Shivansh.

“This starts from the moment Ace and Raven entered,” she said quietly. “You should… watch.”

She hit play.

The room filled with muffled audio, shaky footage—but horrifyingly clear.

Ace and Raven bursting in.

The buckets of ice water.

Shivangi collapsing.

Then—

Him.

Shivansh’s breath hitched as the video showed the restraints snapping, the way his posture changed, the way his eyes went dark. The calm. The precision. The violence.

Him breaking bones. Him killing without hesitation. Him standing in blood like it meant nothing.

His hands began to shake violently.

“No…” he whispered. “No—this—this can’t be—”

The video ended.

Shivansh clutched his head with both hands, staggering back as if the ground had tilted beneath him. His face was paper-white, eyes wide and hollow.

“That was me,” he said hoarsely. “That’s… that’s definitely me.”

His breathing grew erratic. “But how? I—I don’t remember any of it. Not a second. How can I do all that and not remember?”

His gaze snapped up, wild now.

“Was I possessed?” he whispered. “Because that wasn’t me. I can’t even stand the sight of blood—how could I—”

No one answered.

Because no one had an answer.

Ruhi’s phone buzzed. She stepped aside briefly, spoke in a low voice, then returned.

“He’s on his way,” she said. “Rey will be here in half an hour.”

Half an hour.

Shivansh sank slowly onto the edge of a chair, head bowed, hands still trembling in his lap.

Shivangi watched him—really watched him.

The man who had slaughtered without mercy. And the man now staring at his own hands like they belonged to a stranger.