𝟓. 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩

"Roop," he said.

Just one word-and the world tilted. The calm of my room, the quiet of my own breath-all disappeared.

For a moment, I couldn't speak.

His voice... it was too familiar, too dangerously soft. The way he said my name-it wasn't just a word. It was a claim. A possession wrapped in silk.

"Deva..." I whispered, barely audible, as if saying his name might summon him into the room.

A low hum echoed from the other end-deep, velvety, and unsettlingly calm.

"So, you recognize me," he said, his tone even, but laced with something that made my pulse stumble. "Good."

I swallowed hard, gripping the bedsheet with trembling fingers.

"Aap... aapko mera number kaise mila?"

(How did you get my number?)

A quiet chuckle came through the line-dark, smooth, unhurried. But no reply followed. The silence that lingered after that laugh was somehow louder, heavier.

I could hear the faint rush of wind in the background-soft, constant. Maybe from his car. Or maybe... he was standing outside somewhere. The thought made my heart skip and race all at once.

"Why... why did you call?" I asked, trying to sound calm, but my voice betrayed me, trembling like a secret too fragile to hold.

There was a pause, and then his voice came-lower now, almost a whisper that brushed against my ear.

"Because you couldn't sleep... and neither could I."

My breath hitched sharply.

He continued, voice deep and hauntingly sincere,

"You've been on my mind all the time, Roop. Every second, every breath."

I pressed the phone tighter against my ear, my heartbeat drumming so wildly I feared he might actually hear it through the line.

I wanted to ask him where he was, why he sounded so close, but my throat had gone dry. The words died before reaching my lips.

Then, as if he'd heard the question in my silence, his voice came again-darkly amused, but gentle.

"Aapko kuch poochna hai?"

(You want to ask me something?)

I froze, caught off guard.

"Haan, matlab... nahi... kuch nahi,"

(Yes, I mean... no... nothing). I blurted, my words tripping over each other in panic.

He didn't respond immediately. Just a faint hum-a sound that felt like it carried a smile.

And somehow, that silence between us felt... peaceful. Not empty, but full of something unspoken.

I didn't know when my eyes began to close, when exhaustion finally overtook my racing heart. The phone still rested against my ear, his quiet breathing filling the space between us.

And somewhere between reality and dream, sleep consumed me-with his voice still echoing softly in my mind.

*************

She had fallen asleep, the call still connected, her soft breathing filtering through the speaker-slow, steady, rhythmic.

Even through the phone, that sound calmed something raw inside me.

I stood outside her house, parked where I could see the faint outline of her balcony. The night was quiet, except for the hum of the streetlight and the faint rustle of leaves.

My laptop rested open on the passenger seat beside me-her room glowing faintly on the screen.

She looked... angelic. Fragile. The way the moonlight touched her face made her seem almost unreal. Her lips slightly parted, a faint crease between her brows as if she was dreaming of something she couldn't name. My gaze dropped to her arms wrapped tightly around a pillow.

And I hated that pillow.

No-jealous would be the right word. Jealous of a damn inanimate thing that got to feel her warmth before I could.

Soon, I thought.

Very soon.

She'll be with me. In my bed. In my arms. Breathing against my skin instead of into that useless cotton. The thought itself sent a dark heat curling low in my chest, the kind that made my breath grow heavier.

I didn't even realize how long I'd been sitting there, watching her sleep-watching every soft rise of her chest, every shift of her fingers.

Maybe it's wrong. Maybe it's madness. But she's the only view I'll never tire of. My kind of peace. My kind of sin.

The sharp vibration of my phone snapped the spell. Shiva's name flashed across the screen. I looked once more at her-still sleeping peacefully, unaware of how deeply she had become mine-and then answered the call.

Before I could even speak, his voice came, casual but edged with impatience.

"Agar tera romance ho gaya ho, toh location bheja hai, waha jaldi aa."

(If your little romance session is done, I've sent the location-get there fast.)

I exhaled sharply, jaw tightening.

"Asshole," I muttered under my breath, cutting the call.

Giving her one last glance, I closed my laptop gently, my eyes lingering on the frozen image of her curled up in sleep.

Then, with a sigh that came out more like a growl, I started the engine.

The black car roared to life, slicing through the silence of the night. The road stretched ahead, empty, the city asleep while my thoughts were anything but.

Thirty minutes later, I reached the location-an old, abandoned house on the outskirts. The place stood silent, swallowed by darkness, its broken windows gleaming faintly under the dim moonlight.

Shiva's car was already parked in a shadowed corner, the headlights off.

I stepped out, boots crunching against gravel, and adjusted my cuffs before walking toward the entrance. The air smelled of rust and dust-decay and secrets.

And as I stepped through the threshold, the door creaked softly, almost like the night was warning me-

But I've never been the kind of man who listens to warnings.

****************

Warning ⚠️ triggering content ahead

The air inside the old house was thick - heavy with dust, silence, and something darker.

The faint flicker of a golden lamp painted the cracked walls in amber and shadow.

Shiva stood near the center of the room, his shirt half-buttoned, streaked with dirt, blood and sweat.

His usual arrogance dimmed to something colder, quieter.

In front of him sat a man - slumped, bound to a chair, head hanging low. His breathing was uneven, ragged - like someone who was very eagerly waiting for death to reach him.

Deva stepped in.

Boots hitting the concrete floor with deliberate calm. Every sound of his movement carried weight - the kind of silence that doesn't just fill a room, it claims it.

The moment his gaze landed on the man tied to the chair, something shifted in his expression - that faint smirk curved darker, deeper. A glint lit his eyes - the kind of glint that didn't belong to someone entirely human.

"Looks like he's still breathing," Deva muttered, his tone low, amused.

Shiva shrugged. "Barely."

Deva rubbed his left eyebrow - a slow, deliberate motion, more habit than thought.

He walked closer, his shadow stretching long across the floor until it swallowed the man completely.

"Do you know what I hate most, Shiva?" he asked quietly.

Shiva looked at him warily, already knowing that tone - the one that came before something no one wanted to see.

"What?"

Deva crouched down in front of the man, his voice dropping into a whisper that chilled the air.

"People who think they can deceive me and live freely."

The man flinched - not because of the words, but the calm in which they were said.

Deva's calm had never been peace. It was the stillness of the ocean right before the storm rises.

He straightened slowly, eyes never leaving his target.

"You should've known better," he murmured. "Now you'll learn why everyone fears Deva."

The room fell silent the moment Deva stepped forward.

He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, folding it with the same care one might give to something sacred.

It wasn't vanity - it was respect. That shirt had felt her touch. It didn't deserve the stain of filth that awaited him.

He stretched out his hand without a word. Shiva understood and placed the knife in his palm.

The blade caught the golden light, throwing a shimmer across Deva's face - the face of a man who looked calm, far too calm for what was about to unfold.

He grabbed the prisoner by the hair and lifted his head, forcing him to meet those cold, amber eyes.

The man struggled, muttering broken apologies, incoherent pleas - but Deva only tilted his head slightly, studying him like a scientist examining a specimen.

Deva wide opened the man's mouth and without a moment's hesitation HE SLICED OUT HIS TONGUE.

Then the silence shattered.

The man's scream tore through the walls like something inhuman - raw, guttural, the kind that makes blood run cold.

His whole body convulsed against the ropes, chair legs scraping the floor, breath breaking into hoarse gasps.

His eyes rolled back, wide and wild with disbelief, as if his mind couldn't process the pain burning through him.

The sound that filled the room wasn't just pain - it was terror itself. It echoed against the walls, bouncing back again.

Shiva stood and watched everything as if some TV show, but Deva didn't blink.

Every move he made was deliberate, every reaction measured. He didn't rush. He didn't tremble. He wanted the man to feel time stretch - to realize that this was not death, but judgement.

It was just the start, because Deva's torture knew no bounds;

He grabbed a pair of iron tongs which are heated till glowing red. Without mercy, he clamped them on the man's knees, twisting them with savage force. The man's flesh sizzled and popped. His scream escaped again -- hoarse, fractured, inhuman.

Deva, then picked up a hammer and ten long, rusty nails, their points sharp as thorns. He slammed the man's hand flat against a wooden post, ignoring the weak struggles.

One by one, he pounded the nails through the fingers-each hit a loud crack of bone and flesh giving way. Blood sprayed in warm arcs, splattering Deva's chest like war paint.

The metallic scent of blood mingled with dust. The air grew heavy, sticky, and cruel. The walls seemed to shrink, holding the darkness tighter around them.

The man's breathing turned to ragged sobs, then to choking gasps. His body convulsed with agony he couldn't name.

Deva paused and stood over him, his eyes burned with dark joy, his breath steady, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he watched the man twitch. But mercy was a stranger here.

Deva reach for the acid, the final stroke in his masterpiece of horror. Without a single thought,he poured it straight onto the man's face, the liquid eating away with hungry hisses. Skin melted in runny streams, eyes turning to jelly, bone showing through in a grinning skull. The man's last shakes were horrifying, his life slipping away in a fog of unbearable pain.

Deva stood there, smirking with deep satisfaction, his eyes glowing like those of a true monster.

When it was finally over, silence returned again - not peaceful, but hollow.

Shiva stood unbothered, watching the man who looked less human and more like something divine had rejected him.

Deva cleaned himself, slow and deliberate. Not a hint of remorse touched his expression. His voice, when it came, was low and sharp.

"Make sure the body disappears. I don't want even his soul to be found."

Shiva nodded silently, knowing better than to speak.

Deva walked to the table, picked up his folded shirt, and slipped it back on. The air shifted as he buttoned the last one - the transformation complete. The monster was gone; the man returned.

He turned once more toward the door, the ghost of a smile haunting his lips.

"She shouldn't ever know this side of me," he murmured, almost to himself. "Not yet."

And with that, he left - the metallic scent of death fading behind him, replaced by the faint whisper of her name on his tongue.

Sliding into the driver's seat, he started the engine. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the empty road ahead - and with one last glance at the rearview mirror, where the old house faded into nothingness, he drove off into the night.

The monster had cleaned his hands.

But his heart? It was still painted in crimson.

************

The sun had already climbed high, spilling its light through the half-drawn curtains - but my beauty sleep had no mercy for such ordinary things. It never ended before noon, and true to my royal routine, it was already 12:30 PM when I finally opened my eyes.

My phone lay beside me, lifeless.

The memory of that late-night call flashed through my mind, and panic immediately hit me.

"Shit!" I muttered, snatching the device and plugging it into the charger like my life depended on it.

While it gulped down some electricity, I dragged myself out of bed and began my 'after-wake-up' rituals - face wash, brushing, and a half-hearted attempt to look human again.

By the time I was done, my phone had revived enough to face the day. I picked it up and headed downstairs, only to be greeted by my mother's signature annoyed tone.

"Uth gayi, maharani? Kya hoga tera? Kab seekhegi subah uthna?"

(Finally awake, Your Highness? What will become of you? When will you learn to wake up early?)

Her expression was a perfect mix of irritation and disappointment - one I'd grown quite used to.

"Mummy yaar, take a chill pill," I said lazily, sinking into the chair.

But before I could even blink, she dropped a bomb that jolted my half-asleep brain awake.

"Rathore ghar se phone aaya tha," she began, folding her arms. "Baccho ne tumhe call kiya tha, par tumhara phone bandh tha. Unhone kaha hai ki tum aaj unke ghar jao, thoda waqt bitao. Taaki tum log ek dusre ko ache se samajh sako - aage koi pareshani na ho."

(The Rathore family called. The kids tried to reach you, but your phone was off. They want you to visit today, spend some time with them - so both sides get to know each other better before... anything else.)

For a moment, I just stared at her.

Wait- what?

I wasn't expecting this, but honestly... it wasn't a bad idea either. Sitting home all day was boring anyway, and maybe visiting them wouldn't be so bad.

I unlocked my phone and saw five missed calls from an unknown number - probably them. Taking a breath, I dialed back.

The call barely rang twice before a chirpy voice answered,

"Hello bhabhi! Aap uth gayi?"

(Hello, sister-in-law! You're finally awake?)

I blinked, startled for a second - that enthusiasm could only belong to one person.

"Jii... aapne phone kiya tha?" I replied politely, pretending I wasn't totally confused.

(Yes... You called?)

"Arey haan! Aap yaha aajaiye na, bhabhi. Please, please! Hum bohot maza karenge!"

(Ohh, Yes! Please come over today, we'll have so much fun!)

That confirmed it - Ananya Rathore, his younger sister.

"Thik hai, main aajati hoon," I agreed, smiling despite myself.

(Okay, I will come over)

She squealed in excitement, and I could hear laughter and chaos in the background - the kind that makes a house feel alive.

When the call ended, I looked up to find my mom watching me like a hawk.

"Toh jaa, jaldi se khana kha le aur tayyar ho ja," she ordered, her tone leaving zero room for negotiation.

(Then go, eat quickly and get ready.)

I sighed in defeat.

"Yes, your majesty," I muttered under my breath.

After a quick lunch, I headed to my room to get ready - unaware that the day ahead would be anything but ordinary.

Roop dressed in a deep plum sharara, the fabric flowing around her like midnight silk kissed by moonlight, tracing her slender frame like whispered poetry. Her silky hair fell in dark waves down her shoulders, framing a face that looked too serene to belong to a world so cruel.

The faint tint of kohl around her eyes gave her a quiet intensity - a beauty that didn't demand attention, but commanded it.

As she adjusted her dupatta over one shoulder, she looked every bit the woman who could make time hold its breath.

"Maa, mai nikalti hoon. Driver bhaiya wait kar rahe honge," she called out.

(Mom, I'm leaving. The driver must be waiting.)

Her mother appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands.

"Haan, dhyaan rakhna. Izzat se pesh aana, aur kuch utpatang mat keh dena."

(Yes, be careful. Behave properly, and don't say anything silly.)

Roop rolled her eyes, smiling softly. "Haan maa, main dhyaan rakhungi. Ab chalo, bye!"

(Yes, mom. I will take care. Now, bye!)

She waved, her bangles chiming faintly as she stepped outside, the light of sun which was on it's way to set, catching the edges of her attire - turning her into something ethereal.

**************

Bidding goodbye to Mumma, I stepped outside, adjusting my dupatta as the warm breeze played with the loose strands of my hair. Without looking up, I murmured absentmindedly,

"Bhaiya, chale?"

(Brother, should be leave?)

A low, familiar voice cut through the quiet air like silk and smoke.

"Saiyaan ko bhaiya bulana is not fair, Jaan."

("Calling your fiance brother is not fair, my love")

My breath hitched. That voice - deep, unhurried, and dangerously familiar - froze me mid-step.

My head snapped up.

And there he was.

Leaning against the glossy black bonnet of his car like sin dressed in elegance - Deva.

His black suit clung perfectly to his frame, sculpting every inch of power and danger that came with him. The first three buttons of his shirt were deliberately undone, revealing just enough of his chest to make me forget how to breathe.

He was a vision of darkness - calm, confident, and devastatingly in control.

"It seems like you like the view, Cariño," he murmured, his tone playful yet edged with something and on top the nickname, that made my pulse stutter.

(Cariño means Darling in Spanish)

I didn't even realize he had moved until I felt the warmth of his presence too close.

"Esa kuch nahi hai," I said quickly, forcing my gaze away as I reached for the car door - pretending to care more about the handle than the man whose nearness set my nerves on fire.

(It's nothing like that.)

But before I could even blink, he moved - fast, deliberate. In one motion, he turned me around and caged me between himself and the car.

My back pressed against the cool metal, and his hand rested beside my face, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him.

"Now where will you run, Cariño?"

His voice was low - dark and possessive - the kind that didn't just touch your skin, it branded your soul.

The air betw

een us crackled - heavy, intoxicating. I could hear my heartbeat louder than his words.

His eyes, those storm-dark eyes, looked at me with something very gentle and very dark both at onetime and also... possession.

And in that moment,

I realized something terrifying.

It wasn't just his presence that surrounded me.

It was his claim.

______________________