A girl was locked alone in that dark room.<br /> <br /> Both her hands and feet were tightly bound with thick ropes—so tightly that deep marks had formed on her wrists and ankles. A thick cloth strip was tied over her mouth, preventing her from screa... A girl was locked alone in that dark room.<br /> <br /> Both her hands and feet were tightly bound with thick ropes—so tightly that deep marks had formed on her wrists and ankles. A thick cloth strip was tied over her mouth, preventing her from screaming or calling for help. Her body was trembling—whether from fear or exhaustion, no one knew.<br /> <br /> A pale, flickering bulb-like light was coming from the corner of the room, now appearing to flicker on and off. In that dim light, droplets dripping from the ceiling and mice scurrying on the walls were clearly visible. One of the mice slowly began to creep towards the girl. She panicked—her body trembled with fear, but she couldn't even move.<br /> <br /> Breathing was becoming difficult.<br /> <br /> Her tangled hair was stuck to her face, and her clothes were in a wretched state. There was a rotten stench all around, as if this room had never seen light.<br />
Page 1 of 9
The Five Mafia Dons
My eyes opened, but I saw nothing.
There was no fog, no light... just pain.
And the cold of the iron chair to which my back had been bound for the past two hours.
No one was asking, no one was demanding an answer.
I was simply being beaten.
First, punches landed on my chest—slow, deep.
Then jabs to the stomach—without haste, as if out of habit.
And then a long break.
Not a drop of water.
Then it started again.
Only the speed and force changed.
My face was no longer recognizable.
My nose was bent to one side. Blood from my lips had reached my neck.
One eye would no longer open.
Suddenly, a heavy door creaked.
Two men entered.
One held a flashlight, the other a blindfold.
No one spoke.
My arms were released.
The chains were removed from my feet.
Only enough breath remained, but I had enough strength to stand on my own.
The blindfold was tied over my eyes.
Now my body was being moved—through a tunnel, in another direction.
The sound of footsteps changed.
From the sound of iron, it transformed into the sound of marble.
Each step seemed to peel back another layer of mystery.
Not a street, not a path—this was an entrance.
And on the other side of it, death waited with open arms.
The blindfold was removed.
I was now in the middle of a peculiar room.
The walls were high, paneled with dark wood.
Chandeliers hung from the ceiling—like gold, but cold.
The floor was black stone—spotlessly clean.
Across the room—stood five high chairs.
In each chair sat a man—faces blurred, only a physical "presence" was felt.
No names, no dialogue...
Just presence.
A presence that would slow the heartbeat.
The injured man was pushed and fell to the floor.
No groan escaped his lips.
By now, I was accustomed to the pain.
No one spoke.
But even in the silence, something was being decided.
Suddenly, the person seated furthest to the right—who appeared the most serene—began to twirl his fingers.
The man in the middle, with his palm resting on his knee, made a slight gesture in the air.
Immediately, two men came from behind.
One held me from behind.
The other inserted a small steel pin into my neck.
A cold sensation ran down my spine.
My body jerked.
Another gesture was made.
This time, the man on the left slightly tilted his head.
Another man stepped forward, holding a thin, flexible rod—with rubber coating on the ends.
He raised the rod—and struck below my knees.
Crack.
A bone broke.
A choked scream escaped my lips.
Another blow—to the stomach.
A third time, to the hands.
The rod was leaned against the wall again.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Then, the man in the middle raised his finger—from top to bottom.
Perfectly straight, as if ordering a guillotine.
Three men entered.
One of them had a small, black briefcase.
The other pulled a tall glass cabinet in front of him.
Nothing was visible inside the cabinet.
Then the briefcase was opened.
Inside lay—a shiny chip.
The chip was fixed onto the man's neck.
A few seconds... some movement... and then—silence.
The injured man's breathing stopped.
His eyes were open.
The same streak of blood was on his face.
But his heart no longer beat.
Another gesture was made in the room.
Two men came and dragged the corpse out.
From somewhere, the faint sound of a violin emerged.
Very soft... yet it penetrated deep within.
All five men rose from their chairs.
None of them showed their faces, nor uttered a word.
But the work of death was complete.
The court was adjourned.
The body still lay there.
The room was as cold as before, now filled with an even greater silence.
All five chairs were now illuminated.
Five faces.
Five black coats.
And a darkness that seeped from their souls.
Vishva "The Brain" (Age: 30)
Coat: Slim-fit charcoal grey suit, blood-red tie, gold pin in the pocket square.
Face: Calm, dagger-like eyes, light beard – surgical perfection.
Voice: Slow, cold, and decisive in two words.
Vivek glanced at his watch, then at the dead body.
"3 minutes 14 seconds," he said, "I said it shouldn't take more than 3 minutes."
Then he picked up a blue folder from the table, "This one's place is now taken by another name. If the timing is off next time, the one who dies will be one of our own."
His smile was like a doctor washing his hands after surgery.
Kabir "The Hitter" (Age: 28)
Coat: Shiny black suit, collar turned up, no tie – just the top button of the black shirt open.
Face: An old scar near his eye, jaw firm and fists constantly trembling slightly.
Voice: The silence just before an explosion.
Raftaar took out a revolver from his coat pocket, fired a shot towards the ground without looking – the blast echoed.
"The day my gun speaks, the law won't ask for a brain – only blood will spill."
Then, shrugging his shoulders, he said, "I dragged him here... I won't bring the next corpse – I'll bring his entire lineage."
Vikral "The Silent Death" (Age: 26)
Coat: Silk black tuxedo, unbuttoned, blood-blue shirt inside – gloves still on.
Face: Expressionless, as if there was no soul in the body.
Voice: Like a snake's hiss – slow, but lethal.
Zahr sat next to the corpse, leaned in and whispered in its ear –
"I mixed poison in his veins... now you are asleep. But your family will tremble when they wake up."
Then, turning back, he said,
"I never shout. I just kill slowly... because agony resonates louder than screams."
Randhir "The Financier" (Age: 25)
Coat: Silver grey Armani, buttons closed, a steel pen and a burnt passport in his pocket.
Face: A slight smile, but as solid and chilling as ice, trembling eyes.
Voice: Like a bank note – silent, but heavy with pressure.
Hawala kept looking at his tablet.
"This one man blocked my five channels. Now I have claimed the life insurance payout in his wife's name... and opened a long-term debt in his son's name."
He smiled softly –
"I'm not hungry for blood, but for profit."
Maran "The Bloodboy" (Age: 22)
Coat: Black coat with dark blood-red lining, no tie, '666' embroidered on the collar.
Face: Innocent, but a predator in the blink of an eye.
Voice: Like a child telling a story – frightening.
Kazi took out a small blade from inside his coat, like a pen.
Then he made a light cut on the corpse's cheek and said –
"I would have let you play if you had screamed... but you died of fear before that."
He laughed – "I don't stop – even death is afraid of me."
Silence fell in the room again... but this was no longer peace, but a suffocating fear.
Five faces, and five different hells.
These brothers are no longer just names of a "Mafia" –
They are the viruses of a system that the law cannot catch... and crime cannot comprehend.
Each one is a weapon. And these weapons have now been deployed.
"The Royal Night of Devils"
Location: The most confidential club in the underworld – INFERNO
Time: 11:33 PM – when even darkness fears to tread.
INFERNO was no ordinary club. It was a secret fortress located 27 feet below ground, known only to those whose breaths were not precious, but dangerous. The walls there were of silver, but the sounds were of blood. The price of every bottle of wine was less than the life of the person who touched it.
That night, the club was attended by the big faces of the underworld – arms dealers, drug lords, kings of fake passports, and businessmen who earned millions through blackmail.
The noise was subdued, but the glances were sharp.
All were waiting for the same question:
"Will those five come today?"
Then, as if time itself stood still – the doors opened.
And the air temperature suddenly dropped by one degree.
First Shadow: Vishva "The Brain's" Entry
Vishva entered first – like a dictator, not a CEO.
Coat: Pitch-black slim-fit tuxedo, with a single word embroidered in white near the collar – "Control".
Face: Silent, but with calculation in his eyes – as if the price tag of every person was visible on their forehead.
Behind him walked an assistant, holding an activated stainless steel briefcase – containing poisonous documents. Whoever he smiled at, sat a little straighter in their seat – as if trying to save their life.
Vishva went to the bar and said simply –
"Whiskey neat. Without fear."
Second Storm: Kabir "The Hitter's" Explosive Entry
The doors opened again, this time like lightning striking.
Kabir entered – in coat and pants, but his gait was a dance of violence.
Coat: Skin-tight blazer in a grey shade, silver t-shirt underneath that clung to his body.
Hair: Messy, as if he came straight from a struggle.
Upon entering, he grabbed a bottle from a table and said –
"I don't need to drink, I am intoxication myself."
Then, he scanned the club's patrons like a camera –
"You are all sitting, I have arrived – stand up."
Within seconds, four chairs were vacated – Kabir sat there and placed his boots on the table.
Third Silence: Vikral "The Silent Death"
The club lights dimmed for a few seconds. And as if a demon emerged from the darkness – Zahr appeared.
Coat: Midnight blue velvet suit, blood red shirt inside. He had no tie – just a thin black chain that went from his neck to his chest.
Eyes: Intoxicating, but death swam in their depths.
He walked silently, as if each step held someone's breath.
People made way – no one dared to pass near him.
He took an empty chair, and the cigar from the man sitting nearby, saying only –
"Your lungs are already dead – now the cigar is mine."
Fourth Move: Randhir "The Financier's" Glam Entry
Not from the elevator – but descended in a glass elevator, Hawala. His entry was like a crypto king, but his smile hid the same cruelty.
Coat: Three-piece suit with grey checks on a white base, silk wine-colored shirt inside.
In hand: An iPad Pro and peeking from his other pocket, black credit cards – under false names.
Upon entering, he hacked the club's cameras – now wherever he went, his image appeared on the screens.
He picked up the mic –
"I am the one whose money keeps you all alive... and now I'll see who sells for how much."
Fifth Calamity: Maran "The Bloodboy's" Thriller Entry
The last door opened as if from a grave – smoke spread, and from it emerged Kazi.
Coat: Black leather coat, slim-fit shirt inside with deliberately placed bloodstains.
Face: Innocent, but eyes like someone satisfied after cutting a throat.
With him, 2 bodies were brought in – covered.
He went to the center of the dance floor and removed the covers – both belonged to the gang that was in enmity with these five brothers.
Maran said softly –
"I've brought a gift... to liven up the party."
All five together – and a shiver spread through the air.
INFERNO was now no mere club – but a sacrificial altar.
The music was low, but the tension was thick.
These five brothers took their special Sapphire Table – in the center of the club, a round table, beneath which was a secret lift – for immediate escape.
Vishva sat in the middle, Kabir to his right, Vikral to his left. Randhir in the seat behind him, and Maran activating his systems at the table.
Everyone standing on the floor had now become prey or deal.
Vishva quietly opened a file –
"Target #47. Picked up from the Indo-Belgian lobby. We need to see him today..."
Kabir smiled – "Show me his face."
Vikral clicked on the tab – a girl's picture appeared.
Everyone fell silent.
Randhir muttered – "Perhaps the heart will be engaged this time..."
Maran laughed – "Or blood..."
And then, the music grew louder.
All five rose, as if to run the party in their own ways.
Vikral entered the dance floor – as if scanning the crowd for prey.
Randhir went to the VIP section – to finalize deals.
Vishva sat with an old mafia boss – writing his death sentence.
Maran went to the bar and began cutting ice with a blade – as if someone's throat...
Vishva went to the upper gallery – to see everyone together.
This was no ordinary night. This was a message.
"We five are no longer hidden – we are power."
Chapter: INFERNO – Shadow of the Melting Night
Location: The Underworld Club – INFERNO,
Time: 12:00 AM
INFERNO club was no ordinary place. It was the heartbeat of the underworld—a clandestine fortress 27 feet below the earth, where breaths weren’t expensive, only necessary. The walls were silver, but instead of light, they held the breath of fire—a faint, smoky luminescence that smelled like burnt perfume.
The room – “Crimson Shelter” – was Inferno’s most private and luxurious part. Black velvet lines on the walls, pictures of stranger faces in golden frames – perhaps those who never returned. The chandelier didn't hang down; it was sunk into the ceiling – as if even light crawled its way in here. The room's temperature was lukewarm, warmer than wine and slower than heartbeats.
The only man sitting there – Vishwa “The Brain.”
His presence in a charcoal grey suit was not that of a judge, but of an impartial executioner. His blood-red tie was the only sound in the room. Eyes? Like frozen blades – cold, but smoldering from within.
He swirled his whiskey glass – in one hand, as if holding time by the neck.
The door opened.
He didn’t turn his head, but one of his eyebrows lifted slightly.
She entered—the girl, a stranger. Around 22 years old. A black silk dress that flowed with her walk, stopping at a waist thinner than her ankles.
“Name?” Vishwa asked without looking.
“The world outside is for those who name,” she replied. Her voice held neither hesitation nor deference.
Vishwa raised his head for the first time.
The line of his eyes reached her face directly – as if scanning what she was made of – bone or courage.
He did not smile. But he gestured – sit.
The girl sat opposite him. He extended the glass towards her.
“You know no one comes back here a second time,” Vishwa said.
“Perhaps that’s why I want to leave everything behind on the first try,” she replied.
A moment of silence filled the room. Then Vishwa stood up.
He slowly approached her. Very close – so close he could read her breath.
He gently lifted her chin – just as a judge pronounces a verdict.
“You know I don’t spend time with anyone… I cut time.”
His fingers went to the back of the girl’s neck – slow, but precise.
“And I don’t sleep with anyone… I let my sleep be stolen,” the girl’s eyes were now locked with his.
A faint spark flickered in Vishwa’s eyes for the first time. He took hold of the girl’s hair, tugged lightly – not in anger, but like a declaration.
“So tonight… no one will come to win. Only to lose.”
“I don’t let anyone win,” the girl’s voice was now heavy with breath.
The air in the room began to change.
The lights dimmed.
Vishwa took her hand – not by choice, but like a rule.
He began to lead her gently towards the bed. The sound of their footsteps echoed on the wood like sand between two thirsty souls.
The bedroom – another secret chamber. There was no clock, no mirror. Only red and black light spread on the walls – and a vast bed covered in silk.
He turned the girl towards the bed.
“You know, I don’t allow anyone to bring their will into my world.”
“And I don’t follow anyone’s will,” the girl said, touching his neck.
Vishwa now came closer. He pulled the zipper of her dress – slowly, without haste. There was no arousal in his every move, only control. As if he were disarming a weapon.
The girl pulled his tie – in one tug. The tie fell to the floor.
“Why are you with a man like me?” Vishwa asked.
“Because I make my own limits – and I break them too.”
He leaned close to her ear.
“I don’t love.”
“I didn’t ask for it either,” she said softly.
The bedsheets were silk – but at that moment, their movements, their breaths, and their closeness were far hotter. There was no love, no deceit. Just a sharp, direct, and dark night – where two people came out of their respective boundaries to "consume each other, not understand."
The room door was now closed.
The lights were dim.
"The fire that ignites before words"
Location: INFERNO – Sector IV, Black Chamber
Time: 12:13 AM
The air in the room was hot, but not with sweat—with the scent of a hunter.
Iron masks hanging on the walls, leather straps, and the blood-red tone of the corner lights made it no less than a torture chamber.
This sector was only for those who made their own rules of the game.
And then…
The girl walked in.
21 years old, but her gait held not innocence—but a warning.
As if she wasn’t stepping, but making a pact with the ground.
She wore a side-slit black leather dress, its movement challenging every gaze.
It was backless, held by a thin chain from the neck – as if there was no intention of covering it.
Her hair was wet – perhaps intentionally, so the drops would trickle down her neck to her waist.
The click-clack of her high heels scattered a death knell in the depths of that room.
Kabir, who was already sitting on the last bench of the lounge—
Black suit, raised collar, no tie, and the top buttons of his shirt open—
Watched her with a single glance.
The glass dangling from his fingers was shaking—but his gaze had frozen.
The girl didn’t make small talk.
She simply sat at his table – without permission.
“You are not the owner here, yet everyone bows before you. Why?”
She didn’t ask, she threw it.
Kabir didn’t reply.
He just swirled his glass – and in the light falling on it, saw the burning glint in his eyes.
“Do you have few words?”
“Words… that speak too much, sell too much,” he said softly.
The girl ran her tongue over her lips.
Then, without asking, she took his glass and took a sip.
“I am not afraid of your taste,”
She leaned towards Kabir,
“But I feel like drowning in it.”
Kabir still didn’t smile.
His fingers went under the table onto her thigh.
“If you are not afraid, I will test your courage.”
“Do,” she challenged.
Kabir stopped his hand, which was moving up her thigh—
He looked at her, not like a hunter looking at prey,
But like he was looking at himself, to restrain himself.
“Fear is a protocol, which I do not follow,” the girl said.
Kabir stood up – slowly.
He took her wrist, and gently pulled – without force, but with complete authority.
The two guards automatically cleared the way.
The other end of the room – a black leather bed.
Above it hung iron chains and harnesses on the walls.
Kabir pushed her towards the bed—
But with such controlled strength, as if he was awakening the beast within her.
The girl unzipped her dress in one move—
Her back was exposed, and her hair fell forward.
“People like you say – ‘I will break you’,”
She said,
“But I want… someone not to shatter me, but to remold me.”
Kabir neither praised nor denied her words.
He just lifted both her wrists, and tied them with his belt – with a completely cold face.
“What is your name?”
“For you? A useless thing.”
Kabir leaned down – but did not kiss.
He filled her lips with his breath – hot, heavy, and captivating.
“The fire you are made of… I am its creator.”
Her body was taut on the bed – but it did not tremble.
The girl said,
“If you only want to dominate by touch, it is very ordinary.”
Kabir lowered his head,
Whispered in her ear,
“I don’t submit the body… I submit the mind.”
And with his fingers, he drew a mark on her thigh that only he knew.
The room’s light dimmed.
Now only the sound of their breaths was heard – and the rustle of sheets.
He looked into her eyes, and gently ran his hand through her hair—
Not pulling, but holding… like holding the wire of a bomb.
“Don’t go soft,” he repeated.
“That word never existed for me,” Kabir said.
The girl was bound – but her face was open.
There was no fear, but rather a waiting – the wait for someone to finally answer her in her own language.
Kabir said, as he leaned down,
“I will not play with your body…
I will reverse your thoughts.”
And then it was as if the light itself had exited the room.
The fire between them – had now gone beyond words.
INFERNO was not a club; it was a pulse—of darkness.
Outside, the clocks had struck 12, but inside INFERNO, time had frozen like glass.
The room's walls were silver, laced with veins of blue light—as if blood and silence had formed an alliance. Velvet crimson carpets carpeted the floor, walking on which felt like stepping on someone's skull. Each wall bore metal maps, but these were not maps—they were sketches of faces… of the dead.
The room, "The Black Zero"—reserved exclusively for Vikral.
Vikral—less a name, more an artery.
The silence of his silk black tuxedo clung to him like a snake that had crowned itself vizier. The button was undone, his shirt blood-blue—as if the color had been born from the spilling of blue blood. His gloves were still on—black, leather, with fine stitching embossed in Latin: Mortem Tacitam—"Death that does not speak."
His face… there was nothing there. No smile, no anger, just eyes like a meticulously carved line—steady and icy.
Looking at him, it was hard to tell if he was human or a machine programmed solely for death.
The girl who entered the room, she had no name, and perhaps she shouldn't have.
The sound of her footsteps changed the room's lighting. INFERNO's lights were connected to a mysterious AI—capable of reading every person's intentions, heartbeat, and skin temperature. As the girl entered, the room's blue tone shifted to purple—a strange, sensual threat in the air.
The girl's stride held confidence, but her eyes held curiosity.
She wasn't one for much talk—and Vikral liked people like that.
The room's temperature was 18 degrees Celsius.
Vikral rose from the sofa and walked directly to the glass wall, where the blue light divided his face.
The girl's gaze was fixed on his back—there was no tattoo, but the musculature itself was like a code.
"You know, no games are played here,"
he said, without looking back.
The girl's voice did not come, only the rustle of her sandals—as if she had taken another step.
Vikral turned.
Slowly… like a lion turning its head—it doesn't ask for permission to hunt, it simply bestows it.
There were only five feet between them—but those five feet felt like an entire world.
The silence was so profound that even heartbeats seemed to echo audibly.
Vikral's movement—like hot glass on ice. He approached slowly. No haste.
He extended his hand—but did not touch. He merely held his palm half an inch away from the girl's neck.
His glove hovered in the air there.
His lips didn't move—but his breath was felt… right on the jugular vein.
The girl exhaled softly, but Vikral's face showed no reaction.
For him, this was not a game. This was a measurement—how much each person trembled in fear.
Then he slowly removed his gloves—finger by finger, as if he were unwrapping something explosive.
Now his bare palm was in the air—slightly cool, but filled with a tremor.
He touched the girl's collarbone—just with his fingertips.
That touch was not a caress, it was a warning.
The girl closed her eyes.
Her body shivered—not from pleasure or shame, but because the touch had penetrated deep… and instead of awakening something, it had pulled.
Vikral's fingers now slowly rose—from the neck to the jaw.
No haste, no rush—just a clear script of sensitivity.
"Aren't you afraid?"
His voice came from very close now.
The girl said only this, "No, I just want to know… if I'm truly alive."
Vikral was now right in front of her.
He brought his hands to her shoulders, and with his fingers brushed the straps of her top.
He didn't yank—nor did he force—he simply created a silence so profound that the fabric itself seemed to slide away.
The top had now fallen.
The girl stood
Chapter: "In the Basement of INFERNO"
Location: Secret room of INFERNO club
Time: 12:00 AM - When even darkness seems to be afraid
The room was like a coffin - cold, yet radiant. One wall was made of black glass through which one couldn't see, but from which everything could be observed.
The room's walls were soundproof - no need for loud screams here, but if someone did escape, the echo of their cries would linger in their mind for months.
A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its blood-red light dripping like a drop of blood. There was no carpet, just a deep grey velvety floor that felt like ice underfoot.
Maran stood inside - like a child in a new toy store - his innocent smile and deep eyes were a lullaby before death.
He wore a black coat with a blood-red lining and '666' embroidered in shimmering letters on the collar.
A faint noise came from the floor - the girl entered.
She was about 21, dressed in a tight black leather dress that clung to her body like fear clings to sin.
Her hair was tied back, and her eyes sparkled not with confidence, but with greed - she had come to play a game, but she didn't know that Maran didn't play games, he broke toys.
"You're him..." the girl's voice was a bit husky, perhaps the alcohol had loosened her tongue.
Maran tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming with a predatory intensity.
"You have come, and now you won't leave," he said, his voice dripping with innocence.
She laughed. "You think you can dominate me?" she said, removing her boots. "Boys like you don't scare me."
Maran moved forward, each step rhythmic and deliberate. His gait was not hurried, but when he drew near, even the air seemed to retreat.
He gently grasped her wrist - soft, yet unyielding. The girl didn't jump, but smiled - she thought the game had begun.
"Do you know... when people call me 'Blood Boy'...," Maran whispered, "they think I'm a character from a horror story... But I'm not. I don't tell stories... I end them."
The girl's breathing deepened. For a moment, it seemed she might be scared, or maybe something else.
Maran slid his hand down her back, his fingers reaching the zipper of her dress. He pulled it down, and with his other hand, he gathered her hair at the back of her neck.
"Good girl," Maran said, but his voice was more of a warning than reassurance.
The room had a faint electronic beat - without words, just a mimicry of a heartbeat - and the space between them was slowly closing.
Maran removed his coat and placed it on a nearby chair. He began to unbutton his black shirt, revealing lean, cut lines - as if every vein told a story of violence.
"Let's see how long you last," the girl said, moving closer to him.
Maran lifted her chin with two fingers. "This isn't about lasting... This is about how beautifully you break."
Maran pushed her back - gently, yet firmly - until her back hit the black glass wall.
The girl raised her heels and placed her hands on Maran's shoulders, but he pressed her wrists down.
"Not yet," Maran said. "Rules are mine here."
He led her to the bed, each step deliberate, his breath enveloping her body.
As they reached the bed, Maran swiftly pulled down the zipper of her dress - the sound was like a knife cutting through, not just fabric, but trust.
The dress fell off her shoulders.
"Why did you come here?" Maran asked, but he didn't wait for an answer.
He pushed her onto the bed - not with roughness, but with control.
She was now half-sitting, half-lying on the bed, her eyes hazy - from intoxication, or perhaps from the control Maran had asserted over her.
Maran climbed over her, his hands on the bed on either side of her face.
"Just a night," he said.
The girl looked into his eyes - there was no fire, no love... just a blank cruelty - something that couldn't be understood or escaped without being felt.
Maran bent down and touched his lips to her neck - not a kiss, nor a touch - just an announcement of who the night belonged to.
The bed sheets were now stretching like silk. The room bathed in the red glow. And in that basement of INFERNO, not a new story began, but another ended.
Outside INFERNO, the night was as cold and heavy as a conspiracy. The air was damp, yet lifeless - a stillness, as if someone held their breath, waiting for something to happen. The clouds were a deep black, and the moon was completely hidden - as if it too feared peeking into that basement. A distant lightning flashed, but no thunder followed - as if that place had swallowed all sounds. There was silence outside the club's walls, but inside... every breath, every movement, was weaving a different storm.
"Morning After - A Distance of One Cigarette"
Location: Private suite of INFERNO club, room #13
Time: 6:47 AM
The room had a faint blue glow - the kind that comes not from the sun, but from exhaustion and the alcohol left over from the night.
Two bodies lay on the bed, not touching.
The music had stopped. The chandelier's lights were off. Only the rumpled dress and a coat - the black one with a red inner lining - lay scattered, like the bloody memory of a hunt.
Maran was the first to wake up.
His eyes showed no sleep, nor any dreams. It was as if he had fulfilled a need during the night - and now that need was over.
He threw off the bedsheet and put his feet on the cold marble floor.
The girl was still asleep - her hair disheveled, lips dry, and a red mark on her neck, like she was a wild goat's neck that a hunter had merely touched, not killed.
Maran went to the bathroom.
He turned on the shower - the water was warm. Steam began to rise, clinging to the walls like sweat.
Standing before the mirror, he gazed at himself - his body was just as it had been after the previous hunt - not tired, but calm.
He shook water off his hair, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the bathroom - wrapped in a white towel.
The girl was still in the same position. She hadn't even thought of getting up.
"Morning," Maran said - his voice flat.
The girl opened her eyes - a moment of confusion on her face, then recognition.
"Already?" she said.
"Already late," Maran replied without a smile.
She got up, pulling the bedsheet to her chest, then slowly extended her legs to the floor.
Her body had a cigarette-like exhaustion - burned, but not yet reduced to ash.
"Coffee?" she asked.
"Only Black," Maran said.
"Figures," she whispered.
She got up, wrapped in the bedsheet, and went to the table - where the coffee machine, the club's signature service, was placed.
While the coffee was being made, they didn't speak - except for the sound of cups and the steam cutting through the morning silence.
As the coffee was served, she handed him a cup.
Maran took the cup - just holding it, not touching her.
"So... what kind of game was it?" she asked - as if speaking to herself.
"It wasn't a game," Maran replied. "There's no score here. It was just a one-time thing."
"One night and done?"
"Not... just done."
Maran took his first sip.
He went to the door, where his coat was hanging, and slowly put it on.
The girl watched from behind - she realized this wasn't a goodbye moment.
There was no 'namaste', no 'see you tomorrow', and no 'there was something between us' feeling.
"What's your name?" the girl asked.
Maran turned back, slightly smiling - for the first time.
"You didn't ask last night... what difference does it make now?"
"Just out of curiosity," she shrugged.
"Knowing a name doesn't change anything," Maran replied. "It just awakens hope for next time."
"There won't be a next time?"
"Nothing is repeated at INFERNO," Maran said. "Every story is for once. Otherwise, it becomes an obsession. And obsession is poison."
Maran opened the door.
The light didn't come in from outside because even morning seemed dark outside INFERNO.
But as he stepped out, he seemed like a silent knife - leaving no mark.
The girl took a deep breath behind him.
She licked her lips - the taste of the night still lingered.
Then she lay back on the bed - one hand on the empty pillow, the other on the cup.
She said softly, "Was this INFERNO... or was it me?"
And with that, she closed her eyes and fell asleep - without waiting for anything.
INFERNO CLUB
Chapter – “The Morning Deal”
Location: INFERNO Club’s Private Silver Chamber
Time: The next morning – 04:37 AM
The silver-gleaming room of INFERNO now held a faint light – as if a deal had been struck and its receipt was now blowing in the cold air.
Randeep “The Financier’s” eyes opened, but there was no sleep in them. He remained lying down – the silken sheets beneath him were still spread as they were, but now there was no warmth from anyone on them.
The clock hands in the room were still moving backward – as if time wanted to return, but wasn’t allowed.
Room Atmosphere:
There was a strange silence in the room.
Not the noise that blared outside the club, nor the echo of breaths that were here a few hours ago.
This was now a post-deal silence – solid, filled… but empty.
Perhaps the same emptiness that remains on a table after a contract.
Randeep slowly got up.
His body was completely still, as if he hadn't carried the weight of any emotion.
He poured water into a glass nearby – didn’t drink it, just looked.
Just as he looked at people – before using them.
He touched his burnt passport lying nearby with his fingers –
A reminder of who he was.
Or perhaps… who he wasn’t.
The girl was still in the room… yet not.
She stood by the window, in a black silken gown, her hair tied back, as if she were following a pre-decided script.
There was no smile on her face, no frown.
No shame, no satisfaction, no regret.
Just a calm, deal-closer-like cold gaze.
“You’re still here?”
There was nothing in Randeep’s voice – no plea to stay, no freedom to leave.
“Yes,” she said.
“I always stay until morning – so I don’t carry the weight of the night straight out.”
“You know, I didn’t come to ask you anything,” she said, her fingers tracing the window frame.
“And I didn’t give you anything,” Randeep replied.
“Exactly… that’s the beauty of this place. No emotions. No loyalty. Just use and log out.”
She said, smiling, as if accepting the terms of a system.
Randeep picked up his coat, buttoned it up – each button closed in the same sequence as a deal’s printout emerges.
A steel pen in his pocket, and a wallet in his hand – containing only cards, no photos, no memories.
“What was your name?”
He asked, without looking.
The girl gave no answer – just put on her red heels and walked towards the door.
“Names are given when there’s a possibility of meeting again,”
Her voice was as clear as glass, and as sharp as a knife.
There were two shadows in the room – but the light now held only one.
She left.
Without looking back, without leaving anything.
Not even a scent.
The door opened, and closed with the same silence – as if a folder had been deleted from the system.
Nothing was personal at INFERNO.
Names didn’t matter here, only deals.
Love didn’t flourish here, only control.
Randeep stood in the center of the room and took a deep breath.
No romance…
No hangover…
Just a systematic intoxication – of domination.
Club Control Room:
A call came from downstairs – “Code 9 Activated – Boardroom presence required.”
Randeep received the call and said only –
“ON MY WAY.”
It made no difference to him what had happened a few hours ago.
He wasn't the kind of man who carried a night with him –
He closed it like a ledger.
The silver walls still gleamed –
But between them was a small mark –
As if someone had scratched it with a finger…
Perhaps the girl made it before leaving –
Or perhaps INFERNO itself turns every “connection” into a cut.
Morning had broken in the outside world – but in INFERNO, the next shift had just begun.
And Randeep…
Was now again what he always was –
Undefined, unclaimed, and under control.
The Silver Chamber of INFERNO Club was under surveillance by a camera that recorded not emotions, but only movements. Its eyes were lifeless – yet they saw everything. Sleek silver track lights in the corners of the room shifted focus on every movement.
A minimalistic panel hung on the wall, displaying sensor-driven temperature and music graphs – as if trying to analyze emotions. A high-frequency receiver was placed in a rack, which didn't send signals, only received them. And the small light blinking behind the silver mirror was a witness that everything was being recorded.
No one is alone at INFERNO.
Every moment here – is turned into a file.
“INFERNO: The Dawn of Silence”
The same silver-walled room of INFERNO Club
5:17 AM – as darkness begins to awaken from sleep
No Love, No Emotional Attachment, Just the chill after silence and sensual detachment
The room’s light was now yellow – the yellow found in hospitals, where survival is merely data.
The air in the room was still heavy, but it had that tasteless chill that comes only after an unattached night.
Vikral was still in bed – his eyes were open, but his eyelids were still.
The blue lines on the ceiling in front of him were still running – as if indicating that life was still no less than a computer.
The girl had now gotten out of bed.
Her face was impassive, her hair tied back – as if she had mentally deleted the past night.
She stood in front of the mirror, putting on her clothes – the same top she had slowly let fall, now putting it back on with the same cold caution.
No haste.
No panic.
And no emotion.
In the room, there was only the rustle of clothes and a faint tremor of the walls – as if only habits, not humans, resided there now.
Vikral had now sat up. The sheet slid down from his back – no glory, no actress-like scene.
His face held the same emptiness that might be seen after a machine is turned off.
They both looked at each other.
But those gazes…
Were asking for nothing,
And wanting to give nothing.
Just a silent understanding –
“What happened has no name. And what will happen will have no place for it.”
The girl picked up her black heels and put them on.
Then she tied her hair, adjusted a chain around her neck, and slowly walked towards the door.
Vikral still said nothing.
No “wait,”
No “see you again,”
No humanitarian talk like “how are you.”
His fingers were still going inside his gloves –
As if he were reprogramming himself into “The Silent Death” again.
The girl opened the door.
The room’s light fell on her from behind, and her shadow became like a silhouette on the wall – which lingered for a while, then disappeared.
As if she had never been there.
5:29 AM
The room was now empty.
The bedsheet was creased, and the walls were again trembling in blue.
INFERNO’s sensor had now tagged the room as “Void” –
“Temporary Human Contact. No Sentiment Logged.”
Vikral lit a cigarette.
But left it half-burnt – the smoke couldn't touch him.
The scent in the room was still the same – not of sweat, but of intentions.
But those intentions were no longer naked, they were simply… inert.
The room’s screen flashed a line:
“She walked in,
didn't ask to stay.
And he...
never needed to remember.”
“No Romance, No Repeat – Just One Night of Raw Power”
One Night Only
No “Love Angles”
Just Physical Domination and Submission
Mindplay and Control to the Extreme of Violence
Everything Over Before Sunrise
“Shall I let it sink into your veins?”
INFERNO – Black Chamber, Room IV-D
Time: 1:07 AM
The room was sealed.
Soundproofed, with scarlet leather walls, and a corner that looked more like a rusted wound than a shadow.
Only the rustle of black chains hanging from the ceiling…
And two bodies, sworn to break each other without a word.
The girl was still bound – her hands above her head, leather straps tight around her wrists.
Kabir stood before her –
His black shirt half unbuttoned, his breathing steady, but his eyes filled with violence.
“I don’t want any soft corner in you,” the girl said.
“I never offered one,” Kabir replied.
He picked up a thin metal stick from the table –
Not to kill, but to guide.
He traced it over her skin, above her stomach – a cold, shiver-inducing touch,
But so slow it made the girl’s skin crawl.
“Just until tonight,” he whispered.
“Tomorrow morning, who you were, and who I was – it will all be erased.”
“Then start the game, Dominator,”
The girl said, closing her eyes.
Kabir took off his belt.
Slowly, with a sound.
But he didn't strike – he wrapped it around her neck and held it.
“It will feel heavy on your breath, but you won’t die.”
“But I didn’t come here to live,” she whispered.
A shot – on her thigh.
Skin turned red.
No scream, just fire in her eyes and a crooked smile.
“You won’t break so easily,” Kabir said, holding her chin.
“I didn’t come to break.”
“Then let me shatter you,” he said.
Now they were both on the bed.
The girl’s back arched, her hair disheveled,
And Kabir – behind her, holding her waist.
But before he entered, he said near her neck –
“I don’t need your consent in words,
Your body will tell me – when, how much, and how.”
He dug his teeth into her neck.
The girl shivered – for the first time.
But shivering wasn't losing.
She wrapped her legs around his thighs – pulling him closer.
“Deep enough?”
“Not yet,” Kabir said,
And entered.
The air stopped.
The sheets had fallen to the floor.
Shadows replaced light –
And in those shadows, there was no sound, only the rhythm of rough control.
Kabir ran his fingers over her back –
As if reading each vertebra.
Then he pushed again –
And the girl threw her head back – pain or pleasure… neither was identifiable.
No “I love you,” no names.
Just the pace of breaths and the war of muscles.
Kabir didn't stop –
He changed position.
The girl was on top now – straddling him, the belt still tightening around her neck.
“
Chapter – "The Summons of the Five"
Location: Mumbai's Secret Club — INFERNO
Time: 5:03 AM — As the night dies and the fire is newly kindled.
Vishwas was still in the room.
Silence hung in the room like a curtain — heavy, cold, and piercing. The room was as it was from the night, but now the bed bore the wrinkles, a testament to the night Vishwas had spent with that unknown girl.
The phone on the table suddenly vibrated. Without any movement, he glanced at the screen.
The name flashed —
"ZIA – Emergency Protocol"
He picked up the call.
"Speak."
The voice came from the other side — soft, but alive.
"Target is active… the place has been triggered."
For a second, a past flickered in Vishwas's eyes — perhaps a hazy fire, perhaps an icy scream. But his face remained the same — cold and determined.
"Get ready," he said, nothing more.
"We five are coming."
As he hung up, his fingers moved with coordinated speed. He activated the panel on the wall — no haste, no doubt.
Four directions. Four signals. Four brothers.
Kabir
The night was still entangled around him, but the phone's ring reached his nerves before his ears.
He merely blinked once, then picked up the call —
"Yes, Bhaiya?"
No panic in his voice, just a habit — as if born to hear commands.
Vikral
A slight smile was already on his face. As soon as the phone rang, he picked up the call without looking.
"Understood."
There was carelessness in his words, but something else was brewing within — as if he was waiting for the game to begin.
Randhir
There was smoke in the room. He himself was quiet like a dying cigarette, but smoldering from within.
The phone was picked up, no preamble —
"On my way."
Maran
Completely silent. As if he hadn't heard anything, but every word had dissolved within him.
"Yes Bhaiya,"
He said nothing more — a child was still hidden somewhere in his voice, one who only understood commands.
Vishwas sent a single sentence on everyone's screen:
"Meet at War Exit in 10 minutes. Target needs to be picked up."
No long conversation. No questions.
Phone cut.
The rooms opened.
The five brothers emerged from their respective shadows — some quickly, some silently, some with irritation, some lost in silence.
But their gait was the same — direct, firm, and on target.
No one turned back. No one stopped to think.
Leaving the night behind —
They had now moved towards the mission.
"When 'work' calls — then 'blood' answers."
"Whispers of the Mansion"
Location – Thakur's Mansion, Mumbai
Time – The dawn's chill
Thakur's Mansion —
A name in the dark corners of Mumbai, about which people still whisper into each other's ears. Though the sun's rays might fall on its walls from outside, the mansion inside still trembled with the echoes of an approaching storm.
After three days of silence, for the first time today, life was seen running here again — and that too, panicked and dragging.
Main Hall – Rosie Auntie's Anger and God's Fear
"Oh Vijay! Sweet Mother of Christ! Haven't you cleaned the first floor yet? Have mercy on my patience!"
White cotton dress, a handkerchief tied in her hand, sweat on her forehead — but her gait held the strict dignity of a convent nun. Rosie Auntie, around 55, but no less spirited than a young soldier.
"Three days! The masters are returning in three days — and this mansion is still washing its own sins!"
New face in the crowd – Chinu
Chinu, thin and timid, had been brought into the mansion only yesterday. His eyes saw only fear all around.
"Boy, what's your name?" Rosie asked, staring.
"Ch...Chinu, Madam."
"Rosie Madam," she corrected sternly, "and listen, this mansion is not a church, son — it's a prison for sinners. Not masters, but Godfathers live here. The five brothers — Vishwas, Kabir, Vikral, Randhir, and Maran — they are not saints from the Bible, they are devils tempered in fire… but their rules are followed."
Chinu's breath hitched.
"Everything must be perfect. No dust, no delay, no noise. And if anything goes wrong… forgive me, Jesus, but your body won't be found here!"
The Brothers' Rooms – Terror Hidden in Simplicity
Vishwas Thakur –
The room was simple, clean, with only the bare necessities. A steel watch, an iron briefcase, and a corner where weapons were kept — without any pride, like a prayer corner in a church.
Kabir Thakur –
A leather chair, a straight bar setup, the scent of cigars and neatly arranged bottles. He kept alcohol not as a habit, but as a tool — he had learned to discipline even sin.
Vikral Thakur –
A silent room, but danger in every corner. The walls don't speak, they scream. A wooden box — forbidden to touch, let alone see.
Randhir Thakur –
The room was like a data center. Screens, buttons, watchdog software — strategy hidden in peace.
Maran Thakur –
Nothing in the room was superfluous. A table, a drawer, and a cold breeze. Like his presence — minimal, but sufficient.
Rosie's Roar – Now Not Prayers Like Church, Only Fear
"Rahul!"
"Have you seen Kabeer Saheb's cupboard? If there's even a scratch on the cigar, bless yourself and depart."
"Neetu! Vishwas Saheb's shoes must be placed near the left wall. He once said himself – 'Nothing is a greater sin than a thing kept in the wrong place'."
Chinu asked tremblingly —
"Madam… where are they now?"
Rosie's face became colder than cold.
"No news for three days. But trust me, boy… when they return, the chandeliers tremble, the doors close on their own, and the mansion holds its breath."
She paused and whispered —
"Lord, give us strength when they return…"
Outside Lawn – Whispering Gardener
The old gardener, watering the plants with trembling hands, leaned towards Chinu —
"Many like you have come and gone, son. But keep one thing in mind — it's more dangerous to see these brothers… than to make them wait."
"Vishwas's silence is fire, Kabir's laughter is poison, Vikral's gait is that of a hunter, Randhir's eyes are X-rays… and Maran? Jesus save us — he is the other name for death."
Rosie's Final Warning in the Main Hall
Rosie descended the stairs — her gait held the tradition of a church and the alertness of a hunter.
"Everyone, get back to work. Everything must be spotless. Windows, grills, pillows – if anything is amiss, I won't pray for you this time. The masters are returning… and the mansion can hear their echoes."
And at that very moment, a crow cawed and flew from the roof.
Chinu saw — as if the mansion's windows were listening themselves.
A slow silence… and a whisper in the air…
"They are returning."
"Mystery in the Kitchen's Ashes"
Time – Afternoon sun, melting in the mansion's kitchen.
Not just the walls and the floor, even the mansion's air seemed to have changed.
After Rosie Auntie's orders, all the staff had gotten busy with their respective tasks. One team was airing the curtains in the sun, another was mopping the floor with domestic lemon and camphor — and a third team, the most special, had now entered the part of the mansion where not hunger, but honor was cooked — the kitchen.
Kitchen – Where Fire Burned with Fear
This kitchen was not like an ordinary kitchen — it was a battlefield.
A row of at least fifteen large pots, six shelves of spices, seven gas burners, and a huge tandoor — and in the middle of it all stood Rosie Auntie, a wooden stick in her hand between two bowls.
"Lord have mercy! Who cut these vegetables? Is this a school canteen? If Vishwas Saheb sees tomatoes cut like this, your fingers will return to school!"
Neetu, who was cutting vegetables, trembled.
Rosie Auntie was assigning responsibilities to each person, making sure they were trained according to the brothers' preferences.
Five Plates – Five Personalities
1. Vishwas Thakur's Food:
Simple, but filled with perfection.
Food: Extremely finely chopped spinach dal, vegetable without onion-garlic, chapati perfectly thin and in a straight line.
Special Instruction: Not a single froth visible in the dal, and the water content to be precise — otherwise, Vishwas would return the entire meal without a word.
2. Kabir Thakur's Food:
Spicy, steeped in tandoori flavor.
Food: Mutton curry tempered with garlic, Rumali roti, and lemon with a small glass of whiskey.
Special Instruction: Mutton to be separated from the bone, but not melt — and the roti to have no double layer of searing.
3. Vikral Thakur's Food:
Non-vegetarian, but in limited quantity — for strength, not for taste.
Food: Grilled chicken, with stuffing without spices, and roasted potatoes.
Special Instruction: The knife must not pierce the chicken — its skin must not break before cutting.
4. Randhir Thakur's Food:
Classical, but minimal — and everything scanned.
Food: Steamed vegetables, Quinoa khichdi, and a light carrot soup without salt.
Special Instruction: If even a pinch of salt is added… more data will be wrong than the food.
5. Maran Thakur's Food:
No one knows what he eats — the food is kept outside his room, and when the empty plate returns, it is known that something has been eaten.
Food: Roti and milk — or perhaps something else.
Special Instruction: No servant can see his food. Whoever touches the plate must wash their hands and pray.
Strict Instructions Amidst Food Preparation
Rosie Auntie gathered everyone in a huddle.
"Now everyone listen carefully," she said, "this food is not being prepared for a family dinner — this is a feast for five lions. And if a lion eats the wrong prey… the cook is eaten first."
Then she touched the small cross pendant around her neck —
"Bless this food, O Lord, and bless our heads — for they may be on the line today."
Chinu's Duty – Taking the Plate to Maran's Room
The new boy Chinu, who had only been assigned sweeping and mopping until now, was now to take Maran Thakur's plate as per Rosie's order.
Rosie Auntie said,
"Boy, you are new, but we were all scared on the first day. Take this plate to Saheb Maran's room — the door will open by itself. When you return, the plate will be empty. Whatever happens, do not try to peek inside. And yes — keep the cross with you."
Chinu took the plate with trembling hands. It contained only roti and milk in a white bowl — but it had more coldness than warmth.
Stir in the Kitchen – But Not Every Sauce in the Pot, Some in the Eyes
Neetu and Rahul, who had been working in the mansion for the past five years, were whispering to each other.
"Something is strange this time," Neetu said, "Rosie Madam herself is vigilant… the brothers have disappeared as if a deal has gone sour."
"And did you see?" Rahul said, lowering his head, "the tandoor's fire went out on its own twice today. Without any wind."
"Jesus Christ," Neetu muttered.
These words reached Rosie Auntie's ears. She turned and said from a distance,
"Those who are afraid, burn the rotis. And those who burn rotis… face not just forgiveness, but Maran Saheb directly."
Outside Lawn – Shadows Were Lengthening
The afternoon glow began to spread in the mansion's courtyard. But the hustle inside the mansion was still intense. Every servant was finalizing their part of the work.
Vishwas's tea tray was ready, Kabir's bar glass was shining, salt was sprinkled on the floor in front of Vikral's room, Randhir's digital tray had a thermal insulator attached — and the plate from Maran's room had not yet returned.
Final Order – 'When the bell rings, everyone stops'
Rosie Auntie now gave the final instruction —
"When the mansion's upper bell rings — just once — you will know that the five masters have entered the mansion. After that, no sound, no movement. Food will be served only with their approval. Until then, everyone remain in their places… and pray that they have all returned safely."
And then…
The old brass bell hanging on the wall near the kitchen swayed on its own.
*Ton…*
Just one sound.
But in that single *ton*, the beats of all the plates, all the utensils, and all the hearts stopped.
Chapter – "The Summoning of the Five"
Location: Mumbai's Secret Club — INFERNO
Time: 5:03 AM — When the night is dying and fire is reborn.
Vishwas was still in the room.
The silence in the room hung like a curtain — heavy, cold, and piercing. The room was as it was from the night, but now the bed bore the wrinkles, a testament to the night Vishwas had spent with that unknown girl.
The phone on the table suddenly vibrated. Without any movement, he looked at the screen.
The name glowed —
“ZIA – Emergency Protocol”
He picked up the call.
"Speak."
The voice came from the other side — low, but alive.
"Target is active… the place has been triggered."
For a second, a past flashed in Vishwas's eyes — perhaps a dim fire, perhaps an icy scream. But his face remained the same — cold and determined.
"Get ready," he said, nothing more.
"The five of us are coming."
As soon as he hung up, his fingers moved with coordinated speed. He activated the panel on the wall — no haste, no doubt.
Four directions. Four signals. Four brothers.
Kabir
The night was still entangled around him, but the phone's ring reached his nerves before his ears.
He blinked just once, then picked up the call —
"Yes, Bhai?"
No panic in his voice, just a habit — as if he was born to listen to orders.
Vikral
A faint smile was already on his face. As soon as the phone rang, he picked up without looking.
"Understood."
There was carelessness in his words, but something else was brewing within — as if he was waiting for the game to begin.
Randhir
There was smoke in the room. He himself was calm like a dying cigarette, but smoldering from within.
The phone was picked up, no preamble —
"On my way."
Maran
Completely silent. As if he heard nothing, but every word had dissolved within him.
"Yes, Bhai,"
He only said this — a child was still hidden somewhere in his voice, one who only understood orders.
Vishwas sent a single sentence to everyone's screen:
"Meet at War Exit in 10 minutes. Target to be retrieved."
No lengthy dialogue. No questions.
Call disconnected.
Rooms began to open.
The five brothers emerged from their shadows — some quickly, some silently, some with irritation, some lost in thought.
But their stride was the same — direct, firm, and on target.
No one looked back. No one stopped to think.
Leaving the night behind —
They had now moved towards the mission.
"When 'duty' calls — 'blood' answers."
"The Whispers of the Mansion"
Location – Thakurs Mansion, Mumbai
Time – The chill of the morning
Thakurs Mansion —
A name in the dark corners of Mumbai, which people still whisper about. Though the sun's rays might fall on its walls from the outside, the mansion still trembled within from the echoes of an approaching storm.
After three days of silence, for the first time today, life was seen rushing here again — and that too, scared and dragged.
Main Hall – Rosy Aunty’s Anger and God’s Fear
“Oh Vijay! Sweet Mother of Christ! Haven’t you cleaned the first floor yet? Have mercy on my patience!”
White cotton dress, a handkerchief tied in her hand, sweat on her forehead — but her gait had the solemn dignity of a strict convent. Rosy Aunty, around 55, but no less spirited than a young soldier.
“Three days! The masters return in three days — and this mansion is still washing its own sins!”
New Face in the Crowd – Chinu
Chinu, thin and scared, had been brought into the mansion only yesterday. His eyes saw only fear all around.
“Boy, what’s your name?” Rosy asked, staring.
“Ch… Chinu, Madam.”
“Rosy Madam,” she corrected sternly, “and listen, this mansion is not a church, son — it's a prison for sinners. Here, Godfathers live, not masters. The five brothers — Vishwas, Kabir, Vikral, Randhir, and Maran — they are not saints from the Bible, they are devils forged in fire… but their rules are followed.”
Chinu’s breath caught.
“Everything must be perfect. No dust, no delay, no noise. And if anything goes wrong… Forgive me, Jesus, but we won’t find your body here!”
The Brothers' Rooms – Terror Hidden in Simplicity
Vishwas Thakur –
The room was simple, clean, with only the bare necessities. A steel watch, a leather briefcase, and a corner where weapons were kept — without any ostentation, like a prayer corner in a church.
Kabir Thakur –
A leather chair, a well-stocked bar, the fragrance of cigars and neatly arranged bottles. He kept alcohol not as a habit, but as a tool — he had learned to bring even sin under discipline.
Vikral Thakur –
A silent room, but danger lurked in every corner. The walls didn't speak, they screamed. A wooden box — forbidden to touch, even to look at.
Randhir Thakur –
The room was like a data center. Screens, buttons, watchdog software — deception hidden in peace.
Maran Thakur –
Nothing superfluous in the room. A table, a drawer, and a cool breeze. Like his presence — minimal, but sufficient.
Rosy’s Roar – Now No Prayer Like a Church, Only Fear
“Rahul!”
“Have you seen Kabeer Sahib’s cupboard? If even a scratch appears on a cigar, you’ll bless yourself and depart.”
“Neetu! Vishwas Sahib’s shoes must be kept near the left wall. He once said himself – ‘There is no sin greater than an object kept in the wrong place’.”
Chinu hesitantly asked —
“Madam… where are they now?”
Rosy’s face became even colder than strict.
“No news for three days. But trust me, boy… when they return — the chandeliers tremble, doors close on their own, and the mansion holds its breath.”
She paused and whispered —
“Lord, give us strength when they return…”
Outside Lawn – The Whispering Gardener
The old gardener, watering the plants with trembling hands, leaned towards Chinu —
“Many like you have come and gone, son. But take this to heart – it’s more dangerous to see these brothers… than to make them wait.”
“Vishwas’s silence is fire, Kabir’s laughter is poison, Vikral’s stride is predatory, Randhir’s eyes are X-rays… and Maran? Jesus save us — he is another name for death.”
Rosy's Final Warning in the Main Hall
Rosy descended the stairs — her gait a mix of church tradition and a predator's alertness.
“Everyone, get to work. Everything must be spotless. Windows, grilles, pillows – if anything is amiss, I won’t pray for you this time. The masters are returning… and the mansion can already hear their echo.”
And at that moment, a crow cawed and flew away from the roof.
Chinu saw — the mansion's windows seemed to be listening on their own.
A slow silence… and a whisper in the air…
“They are returning.”
"Mystery in the Ashes of the Kitchen"
Time – Afternoon sun, melting in the mansion's kitchen
Not just the walls and the floor, but even the air of the mansion seemed changed.
After Rosy Aunty’s orders, all the staff had gotten to their tasks. One team was airing the curtains in the sun, another was mopping the floor with native lemon and camphor — and the third team, the most crucial, had entered the part of the mansion where not hunger, but honor was cooked — the kitchen.
The Kitchen – Where Fire Burned with Fear
This kitchen was no ordinary kitchen — it was a battlefield.
A line of at least fifteen large pots, six shelves of spices, seven gas burners, and a huge tandoor — and in the midst of it all stood Rosy Aunty, a wooden stick in her hand between two cooking vessels.
“Lord mercy! Who cut this vegetable? Is this a school canteen? If Vishwas Sahib sees tomatoes cut like this, your fingers will be sent back to school!”
Neetu, who was cutting vegetables, trembled.
Rosy Aunty was assigning responsibilities to each person — and everyone had been trained according to the brothers' preferences.
Five Platters – Five Personalities
1. Vishwas Thakur’s Food:
Simple, but filled with perfection.
Food: Finely chopped lentil dal, vegetable without onion-garlic, chapatis perfectly thin and in a straight line.
Special Instruction: Not a single foam should be visible in the dal, and the water content must be precise — otherwise, Vishwas would return the entire meal without a word.
2. Kabir Thakur’s Food:
Spicy, steeped in tandoori flavor.
Food: Mutton curry tempered with garlic, rumali roti, and lemon with a small glass of whiskey.
Special Instruction: The mutton should separate from the bone, but not dissolve — and the roti should not have a double layer of scorching.
3. Vikral Thakur’s Food:
Non-vegetarian, but in limited quantities — for strength, not for taste.
Food: Grilled chicken, without spicy stuffing, and roasted potatoes.
Special Instruction: The knife should not pierce the chicken — its skin should not break before cutting.
4. Randhir Thakur’s Food:
Classical, but minimal — and everything scanned.
Food: Steamed vegetables, quinoa khichdi, and a light carrot soup without salt.
Special Instruction: If even a pinch of salt is added… more data will be wrong than food.
5. Maran Thakur’s Food:
No one knows what he eats — the food is left outside his room, and when the empty plate returns, it is known that something has been eaten.
Food: Roti and milk — or perhaps something else.
Special Instruction: No servant can see his food. Whoever touches the plate must wash their hands and pray.
Strict Instructions During Food Preparation
Rosy Aunty gathered everyone in a huddle.
“Now, listen everyone carefully,” she said, “this food is not being prepared for a family dinner — it is a feast for five lions. And if a lion eats the wrong prey… the cook is the first to be consumed.”
Then she touched the small cross locket around her neck —
“Bless this food, O Lord, and bless our heads — for they may be on the line today.”
Chinu's Duty – To Take the Plate to Maran’s Room
The new boy, Chinu, who had only been assigned sweeping and mopping so far, was now, by Rosy’s order, going to take Maran Thakur’s plate.
Rosy Aunty said,
“Boy, you are new, but we all fear on the first day. Take this plate to Mr. Maran’s room — the door will open on its own. When you return, the plate will be empty. Whatever happens, do not try to peek inside. And yes — keep the cross with you.”
Chinu took the plate with trembling hands. It contained only roti and milk in a white bowl — but it felt colder than warm.
Stir in the Kitchen – But Not All Sauces Were in Pots, Some Were in Eyes
Neetu and Rahul, who had been working in the mansion for the past five years, were whispering to each other.
“Something is strange this time,” Neetu said, “Rosy Madam herself is on edge… the brothers have disappeared as if a deal went wrong.”
“And did you see?” Rahul said, lowering his head, “the tandoor fire extinguished on its own twice today. Without any wind.”
“Jesus Christ,” Neetu muttered.
These words reached Rosy Aunty’s ears. She turned and said from a distance,
“Those who fear, burn rotis. And those who burn rotis… face not just forgiveness, but direct confrontation with Mr. Maran.”
Outside Lawn – Shadows Were Lengthening
The afternoon redness began to spread into the mansion's courtyard. But the bustle inside the mansion was still intense. Every servant was finalizing their part of the work.
Vishwas’s tea tray was ready, Kabir’s bar glass was shining, salt was sprinkled on the floor in front of Vikral’s room, a thermal insulator was attached to Randhir’s digital tray — and the plate from Maran’s room had not yet returned.
Final Order – ‘Stop Everything When the Bell Rings’
Rosy Aunty then gave the final instruction —
“When the mansion’s upper bell rings — just once — know that the five masters have entered the mansion. After that, no sound, no movement. Food will be served only with their permission. Until then, everyone remains in their places… and pray that they have all returned safely.”
And then…
The old brass bell hanging on the wall near the kitchen moved on its own.
Tong…
Just one sound.
But in that one ‘tong’, the beating of all the plates, all the utensils, and all the hearts stopped.
Chapter — "By the Water's Edge, Five Shadows of Fire"
Location: Royal Glory Hotel — The poolside of the city's most expensive five-star hotel
Time: 10:47 PM — The party was at its peak.
With dazzling lights all around, the aroma of champagne, and a bass that shook the very soul from the ground up — the city's biggest and most expensive party was now at its zenith.
By the poolside, on the gleaming floor, girls with bare shoulders mingled, drenched in alcohol and desire. Somewhere the pool shimmered with bioluminescent light, while elsewhere a sweat-drenched crowd swayed to the beats of live music.
And amidst them, as if a world separate from this one was unfolding, were the Thakur Brothers — all five in a corner, yet every gaze was fixed on them.
1. Vishwa Thakur
Black silk shirt, the first two buttons undone. A thin gold chain around his neck, which still couldn't soften his ruthlessness.
He wasn't standing on the table. He was standing, but as if on guard. Hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight — and a face that seemed not to be looking at anyone, but scanning them.
A girl — in a red gown — approached him closely, dancing slowly. She gently placed her hand on his chest...
Vishwa glanced at her for a millisecond, then without shifting an inch, said —
"Your sweat betrays you."
The girl started to laugh, but her body trembled. She withdrew her hand.
Kabir Thakur
White shirt, sleeves folded, a glass in hand, but his eyes were fixed on the crowd like a hunter.
He was talking to a businessman — but after every second line, his gaze would fall on a girl slowly dancing by the poolside, and each time her face would turn towards Kabir.
Once, as the girl, dancing, stumbled near him and fell onto him —
Kabir said only one thing:
"When the prey walks towards you, the game ends."
And he got up from his chair, ignoring the girl.
Vikral Thakur
He was the only one standing near the dance floor, but not dancing. Dressed in a long coat, his hair slightly damp, and a light cigar in his fingers.
As the smoke from the cigar drifted before his eyes, his gaze seemed to grow colder.
A dancing girl came very close to him and tried to snatch the cigar.
"Not the cigar. Develop a habit of snatching destiny."
Vikral said, and took the cigar back without blinking.
The girl tried to smile — Vikral, looking directly into her eyes, gently lifted her chin —
"Listen, I don't melt into anyone's smile. I work with my eyes."
Randhir Thakur
A plain white t-shirt under his blazer, a light beard on his face, and a scar on his lips as if still fresh.
He sat alone by the edge, but there was no loneliness there. Girls were bumping into him one after another. Someone deliberately spilled a drink on his hand.
He stood up, took the glass from the girl's face, and poured the entire drink into her palm.
"Now our fates are equal."
And then, placing the glass on the ground, he returned to his corner without a word.
Maran Thakur — the youngest, the most dangerous
He hadn't said anything. His eyes were in a different direction than everyone else's — fixed on the floating lights in the pool.
He wasn't even looking at the dancer who had already touched all four brothers, showcasing her allure. When she reached Maran, he turned his back to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.
Maran said without turning around —
"You have repeated the same mistake five times."
And then he didn't turn at all. He simply took off his jacket and stood by the pool.
Standing there, he watched the scene —
The four brothers were now standing in a single line.
And behind them — like scattered colors in a lightning flash — stood that girl. Her courage was now failing her.
The party was intensifying, but the silence of these five... was even louder.
Someone said,
"Who will approach these five tonight?"
Someone replied —
"It's not about approaching; it's about being invited. And only those are invited who are never let go."
There was a stir in the party.
The party's host himself stepped forward, an international dealer who was a big name in the underworld. His name was — Rehan Shah.
Rehan slowly approached them, a silver cane in his hand, and a blood-red glint in his eyes.
"Thakur Sahib," he said, "you five have stopped the heartbeat of the entire party."
Vishwa: "Where we stand, others forget to breathe."
Rehan: "But tonight is not just a show... it's a game. And the stakes in this game are a little higher."
Kabir: "The price of blood, or of wealth?"
Rehan: "Whoever has a weak heart... will lose both."
Everyone fell silent. Only a few drops of water dripping from Maran's jacket hit the ground.
"After the party..."
Rehan said, "we're going to a private place. Where the real stakes will be played."
Vishwa turned his head. All the brothers, together, without a word, just gave a slight nod.
The crowd was still dancing, but that dance now seemed meaningless.
Because everyone knew —
The Thakur Brothers weren't here to party, they were here to watch the hunt.
And that hunt... was now walking towards them on its own.
"Deepening Night and the Silence of Desire"
Location: Royal Glory Hotel — Poolside
Time: 12:21 AM
The crowd was still dancing, but the beats of the music had slowed down.
The champagne was no longer trickling down the throat, but lingering on the lips. People were no longer dancing, just looking for excuses to stay longer — perhaps in anticipation of 'a meeting'.
And amidst this pause, as if time itself had stopped, the five gathered again — near the black marble bar, where a corner was bathed in blue light.
Vishwa Thakur was now sitting directly at the bar counter. A European model sitting next to him said softly —
"You don’t smile much, do you?"
He said without looking,
"Smiling suits those who doubt themselves."
And then finished the blue cocktail in one gulp.
Kabir Thakur was now standing on the glass bridge by the pool, his reflection shimmering on the water's surface below.
A girl passing by looked at him and said,
"You are impractically handsome, you know?"
Kabir, without smiling, merely said —
"And you... are close to impossible. But I never try too hard."
The cold shrewdness in his voice made the girl tremble before she could smile.
Vikral Thakur had now taken off his coat and placed it behind the chair. The hands of the watch on his wrist seemed to want to stop — time was looking at Vikral, not he at time.
The girl standing next to him — with light blonde hair, in a black slit dress — was playing with the button on his sleeve with her fingernail.
Vikral gently took her hand, then slowly lowered it.
"If something touches me, I don't remember it. But what touches and says nothing — that gets etched in the mind."
The girl was about to say something, but Vikral had already stood up and was selecting a cigar from the tray nearby.
Randhir Thakur had now slightly pulled up the collar of his jacket; the night air had become brisk.
Nearby, a foreign journalist, perhaps covering the party, with a camera in hand. She took a picture of Randhir.
"Excuse me, can I click one more close-up?"
Randhir looked into her eyes for a moment, and said —
"Pictures only capture the face. If you come too close, perhaps something else might be taken."
And the reporter genuinely seemed to flinch.
Maran Thakur, the most separate — stood in the shadow behind a long white curtain, as if he had no concern with the world.
But his eyes were deeply reading the constantly moving crowd.
At that moment, a girl — very simple, perhaps not belonging to any group or network — walked up and stood by Maran.
She said only one thing —
"I've been watching for quite some time, there's no fear on your face... nor desire."
Maran turned and looked directly at someone for the first time.
"Fear keeps us alive. And desire... kills us."
She remained silent.
Maran slowly asked,
"Have you come to die?"
The girl gave a slight laugh, but her eyes held questions — no answers.
The party had now passed midnight.
The music was now in the background, and before it — a beautiful, mysterious stage was being set. A stage covered in black curtains and golden lights — the "Golden Chessboard" — a special game of the hotel meant only for high-profile guests.
Rehan Shah — the party host — came forward.
"People think this is just a show... but tonight, every move will speak something."
He walked towards the five Thakur Brothers.
"Are you ready for a game? Where every pawn is a human, and every move is an offer."
Vishwa said —
"We do not become pawns. But if needed, we know the art of giving a check."
Rehan smiled and called five different beautiful women onto the stage — each woman with a different style, from a different country, and in all their eyes the same thing — desire.
Rehan said —
"No one can touch these five, but tonight... only one touch is permitted. The question is — who will touch, and who will be remembered?"
The dance was slow, and now the five women on stage slowly moved towards the Thakur Brothers.
One for each brother.
But none of them extended a hand.
Instead, the Thakur Brothers still stood in their places as they were —
Vishwa — stone in his eyes
Kabir — silence on his lips
Vikral — smoke in his fingers
Randhir — night in his eyes
Maran — silence in his breath
The women slowly stopped very close to them. One tried to touch Vishwa's fingers — he said without moving,
"Don't put fire on ice, they both burn."
Another put her hand around Kabir's neck — he said,
"Don't bind me with words, I have already broken the chains."
A third ran her fingers on Vikral's collar —
"Clothes can change, but habits cannot."
A fourth held Randhir's wrist —
"I have lost everything, I cannot gain you."
The fifth looked at Maran's lips —
"There is something in you... that is in no one else."
And Maran said softly —
"I am not in myself. What is... is just a shadow."
Rehan was silent.
The entire crowd was silent.
The blue light by the poolside had now turned red.
And the five brothers looked at each other once —
No signal
No smile
Just a cold wind — and then…
The five of them moved forward together. But not out of the hotel.
Instead, towards the Golden Lounge, towards that deepest part of the hotel where only a select few could go.
Rehan just said —
"This is just the beginning."
And all that was left behind was —
The crowd, the music, and the gazes of those five incomplete women.
Chapter Ends
Chapter — “The Inner Storm – and the Five Layers”
Location – Royal Glory Hotel, Inner Lounge and Private Bar
Time – 1:12 AM
The party’s pace had slowed.
The crowd around the pool had thinned, but the hotel’s private inner lounge was now set—silver lighting, slow jazz music, and the shadows of champagne glasses on the walls.
Here, only by-invitation-only guests could enter.
The five Thakur brothers were already present—sitting in different corners, but each one’s presence was such that the room seemed to breathe according to them. There were many girls and all had worn very transparent clothes, meaning their bodies were clearly visible. The parts of their bodies were all visible because the clothes were so light. All their necklines were open and deep, perhaps such clothes were intentionally worn by them to seduce the Thakur brothers.
Vishva Thakur
was sitting in the farthest right corner of the lounge. He had a glass in his hand, but it hadn't reached his lips.
A girl approached him—in a red satin dress, hair loose, confidence in her eyes. Touching Vishva’s thigh, she said,
“Looking at you, it seems everything is possible to achieve,” she said.
Vishva turned his head and looked at her, then slowly said,
“I don’t achieve anyone… I don’t snatch either… I just wait until everyone comes on their own.”
The girl didn’t smile; she paused for a second, then stood nearby—completely silent.
Her silence was what Vishva liked.
Because when words stop, that’s when the real game begins.
Kabir Thakur
was standing near the counter, having taken two sips, looking at the third.
A woman—perhaps a painter—spoke softly,
“No painting can hold in your eyes. Everything flows away.”
She then placed her hand on Kabir’s chest. Kabir didn’t even try to smile.
“I’m not afraid of colors, I just dislike frames.”
“Frames?”
“Relationships, names, boundaries… I flow, and whatever comes near, I sweep it away.”
He placed his finger on the woman’s wrist—
for a second.
That was enough.
Vikral Thakur
was sitting at a long round table, with wine menus arranged like files in front of him, and beside him sat two of the city’s most talked-about female entrepreneurs.
One of them said, laughing,
“Dealing with a man like you won’t be easy.”
Vikral lightly raised his glass, then looked slowly into her eyes,
“Deals… don’t happen, decisions are made. And I make them—by reading the smiling faces of others.”
The two women fell silent.
For a moment, Vikral leaned back from his chair and said,
“I don’t fight with anyone… I just see who gets tired first.”
Their laughter was no longer a show-off, but genuine nervousness.
Randhir Thakur
was in the music area of the private lounge—where live jazz was playing.
He stood in a dark corner near the stage himself, a drink in hand, but his gaze was on some distant shadow.
A girl—the singer—who had just finished singing, quietly approached him.
“Do you… listen less and feel more?”
Randhir said without looking,
“When one has heard too much, it’s not sounds that prick, but silences.”
“And what pricks you?”
“My own answers… which were never given.”
The singer paused for a moment, then slowly said,
**“Will you ever listen to a song… in my room?”
Randhir looked directly at her for the first time.
“Not today. Because tonight itself is a melody—that is carrying me away.”
Maran Thakur
The quietest corner of the lounge—where nothing sparkled, nor played.
There, Maran’s eyes were still looking not at people, but at the cracks in the wall—as if behind every sound, a truth was hidden.
A girl sat beside him—who herself spoke very little.
“Are you alone even here?” she asked.
Maran said,
“Being together is an illusion… truth only emerges when everyone leaves.”
The girl watched him for a while, then just said—
“I’ve never understood so much by hearing so little from anyone…”
Maran gave no further answer.
But for the first time, his fingers began to write something on the table—like a tune, a code.
The girl couldn’t read his fingers—but she paused.
Perhaps without saying anything, she was feeling the most.
The lounge night was now filled with thick smoke and slow breaths.
The music was no longer even background—now there were only glances, passing breaths, and sounds.
The hotel clock now showed 2:03 AM.
Everyone had less time—but for the Thakur brothers, time was still frozen today.
Rehan Shah entered the lounge once again.
He saw from afar, the five were still there—no one had left, nor was anyone lost in anyone.
He said to his team,
“The five are inside… and that is the real victory of this night.”
“Across the Room – Panting Breaths”
Location: Hotel Glory, Room Number 706
Time: 10:45 PM
The city lights, spread far and wide beyond the room’s window, twinkled. But in that room, all the light came from a single dim blue table lamp, lit on the makeup table in the corner of the room.
There, in front, to the left of the sofa, sat a girl—her name was “Amisha,” about nineteen years old, delicate build, like a glass doll that someone had accidentally placed near fire. Lines of fear and confusion were on her face, her lips were dry, and her hands were trembling.
She wore a shimmering silver-cream colored short gown that came up to just
No response from Groq.
No response from Groq.
Chapter – “The Truth After Sleep – When Someone Close Becomes a Fear”
Location – Hotel Royal Glory, Room No. 717
Time – 7:04 AM
The first ray of sun peeking through the hotel room window had absorbed all the poetry of the blue light.
Now there was only a raw brightness – of truth, of exhaustion, and of unspoken words.
The girl’s eyelids slowly opened—
Her breaths were unusually rapid, as if she had seen a heavy dream, or perhaps a dream that had now become reality.
Her eyes scanned around—
The room was still the same…
Disheveled sheets, men’s jackets strewn on the floor, glasses, a scattered rose.
And then… the five of them.
Vishva stood by the window, his bathrobe open at the chest, a coffee mug in his hand.
Kabir was half-reclining on the sofa to his right, flipping through the pages of a book – perhaps without reading.
Vikral sat on the corner of the bed, running his fingers through his silky hair—
Randhir was in the corner of the room, searching for old songs on the music system.
And Maran?
He was the closest – on the same bed, near her elbow…
Sleeping, or perhaps even his breaths were listening to her.
The girl’s eyes widened.
A strange shiver ran through her entire body—
It was neither shame nor explicit fear…
But an uncontrollable feeling, impossible to put into words.
“I… am… here…?” Her whisper to herself echoed throughout the room.
She quietly pulled the sheet tighter, and gently sat up.
When she placed her feet down, the floor felt cold—
But colder still was the feeling that was touching her soul.
Her lips trembled—
She lightly placed her fingers on her lips—
Is it really…?
Can everything change in one night?
She glanced at Maran—
He was still sleeping, leaning towards her in the same way.
For a moment, her eyes welled up.
“I shouldn’t have been here…”
These words echoed in her mind, as if someone had whispered them softly in her ear.
And then… Kabir’s gaze suddenly fell on her in the room.
He lowered his head, with a slight smile,
“Good morning…”
The girl’s face turned pale.
No. Not now.
Before she could say anything to anyone, she got off the bed – slowly, but quickly.
She turned and started searching for her clothes—
Her dress, placed near the door, was now creased.
Before Vishva could say anything, she had put on her clothes.
“You wait… we won’t say anything,” Vikral’s voice came from behind.
But she was not in a state to listen now.
She picked up her bag, searched for her mobile – it was still on the table, and there was a missed call from an unknown number.
Randhir stepped forward, “Wait… just two minutes, everything is fine.”
The girl took a step towards the door.
Her heart was pounding furiously, and a layer of tears began to shimmer beneath her eyelids.
“Please…” she said, and opened the door and stepped out.
Room 717 was still the same – but her shadow was not in it.
As she descended the stairs, her steps trembled.
She didn’t have the courage to take the elevator—
Every floor became a question.
Every passing door, a sense of guilt.
“Why did I…? How did I…? Was that me?”
By the time she reached the lobby, her throat was dry.
The boy at the reception looked up and asked,
“Ma’am, signature for overnight stay—”
“Already done,” she said without looking, and quickly went out.
The air outside the hotel was a bit cold—
But what had broken inside was much colder.
Sitting in the auto, she looked at her palms—
Last night, with these, she had touched someone’s cheeks,
Held someone’s breaths…
And now?
Now she was just tying her hair back tightly—
As if she wanted to tear out the last page of a story.
That morning, the five brothers did not stop her.
And perhaps that was the most frightening part.
Because somewhere, she knew—
If they had had words, perhaps they could have changed everything.
“Return to Thakur Haveli – When the Night is Left Behind”
Location – From Hotel Royal Glory to Thakur Haveli
Time – 8:12 AM
As soon as they stepped out of the main entrance of the hotel— the five brothers, one after another, walked towards their respective Range Rovers.
Their clothes were no longer formal, but the dignity they possessed seemed no less than that of a minister.
Vishva – the eldest, the most composed.
A white linen shirt, black sunglasses, and a royal calmness in his stride.
Kabir – not a writer, but a manipulator of words.
A slim black t-shirt, jeans, and a fine chain in his hand which he twirled with his fingers.
Vikral – just like his name, quiet and violent within.
Even in a blue tracksuit, the lines of his face looked as if carved by a knife.
Randhir – he would laugh, but there was gunpowder even in his laughter.
Beige hoodie and eyes hidden behind goggles, seeing everything.
Maran – the youngest, but the most cruel.
A white shirt and black goggles over it – there was innocence on his face, but fire in his heart.
Three cars headed towards the Haveli—
The journey was not short, but there was no conversation among the five.
The night was replaying in everyone’s mind.
But there was no regret in anyone’s eyes—
Just a silent elegance, as if they had touched something new… something that could also change them, if they wished.
Location – Thakur Haveli
As soon as the gate of Thakur Haveli opened— the three cars drove in together.
The Haveli was no ordinary Haveli—
Rajasthani carvings on every wall, CCTV in every corner, and someone deployed behind every tree.
It was the beginning of the afternoon, but the Haveli was still quiet.
Only one voice was heard—
“Oh hello! My boys are back! Where did you burn the moon last night?”
Rosie Aunty.
Short in height, but large in voice.
Even the lines of age spread across her fair face couldn’t dim the sparkle in her eyes.
White hair, a small cross on her forehead, and an apron that read – “Head of Hell’s Kitchen.”
As the five of them began to climb the stairs, Rosie Aunty walked towards them.
Rosie:
“You boys… what was the time? Twelve fifty-four you walked out… and now it’s morning! Don’t you think I deserve to know?”
Kabir smiled, it was his habit to respond.
Kabir:
“Rosie Aunty, if we answered every question, the world would become a book – and we dislike words.”
Rosie glared, but affectionately.
Rosie:
“Shut up young man. You all think you are God’s gift to women, huh? But I swear, someday… I will beat your glory with my slipper!”
Randhir laughed—
“Enough Aunty, your slipper has the most blessings.”
Rosie:
“Don’t give me your shit, Randhir Thakur. You all are behaving like highnesses. I seen your cars on CCTV – still stopped till 7 AM!”
Vishva, who had been silent until now, moved towards the stairs and said without looking back:
Vishva:
“Rosie, some nights don’t give answers – and some questions don’t have a time.”
Rosie was stunned.
Rosie (softly):
“My God… they are back in mode…”
Vikral said as he headed towards the door—
“Send us to the coffee room. Strong. And no sugar.”
Rosie (annoyed):
“No sugar, but all of you are full of swag!”
The five brothers had now gone to their respective rooms.
The other servants of the Haveli watched them from a distance, saluted, and then bowed their heads.
Here, no one dared to meet the eyes of the Thakur brothers—
Because they were not just owners – they were royalty.
Vishva threw off his shirt and opened the window.
In front were the gardens, pictures of swords, and an old bullet—
This was his world.
Kabir picked up his diary—
He wanted to write about that night, but the words weren’t cooperating.
Vikral went to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and peered into his eyes in the mirror—
Something was incomplete, but he refused to admit it.
Randhir was checking calls on his mobile—
But every number had been missed.
And he had deliberately not called back.
Maran lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling—
There was a strange peace on his face, but the knife in his hand told the story of his inner conflict.
Outside – Rosie Aunty in the kitchen
Rosie Aunty was now giving instructions to the staff.
Rosie:
“Make it fast! Black coffee for Vishva, double strong for Kabir, Randhir wants butter cookies, Vikral is a no talking zone, and Maran… God save me from that one!”
All the servants smiled—
Because they knew, if anyone among these five had won Aunty’s heart, it was Maran.
But today Rosie also knew—
Something had changed.
In the gait, the eyes… and perhaps even the hearts of these brothers.
The walls of Thakur Haveli were silent—
But the story of their one night had now been recorded in the eyes of the Haveli.
It was still morning—
But the stories were just beginning.
Chapter: "In front of the mirror - When the truth has to be worn like a face"
Location - Palash Nivas, Flat No. 403 | Time - 9:15 AM
The fourth-floor stairs had exhausted Amisha, her body still trembling with the chill of that night - a night that had not only taken her breath away but also her self-respect, her innocence, and her trust.
Her fingers were shaking as she stood at the door of her room. Palash Nivas, the flat where she lived with her uncle, aunt, and cousin, had never felt like home. But today, it wasn't just a door; it was the gate to that hell from which she had fought her biggest battle and returned.
She opened the door with trembling hands. The door creaked.
As she stepped inside, a heavy, disgusting voice came from the dining table like an arrow.
"So, the queen has arrived? Now, tell us, where did you spend the whole night having fun?"
It was Narresh Mehra, her uncle, the owner of this house, but also the trader of her soul. His eyes, behind his glasses, were measuring her body directly - as if he still wanted to know the reason for "the failed deal" from her lips.
Nirva's breath caught in her throat.
Narresh took a drag of his cigarette and then pushed his glasses down his nose to look at her - his eyes filled with the same shamelessness, the same baseness.
"That man you were sent to, he called - said you ran away from the hotel? Didn't we teach you anything?"
Amisha was still silent. Her throat was dry, her eyes downcast, and her bag still hung from her shoulder - as if there was nothing left to hold inside.
Then, her aunt, Sandhya Mehra, emerged from the kitchen, saying sarcastically.
"They invited her to the hotel for just a few hours, and there was even a fixed price - but 'madam' disappeared from there? Now, Amisha, tell us, was there a reason to run away, or did you make a deal with someone else?"
Amisha's soul trembled.
Were they really asking her that? Selling her, sending her to a stranger against her will - and now questioning her?
At that moment, her cousin, Riya, who was drying her hair after freshening up, sipped her tea and teased.
"Come on, sis, how much drama? The hotel uncle said you didn't even give him a chance! Seriously? Be a bit more practical, it's 2025!"
Then she winked and said.
"Or was there someone else who was more to your liking?"
Amisha's eyes welled up with tears. She was still silent - but the light blue mark on her neck, her disheveled hair, and her trembling fingers said everything.
"When we raised you like this," Narresh thundered, "then do a bit of service! What are we asking you to do, go to a temple and pray?"
Sandhya laughed - a sharp, cutting laugh.
"At least be like 'Reena' - who goes happily every time, brings money, and isn't as pretentious as you!"
Amisha couldn't take it anymore.
In a low voice, as if her soul was breaking, she said.
"I'm... I'm tired..."
"Tired?" Riya laughed again. "Why? Because you didn't work the whole night? Oh, sister, your client complained - said, 'She didn't even let me touch her.' What's the truth, sis? Will you still lie?"
Amisha looked up and saw them directly for the first time.
There were tears in her eyes - but now there was no fear, only anger.
"I didn't do anything..."
"When he tried to touch me, when he tried to force himself... I protected myself. I managed to get out of there somehow. I don't know how, but I just... ran away."
Narresh slammed his fist on the ground.
"We gave you a chance, a chance to earn money, and you ran away? You're a shame to us!"
"You're shaming us!" Sandhya shouted. "We gave you the chance to fly - but you think you're a goddess or something!"
Amisha's tears were flowing now. But she wasn't crying; she was making a decision.
Her throat was dry, but a fire was burning inside her - a fire that didn't just want to burn but also ignite.
Location - Amisha's Room
She entered her room slowly, closed the door, and sat on the floor.
The room was old, with a yellow wall, a cracked mirror, and a broken wooden bed - but this was her real world, where she could still save herself.
She undid her hair and touched her neck - where the mark of that man's grip still lingered. She shuddered.
"What should I do?" she asked herself.
A voice inside her seemed to say.
"Don't answer... just stop enduring."
Location - Bathroom, In front of the Mirror
Amisha stood in front of the mirror. Her eyes were tired, her lips cracked, but her face... her face was changing.
She washed her face, wiped it with a towel, and looked at herself carefully.
"I'm not an object..."
"I'm not a deal..."
"I'm just not going to be silent anymore."
She picked up her diary from the table and took out her pen.
Written in the diary:
"Last night, I was sold.
In a deal -
Money was fixed, time was fixed.
I went there too...
But when he put his hand on me,
And my breaths stopped,
Then I realized -
If I hadn't run away today...
Then my corpse would have returned home tomorrow.
So I ran.
Because the value of my life is more than any rupee.
Today, I promise myself -
No one else will decide for me now.
I'll be the voice.
For myself. And for those
Whose voices are never heard."
The clock ticked - 10:12 AM
The room was quiet. But in that silence, there was now a new voice - Amisha's.
She wasn't broken anymore.
She was awake.
Chapter – "Friend's Silence – When Words Don't Reach the Lips"
Location – "Eva Legal Consultancy" Office, Lower Parel | Time – 12:45 PM
Words were being typed on the computer screen, but Amisha's eyes were seeing an image behind every word.
She was typing:
“Client Contract Clause 7(b) amended to reflect...”
But echoing in her mind was:
“We raised you… Now serve us a little…”
She paused typing for a moment. Her wrist ached. Sleep the previous night had been broken – her eyes felt heavy. But heavier still was the silence within her.
“Hey… Amisha!”
Someone tapped her desk from behind. She startled. Turning her neck, she saw her friend Neha, who was on her team and often shared lunch breaks with her.
“The queen is late today? You clocked in almost at 10:45!”
Neha said with a smile, but there was a hint of worry hidden in that smile.
Amisha tried to smile faintly, but her lips wouldn't curve.
“Yeah… just… couldn’t sleep all night. Wasn’t feeling too well,” she said, lowering her head.
Neha leaned in slightly and spoke softly:
“Everything okay? You don’t look fine… and you haven’t said a word all morning.”
Amisha averted her gaze. How could she explain that her night was filled not with a nightmare, but a living hell?
How could she say that the place she commuted from to the office every day – wasn't a home, but a prison?
“Nothing… just… a little tired,” she said, looking at the computer screen.
Neha was about to say something when their senior, passing by, said:
“Amisha, I need the review summary for file 36’s new contracts by tomorrow morning. Don’t be late this time.”
“Yes, sir,” Amisha replied immediately.
Neha said in a low voice, “Come on, let’s take a coffee break? I know you’re strong, but sometimes crying is necessary. Come on.”
Amisha thought for a few moments, then slowly nodded.
Location – Office Cafeteria | Time – 1:00 PM
Standing near the coffee machine, Neha was filling two mugs. One with extra sugar, because she knew Amisha liked it sweet – perhaps in that sweetness, she could momentarily blur the bitterness of the world.
Sitting at the table, Neha took her first sip and then said:
“There’s something in your eyes, Amisha. Not lack of sleep, but a crack in trust. You won’t tell me, but I know – something is wrong.”
Amisha remained silent for a few moments. Her fingers were gripping the mug handle tightly. The warmth of the coffee seemed to travel from her fingers straight to her heart – but it wasn't giving her solace.
“Neha…” she said softly, “If the people… closest to you, hurt you the most, what would you do?”
Neha’s face hardened slightly.
“You mean… family?”
Amisha nodded, but didn't say anything explicitly. Tears began to reach the corners of her eyes in silence.
“I wonder, Neha… is my existence only for others? When I refused… what crime did I commit?”
Neha takes her hand.
“Amisha, do you trust me?”
Amisha looked into her eyes.
“Yes…”
“Then tell me. Tell me what happened. Your soul looks more tired than your body. I’m with you.”
She wanted to speak at that moment. Everything… her uncle’s hands, her aunt’s laughter, Riya’s taunts… the hotel room, that man’s force, and her gasping breaths.
But the words… couldn’t leave her throat.
“I’m just tired, Neha. Very tired. And now… now I feel that if I don’t speak today, perhaps I will never be able to speak again.”
Neha’s eyes were worried now.
“Should you go to the police?”
Amisha lowered her head.
“Perhaps. But I am alone. My ‘home’ is my biggest prison. And the law… it also questions the girl first, then listens.”
“But you have to speak. You are not alone. I stand with you, no matter what.”
The coffee had gone cold now, but the two girls sitting at that table – one gathering the courage to escape suffocation, and the other becoming her shield.
Neha asked one last time:
“When will you speak, Amisha?”
After a moment of silence, Amisha said:
“Very soon… first I will pick myself up again, then I will become a voice – not just for myself, but for those too… who still don’t have a voice.”
Location – Washroom, Office | Time – 1:25 PM
Amisha looked at herself in the mirror – the same eyes, the same tired face.
But today, no fear stood behind her – Neha’s hand was on her shoulder.
“Now when you speak,” Amisha said to the mirror, “you will speak not just as one woman, but as the scream of many girls. And no one will be able to suppress this voice.”
Chapter: "What Was Written Behind the Silence"
Location: Eva Legal Consultancy – 17th Floor, Mumbai
Time: 11:42 AM
Amidst the gentle hum of the air conditioner on the carpet and the sounds of typing, Neha's attention kept drifting towards one particular desk. Amisha's.
She was there—as always—at her spot, in front of her laptop, the screen’s light flickering on her face, her fingers poised over the keyboard… but not typing.
Neha picked up her coffee mug and, without a second thought, walked towards Amisha’s desk. Her steps were slow, as if treading around an unspoken pain.
Reaching Amisha’s chair, she placed her coffee on the table and pulled up a chair, sitting beside her.
"You're still thinking about something, aren't you?" Neha asked, looking into her eyes.
Amisha tried to reply, "Nothing…"
But her voice seemed to get lost somewhere in its own depths.
Neha lightly tapped her fingers on the notebook lying on Amisha's table—the same page, open since morning, yet nothing had been written.
"Look, Amisha," she said, meeting her gaze, "I won't force you to speak, but your face tells me you're still suffocating inside."
Amisha slowly exhaled, as if trying to release a heavy burden.
"Neha… some things die before they even reach the tongue."
"Perhaps," Neha picked up on her words, "but until you let them out, they will eat you from the inside."
A silence fell between them—but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, just a weary one.
At that moment, Aditya appeared from the office corridor—a coffee mug in hand and his usual mischievous smile absent from his face. There was a weariness in his eyes—and perhaps some questions too.
"What's going on, girls?" he asked in a low voice as he approached.
Neha looked at him, then smiled faintly and said, "Sit down, we're discussing something important."
Aditya pulled up a nearby chair and sat down with a slight hesitation. The three of them were now around the same table—between them lay a coffee mug, the light from the computer screen… and a multitude of unsaid words.
"You two were also taken aback, weren't you?" Aditya began directly.
Neha nodded, "The whole company has been shaken. A takeover in an instant… and by someone nobody knows."
"Thakur. Industries…" Neha said softly, "just three letters, but such a huge upheaval…"
Amisha remained silent.
Aditya looked at her—intently. As if trying to read her silence.
"You're very quiet today. Everything alright?" he asked.
Neha immediately replied, "Nothing's alright. But she won't say it."
Aditya started looking at her—not directly, but slowly, as if deciphering a picture.
"I'm also very quiet, Amisha," he said, "but that doesn't mean I don't listen."
Amisha looked into his eyes for the first time—and there were no questions there. No pressure, no curiosity. Just a strange peace—as if someone was trying to understand without being asked.
"You know," Aditya said, letting out a soft breath, "that email from Thakurs. – ‘Sometimes, the ones who see your silence…’ — for the first time, it felt like someone was claiming to hear their staff's voice."
"But what if it's just a pretense?" Neha expressed doubt.
"It's possible," Aditya bowed his head, "but at least an attempt was made to give a voice. Otherwise, we've all just been in survival mode until now."
Several moments of silence descended around them again.
The coffee was getting cold. The cursor on the screen still flickered—like an unfinished sentence.
Then Neha slowly asked, "Amisha… did that man seem familiar to you?"
The question fell as if suddenly—and Amisha was a little startled.
She thought for a few moments, then murmured, "Perhaps… or maybe I'm just looking for an old face in a new one."
"We all do that," Aditya said, "every new person brings memories of some old wound."
For a moment, their eyes met—Amisha's and Aditya's. This time, there was no hesitation.
"If you ever want to say something… don't try to make me understand, just tell me as a friend. We all have our own darkness. The only difference is that some hide it, and some learn to live in it."
Amisha's eyes welled up slightly—there were no tears, but in a wordless moment, emotions became a little clearer.
Neha gently took Amisha's hand—the touch was of friendship, or perhaps a silent support.
No answer came.
Just Amisha's fingers paused for a moment…
Then trembled slightly.
And in that trembling finger… perhaps for the first time, a line of trust emerged.
From a corner of the office,
A new representative from Thakurs company saw the same scene.
Amisha, Neha, and Aditya—three people—around a table, with their respective silences.
He smiled, took out his mobile… and opened a folder:
“Employee No. 38 – Amisha”
Below it was written:
Status – “Still Observing”
Remarks – “Potential Link to Case No. VSC-7/11”
These were none other than the five Thakur brothers who had bought Amisha’s company in an instant. But Amisha knew nothing; she was currently very worried about her family's situation.
Location: Ava Legal Consultancy – 17th Floor, Conference Zone A
Time: 1:26 PM
Amisha’s pace slowed as she walked down the corridor.
The email was still frozen on her mobile screen—
“Come Alone. Now.”
Subject line: No sender name.
She locked the screen, but the message was etched into her veins.
With every step, her heart pounded faster—like an old door knocking from within.
The office lights, the moving chairs, the laughter of people gleaming through the glass walls—everything seemed to be slowing down.
And then…
The door arrived—
Cabin A – Restricted Entry | By Appointment Only
She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath.
Her palms were slick with sweat.
And then—a knock.
No sound came from within.
Her hand moved instinctively towards the doorknob—
The door opened without a sound.
The World Within
As soon as Amisha entered the room, a shiver enveloped her.
A round table, an old file on it, and five chairs around it—
On each sat… a face.
The five brothers.
The Thakur Brothers.
But those names were no longer just on legal documents—
They were present, like living beings.
And their attire… their presence… so poised, so distinct—it felt as though they had come not from a courtroom, but from a psychological battlefield.
1. Vishwa Thakur
A white silk coat, a peacock feather handkerchief in one hand.
His face was silent, but in his eyes—the sharpness of judgment.
His eyes could penetrate the depths of one’s thoughts in an instant.
2. Kabir Thakur
A navy blue slim-fit suit, tie loosened, but the pocket square perfectly placed.
He sat on the chair as if he knew everything—but wanted to play with mere curiosity.
3. Vikral Thakur
His name was as intimidating as his demeanor, perhaps more so.
A black t-shirt and a military-style jacket, everything from his boots to his wristwatch was precise, exact.
His neck was slightly bowed—as if preparing for a hunt.
4. Randhir Thakur
A grey turtle-neck and a khaki trench coat, reading glasses on his eyes.
Like a scientist—analyzing every gesture.
He wasn't doing much, just continuously watching the movement of Amisha’s fingers.
5. Maran Thakur
The most mysterious.
A white linen shirt, two buttons open, a red thread on his wrist.
But his eyes…
That gaze… was enough to stop Amisha in her tracks.
They said nothing.
Beneath their gazes, an old door within Amisha seemed to open again.
She steeled herself—and taking a step forward, said nothing.
But one question echoed within her mind—
“We’ve met before… haven’t we?”
But this question did not translate into words.
Because the five shadows sitting opposite her… were acting like strangers.
“Please sit, Miss Nair.”
Maran spoke for the first time—and his voice seemed to trace a thread down her spine.
She sat.
Her name was written on the file on the table:
Confidential: Employee No. 38 – Amisha Nair
It felt as though her own story was being read in the third person.
Kabir opened the file—slowly, as if touching a deep wound.
Randhir picked up a pen and placed it on the table—
The sound was so sharp, it drew a line in the air of the room.
Vikral twirled a file near his head—perhaps it was old data.
Vishwa bowed his head slightly, but his face remained unreadable.
“We are meeting for the first time, aren’t we?”
Maran again.
The same direct, poised, yet hidden voice.
Amisha’s heart skipped a beat.
She wanted to look through a window—but the windows were their eyes.
“Yes…”
Her voice trembled.
But something inside her was speaking—
“Don’t lie… you know them… you’ve met them…”
But that ‘somewhere’ was shrouded in mist.
Files, documents, old emails—all were placed before her on the table.
But some pages… had still not been turned.
Perhaps because they were yet to be written.
Or perhaps…
Because they had already been written in a dream.
Beyond the glass walls of the room, the rest of the world continued.
But within this five-cornered table,
Another story was unfolding.
A story that had been recorded in silence until now—
But now…
It was about to speak.
A few meters away from the conference zone, at the end of the corridor, the washroom door opened slowly.
Amisha came in and stopped right by the washbasin.
Her face in the mirror—filled with tension, but her eyes brimming with questions.
She cupped both her hands, filled them with cold water, and splashed her face.
Drops of water clung to her eyelashes, but the turmoil within did not subside.
“Did all this happen suddenly?”
She asked herself.
“Or was it decided long ago?”
Looking at herself in the mirror, she remained silent for a while.
Her company—Ava Legal Consultancy—which had been running at a loss for months,
Whose shares were about to be sold, and its CEO had even been fired,
It was suddenly sold in a private bid.
And the buyer?
The Thakur Brothers.
Five brothers, whose names she had never even seen in files—
With whom Ava had no legal representation—
Then how and why did they come?
“And why…”
Her throat felt dry.
“Why was I called to this meeting alone?”
Her heart began to pound.
A bead of sweat rolled down her neck.
Just then… the phone in her pocket vibrated.
There was an unknown number on the screen—
No name, just a number: +91-44-XXXXXXX
She picked up the call with trembling fingers.
“H… Hello?”
No one spoke—
But from the other side, someone was breathing… a slow, cold breath.
Then a very faint voice came—
“Those five know your past… and you have forgotten…”
Amisha’s eyes widened.
“W-who are you?”
The line went dead.
The phone almost slipped from her hand.
She looked at herself in the mirror again—
But now it felt as though even her shadow was hiding something from her.
She took a deep breath, bit her lip, and composed herself as she walked out of the washroom.
Now, beyond the door, those five were not present—
They were pages of her story, that had been burned… but the ashes were still alive.
Chapter: Taunts, Fatigue, and the Silence of Ashes
As soon as she opened the door, a sharp voice pierced her ears—
“Oh ho! The queen has returned, now the work will begin!”
Amisha kicked off her sandals, slid her bag from her shoulder to the corner of the sofa, and without a word, headed straight for the kitchen.
From behind, her aunt’s voice followed, sharp and biting as always—
“Who knows what she does all day in the office. She can’t even lift two pots when she gets home. As if she’s become some great officer.”
Her uncle, pulling his gaze away from the newspaper, added with a bitter smile,
“Oh, let it be. People like them are only good for namesake. In reality, we have to bear all the burden. Look, even the gas cylinder is finished… Who will get it refilled?”
“I’ll get it done,” Amisha said softly.
“What did you say?” her aunt asked loudly.
“I’ll book the cylinder when I go to the office tomorrow,” she repeated in a clear voice.
“Tomorrow?” her aunt’s laughter boomed, “Are we all supposed to fast until then? Is it Ramadan for us?”
Everything in the kitchen was in disarray. The sink was full of dishes. Because the gas had run out, even the leftover lunch from the afternoon hadn’t been put in the fridge.
“Riya!” her aunt called out to her daughter, “You were home all day, you could have helped your sister a bit.”
Riya, who was sitting on the sofa in the living room watching TV, said—
“Mom, please, I’m so tired today. I had so much homework from college, and on top of that, my skin is getting really dry. Soap doesn’t even lather on my hands now. Sister earns, right? She can do everything!”
Amisha felt a tightening within her.
Anger, fatigue, humiliation—all settled upon her shoulders at once.
“Should I make rotis?” she asked softly.
“You’re asking now? Will rotis be made only when we’re all starving to death?” her aunt grumbled, “And yes, knead the dough, I won’t do it tomorrow.”
Her uncle taunted again,
“The day she does something properly, I’ll give her a share in my property. But no… Madam just sits in the AC at the office. Housework is for servants, right?”
Riya feigned sympathy,
“By the way, didi, you’re so smart, yet you’ve never learned time management. Why don’t you wake up a little early in the morning? At least make tea for everyone.”
Her aunt said, laughing,
“Oh, she doesn’t make tea, she probably thinks those Thakur Brothers will come, riding a horse, and sweep her away. Whose picture was in today’s newspaper.”
Silence.
That name mentioned again…
Amisha’s breath hitched.
Ignoring their words, she started kneading the dough.
The sticky dough on her hands and the taunts stuck in her ears—both were slowly draining her patience.
A while later, as she was rolling out rotis, Riya came near and said, standing,
“Didi, can I say something? You won’t mind, right?”
Amisha said without looking up, “Yes, speak.”
“You think we are your enemies, that we taunt you, but honestly? You’re a bit dramatic. You make an emotional scene out of everything. Look, whatever Mom and Dad say, it’s for the good of the house. If you maintain a smiley face, maybe the atmosphere will improve too.”
Amisha flipped the roti and said in a very calm voice—
“I do keep a smiley face, Riya. Every day. At the office, in the kitchen, in this drawing-room… only that smile doesn’t last in front of the mirror.”
Riya’s face fell.
“What do you mean?”
“It means I smile… just by lying to myself.”
Her aunt flared up,
“Now this philosophical mode has started again. Say anything minor, and Sister becomes Goddess Durga. Get lost, focus on the rotis.”
***
Around ten at night, everyone had finished dinner and gone to their rooms.
Amisha was alone cleaning up the kitchen.
Then, seeing the washing machine light, she remembered—her aunt’s chore—washing all the dirty clothes.
With tired eyes, she switched on the machine, tied her hair into a bun, and was bent over the dishes when…
Once again—the phone vibrated.
From the same number.
+91-44-XXXXXXX
Her heart, which had been weighed down by taunts and burdens all day—now started beating fiercely.
She picked up the call.
“Hello?”
This time, the voice was clear.
“Those five have bought five years of your life, Amisha… and you will pay that price now.”
“What nonsense is this?”
“You don’t remember, but they chose you. Long before you said ‘yes’.”
“Who are you?”
“That which burned, is returning as ash… only for you.”
The line went dead.
This time, she didn’t throw the phone on the ground.
Instead, she clutched it tightly and went to her room, closing the door.
Standing in front of the mirror, she looked at herself.
Her hair was messy, her eyes were swollen, her lips looked dry and burnt.
But the scariest part?
In the mirror, her reflection was smiling—while she herself stood perfectly still.
The night had deepened, but sleep was miles away from Amisha’s eyes. The room was dimly lit, and the moonlight streaming through the window slowly spread onto her pillow. She tossed and turned, but her mind was restless—as if waiting for an unspoken touch.
As soon as she closed her eyes, a dream began to engulf her—mysterious, yet strangely captivating. She was in a grand, yet fog-shrouded mansion. There was a light layer of dust on the white marble floor, and before her stood the same five—the Thakur Brothers—in dark suits, their deep eyes looking at her. There was warmth in their presence, and an unknown shiver.
One of them slowly stepped forward and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. His touch was slow, yet it made her heart race. Another held her palm—as if reminding her of a promise Amisha had forgotten. The third came very close and whispered in her ear—
“You don’t know us, but your body knows us…”
Goosebumps rose on her skin. She couldn’t pull herself away, no matter how hard she tried. The fourth looked into her eyes and said,
“We are not shadows of your past, we run in your veins…”
The fifth was silent, but his eyes held a depth that drew Amisha towards him—as if he knew he had been stealing her sleep every night.
Amisha was now between them. One was holding her, another was saying something with a light pressure of their fingers on her neck. And amidst all of them, she was losing herself—in an emotion, in a desire… that had awakened long ago.
But then something breaks—a sound, a slight jolt—and her eyes snap open.
The same silence was in the room, the same half-open window, and the same moonlight.
But her body was drenched in sweat. Her heart was pounding, and her lips were dry—as if she had touched an unknown fire.
***
Morning—
The clock struck six. As she turned off the alarm on her phone screen, Amisha sat on the bed for a while.
The image from the dream was still faintly floating in her eyes. She took a deep breath, composed herself, and got out of bed.
Her aunt’s voice was coming from the kitchen—
“Has the tea been made? I need to roll rotis, hurry up!”
Amisha closed her eyes.
She picked up her clothes. And walked towards the same routine—but something had changed within her.
Those who had knocked on her sleep… were not dreams—they were warnings, or perhaps a summons.
Whatever it was, she would not back down now.
Chapter: The Ink of the Deal
The morning's gentle sunlight was scattered on the floor from the window. She didn't remember when the alarm went off. Her head was heavy and sleep incomplete, but she couldn't be late.
Ameesha brushed her teeth calmly, chose her clothes — the same black formal shirt and grey trousers in which she felt most secure. She didn't wear makeup, just a light lip balm. She tied her hair back in a neat ponytail.
Today, there were no clear thoughts in her mind — just an unknown restlessness accompanying her.
Without telling anyone, she left the house and got into a taxi. The city's noise was as loud as ever, but within her, everything was silent.
In a short while, she reached the office gate.
As soon as she scanned her ID, the door to enter opened with a "tick" sound.
She didn't feel like talking to anyone, but as she walked towards her seat, an assistant stood in front of her.
"Ma'am, you've been called to the cabin. Immediately."
"Who called?" Ameesha asked in a calm voice.
"Those five... Sirs."
Her steps froze right there.
For a moment, it felt as if the ground beneath her feet was crumbling.
"Now?" she just managed to say.
"Yes, now," the assistant said softly and moved ahead.
**
Ameesha slowly walked towards the cabin — the innermost part of the office, where client meetings rarely took place. The walls there were soundproof, and every corner was surrounded by gleaming glass.
Her heartbeats were racing faster than her footsteps.
When she opened the door — a thick, intoxicating silence welcomed her.
Inside, there was a round table.
And on the other side of the table — those five were sitting.
The five brothers.
The Thakur Brothers.
Just like the shadows she had seen in her dreams — tall, composed, sitting peacefully… but there was a stillness in their eyes as if each one had already read a story of the future.
The room was filled with a fragrance — strong, but controlled.
Ameesha, somehow gathering herself, said, "You called?"
Vishva, sitting at the head of the table, looked at her.
"Sit," his voice was low but firm.
She sat down silently.
In the center of the table lay a black file — closed. Its surface was shiny, but no name was written on it. Only a golden symbol — strange, rare.
"What is this?" Ameesha's voice, even to her own ears, sounded — scared, but curious.
Kabir, the second brother, said with a smile,
"Your destiny."
"If you say yes," Vikral added, "your life will become ours — a part of every dream we've made."
"And if you say no…" Randhir, the fourth brother, leaned forward, "you won't get another chance."
Ameesha's breath hitched.
"This all… seems like a joke," she whispered.
"The joke was until now," Maraan, the fifth brother's voice echoed, "now the story will begin."
The room's light seemed to sharpen, or perhaps the fear within her deepened.
"Before opening this file, understand one thing," the eldest brother said, "this is not just a document — it is a path. If you take a step… it will be difficult to turn back."
Ameesha's eyes were fixed on the file.
She hadn't touched it yet.
Something trembled within her — fear, wonder, or perhaps the dream that was now taking the shape of reality.
She asked softly — "What's in it?"
A moment of silence.
Then came the answer —
"Your fate, written in blood."
**
The file was still closed.
But her heartbeats had opened.
**
Chapter: Inside the File — Five Names, One Deal
The silence in the cabin was now thickening like ink.
Amisha’s fingers rested on the edge of the file, a hesitation before opening a stranger’s door. The five Thakur Brothers sat in the same balanced posture — deep, serious, and absolutely still. No one said yes, no one said no… everything depended on her next move.
For a moment, a photograph of her father flashed before Amisha’s eyes — in which he was shaking hands with one of them.
“A Deal of Trust — A Daughter’s Responsibility.”
She took a deep breath… and gently opened the file.
***
The first page — plain, but an agreement written in legal jargon.
Just reading the title made her eyelids tremble:
"Contractual Matrimonial Bond: Between Miss Amisha and the Thakur Brothers"
(Code Name: Panch-Patnivrata Sandhi)
Darkness seemed to descend upon Amisha’s eyes.
She quickly turned the second page — hoping for a mistake, a trick, but no… every page repeated the same thing.
"This agreement ensures that Miss Amisha Sinha must enter into a legal marriage with the Thakur Brothers — Vishwa Thakur, Kabir Thakur, Vikral Thakur, Randhir Thakur, and Maran Thakur. The date, method, and place of marriage will be determined by the Thakur family. After marriage, Amisha will have to fulfill her duties as a wife — mentally, socially, and physically."
Her head started to spin.
In the column at the bottom of the file, it was written —
“In exchange of financial freedom, family security, and immunity from past legal complications.”
“What… what is this nonsense?” her voice emerged with pain.
She looked up — all five pairs of eyes were still fixed on her, as if they had pre-planned everything.
“What do you mean by this?” her voice trembled, “You five… want to marry me? Together? And all of this… written? A legal document?”
Vishwa — who was the calmest and most serious — spoke, “This is not an ordinary marriage, Amisha. This is succession.”
Kabir added, “It is our family tradition — when the five heirs are born separately, power is completed by being bound to one woman. And that woman… is now you.”
“You people are crazy!” Amisha stood up, her breathing quickened, her face flushed, and a fine layer of tears in her eyes.
“What era are you talking about? Five marriages? And then the pleasure of being a husband? Do you think I am some… some object?”
Vikral — who had a slightly humorous nature — smiled, “You are not an object, Amisha. You are the thread… that binds us.”
“Stop it!” she said loudly and picked up the file angrily.
“Reading… reading all this disgusts me. Do you think I will sign this? Will I accept this absurd, insulting, backward agreement?”
Randhir, who had been silent until now, spoke for the first time — his voice devoid of any emotion, just a cold neutrality —
“You have no other way.”
“I don’t want your way!” Amisha threw the file at them — so forcefully that the papers slid and fell across the table.
“I am not a doll to be adorned like five rich women! And these talks of ‘duty’, ‘tradition’, ‘physical obligation’ — these are all signs of the mental illness you call the Thakur inheritance.”
A silence fell for a moment.
The eldest brother, Vishwa, looked at her intently — not quickly, not angrily — just with a depth that made her uneasy.
“So, you are refusing?” he asked.
“Yes. And not just refusing — I will take this ridiculous file of yours and go out and ruin your name! Let’s see what you do then!”
“You cannot leave,” Maran said, this time his tone was stern, “because the moment you opened this file, you became a witness to this contract. And a witness, until the verdict is heard, cannot… leave the court.”
“Don’t give me legal threats!” she said, turning away, and walked towards the door.
“Amisha,” Kabir said in a calm voice, “what you saw is only half the truth. This is not a game, it is a plan. Your father was involved. Your past, your education, even your job in this office — it’s all part of a map we created.”
“Lies.” Amisha gritted her teeth.
“In exchange for this signature, your father got your mother treated — and your admission to school. None of that happened for free.”
Now she stopped there.
Her back was to them, but her heart started pounding.
“You are lying…”
“Look at the medical bills in your purse. Look at the history of the trust files in your name… we have all the keys.”
Amisha’s body became lifeless.
For a moment, it felt as if the entire ground was slipping from under her feet.
She slowly opened the door… and left without saying a word.
***
Her steps faltered as she walked through the office corridors.
If anyone asked anything, she might have screamed. But she didn’t even look at anyone. Going to the elevator, her hand wasn’t on the button — she just dragged her own shadow out.
The air outside was a little cold, but her body was burning.
“You want to marry me to all five of you?” she mumbled to herself, “And then make my body your will? What do you think of yourselves?”
***
That night — she did not cry.
She did not break.
She just stayed locked in her room… and thought… about how to respond. Because now it was not just an insult — it was an attempt to challenge her existence.
And the answer… was not going to be easy.
To be continued…
