The office hummed with its usual mid-afternoon energy keyboards clacking, hushed conversations, the occasional ring of a phone. Raavi Sharma adjusted the stack of files in her arms as she made her way down the hallway, her mind already on the marketing presentation due by evening. 

"Raavi!" 

She turned to see Arjun Mehta from the finance department leaning against his cubicle, a smirk playing on his lips. He had been persistent ever since she'd politely declined his advances last week, his charm turning sharp at the edges when she refused. 

"Mr. Mehta," she acknowledged coolly, not breaking stride. 

"Come on, don’t be so formal," he said, falling into step beside her. "I need help organizing some client files in the storage room. Just five minutes." 

Raavi hesitated. She had work to do, but refusing outright would only make things worse. Arjun had a reputation—well-connected, favored by senior management. She forced a polite nod. "Alright. But quickly." 

The storage room was dim, the air thick with the scent of paper and dust. Raavi set her files down on a nearby shelf, scanning the labeled boxes. "Which files did you need?" 

Arjun closed the door behind them. 

The click of the lock sent a chill down her spine. 

Before she could react, he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, mocking purr. "You know, Raavi, you’ve been playing hard to get. I don’t like that." 

Her pulse spiked. "Mr. Mehta, this isn’t appropriate." 

"Arjun," he corrected, crowding her against the shelf. "We could be good together. You just need to stop pretending you’re not interested." 

Raavi’s breath came fast. "I said no." 

His hand clamped around her wrist. "And I said," he hissed, "you’re not in a position to refuse." 

Shiva Rathore wasn’t supposed to be here. 

He had left his office to clear his head, the weight of back-to-back meetings pressing against his temples. But when he passed the storage wing and heard the muffled sound of a struggle, his instincts flared. 

Then—Raavi’s voice. Sharp. Afraid. 

_"Let me go!"_ 

Every muscle in his body locked. 

He didn’t think. He moved. 

The door was locked. 

A single, brutal kick shattered the flimsy mechanism, sending it flying open. 

The scene inside froze him in fury. 

Arjun had Raavi pinned, her wrist twisted in his grip, her face a mask of defiance and fear. 

For a heartbeat, the room was silent. 

Then Shiva spoke. 

"Get your hands off her."

His voice was deathly calm. 

Arjun stumbled back, his face draining of color. "S-Sir, this isn’t what it looks like—" 

Shiva didn’t let him finish. 

In three strides, he had Arjun by the collar, slamming him against the wall hard enough to rattle the shelves. Files cascaded to the floor. 

Raavi stood frozen, her chest rising and falling rapidly. 

"You," Shiva growled, his grip tightening, "are done." 

Arjun’s bravado crumbled. "Mr. Rathore, please—" 

"HR will have your resignation by the end of the day," Shiva said, his voice low and lethal.

“And i will make sure you never lay a hand on any women ever again.”

He released him with a shove, watching with cold satisfaction as Arjun scrambled away, his shoes skidding on the scattered papers. 

Only when the door slammed shut did Shiva turn to Raavi. 

She was still pressed against the shelf, her fingers gripping the edge like an anchor. The sight of her usually so composed, now shaken sent a fresh wave of rage through him. 

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice rough. 

Raavi swallowed, then shook her head. "No." 

He stepped closer, searching her face. "Did he-" 

"He didn’t get the chance," she whispered. "Thanks to you." 

Shiva exhaled, his hands flexing at his sides. He wanted to touch her, to reassure himself she was unharmed, but he held back. "This shouldn’t have happened. Not in my company. Not to you." 

Raavi straightened, her chin lifting. "I can handle myself." 

The defiance in her voice, even now, made something in his chest tighten. 

"I know," he said quietly. "But you shouldn’t have to." 

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other—the air between them charged with something unspoken. 

Then Raavi took a deep breath. "I should get back to work." 

Shiva nodded. But as she moved to leave, he caught her wrist—gently this time. 

"Raavi." 

She turned. 

"From now on," he said, his thumb brushing lightly over her pulse point, "if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, you come to me. Understood?" 

Her breath hitched. But she didn’t pull away. 

"Understood."

_______

“SHIVA”

Raavi woke with a violent jerk, her hands trembling at her sides. The remnants of her dream clung to her like a suffocating shadow. 

Him.

Again.

Shiva—the man she had loved, the man who had sworn to burn the world before letting harm touch her. 

A single tear rolled down her cheek as she blinked into the darkness of her room. The emptiness around her mirrored the hollowness inside. 

"He ruined me." Her fingers clenched the sheets. "I hate him. I hate him."

A deep, familiar voice cut through the silence like a blade. 

"Hate me all you want, love. But you are still mine."

She gasped, twisting toward the sound. There he stood—Shiva, his towering frame silhouetted against the dim light, a bowl of soup cradled carefully in his hands. 

Raavi’s lips curled in disgust. "What do you want?"

Shiva hesitated before stepping forward, his movements stiff, as if he feared she might shatter at his touch. Slowly, he sat beside her bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His fingers tightened around the spoon as he lifted it toward her. 

"Eat," he murmured. "You need your strength."

She let out a bitter laugh. "I think you’ve forgotten my place in your life, master. I’m just your slut, not someone you need to feed with dignity."

A sharp pain flashed across Shiva’s face. His hand trembled as he pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. 

"Don’t,"he begged, his voice cracking. "Never call yourself that. Never."

"Why not?" she hissed, yanking her face away. "You made sure I knew exactly what I was to you—"

"RAAVI!" His roar shook the room as the bowl slipped from his grasp, shattering against the floor. Hot soup splattered across the wood like spilled blood. 

She flinched but held his gaze, defiance burning in her eyes. "What? Are you going to hit me now? Go ahead. But stop pretending you care. It’s all just a game to you another way to own me, to control me. You’re a murderer. A monster. You killed my brother!"

Shiva’s breath came in ragged bursts. Before she could react, he pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. She fought him fists pounding against his wounds, nails digging into his skin but he didn’t loosen his grip. 

"I didn’t kill Varun," he whispered into her hair, his voice raw. "He was my friend. My brother. Why would I—?" His words broke as her sobs tore through him. "Please, don’t cry. It destroys me to see you like this."

"And I was your wife!" she screamed into his shoulder. "That didn’t stop you from hurting me. Men like you don’t care about love or loyalty. You only know how to break what’s weaker than you."

Shiva’s arms tightened around her, his own tears falling into her hair. "I know, my love. I know." 

The weight of his regret was a blade in his chest, twisting deeper with every ragged breath. The months of tormenting her had shattered him too. 

He had thought cruelty would make her stay. 

Instead, it had destroyed them both. 

Raavi trembled in his arms, her sobs muffled against his chest. Shiva held her tighter, as if he could absorb her pain into his own flesh. But no embrace could undo what he had done. 

His mind spiraled into the past into the darkness he had forced upon her. 

--- 

Flashback

"You killed my sister." 

Shiva’s voice had been ice when he first accused her. Raavi had stood in the grand hall of his mansion, her wedding  sari still draped around her, her eyes wide with horror. 

"I—I didn’t touch Trisha!" she had pleaded, her voice breaking. "I loved her like my own sister!"

But the evidence had been planted too well the CCTV footage. The voice recordings of her confessing that she had plotted trisha's murder because she was jealous of trisha. As trisha was against raavi's love for shiva and their growing attachment and trisha wanted shiva to marry a heiress to secure their company at the top of the country.

Shiva’s fingers had dug into her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You will pay for this," he had hissed. "Not with death. That’s too kind. You will suffer every day of your miserable life." 

And so, he married her. 

Not out of love. 

Out of vengeance. 

---  

The wedding night had been a nightmare. 

Raavi had cowered in the corner of their bedroom, her lehenga torn, her wrists bruised from his grip. 

"Please," she had begged, tears streaming down her face. "I didn’t do it. I swear—"

Shiva had laughed a cold, hollow sound. "You think your lies will save you?" He grabbed her hair, yanking her toward the bed. "You’re my wife now. And I will make sure you never forget what you are."

She had screamed that night. 

He hadn’t cared.

He didn't touch her.

Instead he lashed her with a belt until she couldn't scream anymore.

Until she fainted from the pain.

---   

Months later, when a powerful businessman demanded a favor in exchange for a contract, Shiva hadn’t hesitated. 

"You want me to spend the night with him?" Raavi had whispered, her face pale. 

Shiva had smirked, swirling his whiskey.

"Consider it repayment for Trisha’s life." 

She had lunged at him then, nails raking across his face. "You bastard! I’d rather die!"

He backhanded her so hard she hit the floor. "You don’t get to choose."

That night, she had been dragged to a luxury hotel suite. The man had leered at her, his hands already reaching. 

But Raavi had fought. 

She had smashed a bottle over his head, kicked him between the legs, and fled into the night barefoot, bleeding, but alive. 

When she stumbled back into the mansion, Shiva had been waiting. 

"You dare disobey me?" His voice had been deadly quiet. 

Raavi had collapsed at his feet, her body shaking. "He—he was going to—"

"I don’t care."

He grabbed her arm, dragging her down the hallway. She had begged, clawed at the floor, but he hadn’t stopped until he threw her into the darkest room in the house a windowless cell meant for traitors. 

"Two days," he had snarled. "No food. No water. Maybe then you’ll learn your place."

The door had slammed shut, sealing her in darkness. 

Flashback ends.

--- 

Now, holding her in his arms, Shiva remembered the way she had looked when he finally opened that door. 

Her lips cracked from thirst. Her eyes hollow. 

And yet, she hadn’t broken. 

She had never broken. 

"I’m sorry,"  he whispered into her hair now, his voice raw. "God, Raavi, I’m so sorry."

She didn’t answer. 

What could she say? 

How could words undo the wounds he had carved into her soul? 

His fingers trembled as he brushed them over her cheek. "I was wrong. About everything. About Trisha. About you."

Raavi stiffened. "What?" 

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "I found proof. Letters. You were framed… it was never you." 

Her breath hitched. "You knew?"

"Not then. Not until yesterday." His throat tightened. "I was blind. I wanted someone to blame. And I—"

She slapped him. 

Hard. 

The sound echoed through the room. 

"You ruined me," she choked out. "You took everything. My dignity. My brother. My life."

Shiva didn’t defend himself. He deserved her rage. 

"I know," he said hoarsely. "And if you want me dead, I’ll give you the knife myself."

Raavi stared at him, her chest heaving. Then, slowly, her fists unclenched. 

"Death is too easy for you,"she whispered. "I want you to live with this. Every day. Every night. I want you to remember what you did to me—until it destroys you." 

Shiva closed his eyes. 

She was right. 

Hell wasn’t fire and brimstone. 

It was regret. 

And his had only just begun.

I can't lose you raavi. The man you love the man who loved you was never me. He was shiva. I am abhay. The rightful husband of yours who can do anything to earn your forgiveness.

“I love you” his whisper against her hair