The cabin is silent, exactly the way I want it. Not just my cabin; the entire office falls quiet the moment I step in. They know better than to test my patience. Even the air obeys, settling under the weight of my presence. The hot black tea sits on my desk, untouched, its steam rising carefully, as if afraid to break the stillness I command.

My fingers flip through the pages with slow, deliberate precision. Every movement is controlled, every sound calculated.

No one knocks. No one breathes too loudly. This silence isn't empty; it's respect, fear, and power... my power.

But then my brother walks in, a folder dangling carelessly from his hand. Of course he does. He's the only one in this entire building who doesn't listen to me, and the only one who knows he can get away with it.

"Here are the candidates who attended the competition," he said, handing it over. "Also, our team picked out some potential candidates."

I took the folder, flipping through it with a critical eye, already analyzing who stood out and who didn't.

But then my eyes froze on a picture, a girl in a rose pink outfit, her bright smile almost mocking me.

I gritted my teeth. This mad Woman, "Who let her come here?!" I snapped, tossing the file toward my brother.

He caught it, blinking in confusion. "Uh... what's wrong?"

I didn't answer. My mind was already racing, plotting. Whoever she was, she was about to regret showing up.

"Tell me what happened?" my brother asked.

I gave him a cool, ignored look, no theatrics, just ice. How dare she throw a 500‑rupee note at my face? I hissed. I will make her suffer. I never, ever ignore people who cross me.

"I...." he started, then shut his mouth. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

For a second, I let my brother fester in that silence.

"I hate arrogant women who are full of themselves," I muttered, a hint of frustration bleeding into my voice. He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck, but didn't say anything more.

He blinked, uneasy. I leaned forward, voice low and decisive. "Bring her designs to me. Now. I'll see whether she even has the nerve or the talent to stand here."

He hesitated for a beat, then nodded and hustled out. As the door clicked shut, I let a small, sharp smile slip across my face, plans arranging themselves in my mind like chess pieces.

I flipped the hourglass, watching the sand hiss down like a whispering countdown. Let's see, Miss Arrogant, I muttered under my breath, my jaw tightening. You'll pay for everything, for the hole you made in my feet, for kicking my mirror, for humiliating me.

The last grain of sand slipped through, slow and deliberate. I stared at it, the corner of my mouth curving into a cold smirk. I'll make you suffer, I whispered. Every second from now on belongs to me.

He returned, carrying a folder with her application, sample designs, and official submission. My brother tossed it toward me, and I caught it, flipping it open.

Kriti Amara Chauhan Mehra, Age: 26, From: Jaipur

Education: Solaris Institute of Jewellery Arts

Her details stared back at me, neat and precise, as if daring me to judge her work.

My brother looked at me like he'd just seen a ghost, then his eyes went wide. "Wait, don't tell me she's the same girl who fought with you this morning?"

I clenched my jaw. This idiot assistant of mine never shuts up. He might technically work under me, but he was practically my brother's pet. He couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it; he wouldn't even hide how his ex‑girlfriend had nicknamed him Two‑Minute Maggi and her personal headache.

She wasn't wrong. He's a headache to everyone, especially me.

"Wow, bro, she's damn pretty, and her guts... woahhh, that's my girl!" he grinned, clearly enjoying himself.

I lifted my head toward him. Did he say that's my girl? For some reason, it didn't sit right with me.

I swear, this idiot lives for moments that test my patience. When people say enemies are born under the same roof, as siblings, they're absolutely right.

I flipped through her details and examined all her sample works. Sure, she had potential, but what use was talent when the girl was loud, brash, and utterly annoying?

He gave a nervous laugh. "Just hire her in our office. She has potential... and the guts to throw a 500‑rupee note in your face."

After mocking me, he started laughing like a camel, loud, obnoxious, and entirely too much. I slammed my leg under the table to shut him up... and ended up in agony instead.

"Ahhh!" A soft, painful moan escaped my lips.

That crazy woman...

My brother jumped from his seat. "What happened?

"Nothing, I'm fine... "argh, fuck, I forgot to treat my feet.

"Show me!" My brother's like an old grandpa, always nagging if I don't treat my wounds.

I tried to hide my feet, but he wasn't having it. He grabbed my shoe, pulled it off, and both our eyes went wide in shock.

A hole had pierced the middle of my feet.

fuck... I muttered through gritted teeth, remembering the scene. She looked so tiny, but her strength? Unimaginable.

My brother panicked, grabbed the first-aid kit, and began applying antibiotic ointment. "How did you get this?"

I pointed at the girl's picture. His eyes widened, mouth dropping open, like I'd just pulled a cruel joke.

After applying the medicine, he sat next to me and opened a portfolio, the original design she'd drawn for the competition.

"The girl is really something... I bet her design will..." His words froze mid‑sentence. His face went pale.

I frowned. "What happened? Did she draw herself or something?"

He didn't answer. Just looked at me, eyes wide, throat working like he'd swallowed glass.

I snatched the portfolio from his hands, and my entire body froze, every nerve on fire, my blood running hot with shock and rage.

The design... it wasn't just impressive. It was ours.

Our family heirloom. A pattern of jewelry guarded for generations, never meant to be seen by anyone outside the Rathod bloodline, not even in the archives. My heart slammed against my ribs, and my vision blurred crimson.

How... My voice hissed through clenched teeth. "How did she know this?"

The veins in my hands throbbed like live wires, fury scorching my skin. With a single, brutal motion, I flipped the entire table, sending papers and pens scattering. The crash reverberated through the marble halls like a warning.

Without a word, I stormed out of my office. My assistant hurried after me, swinging the car door open with a mix of anticipation and caution etched across his face.

I slammed the door shut and barked, "Drive."

We tore through the city streets until we reached the outskirts, a derelict factory, my personal den. The air was thick with the scent of rust, gasoline, and a metallic tang of fear.

Inside, men who had dared cross me, or harm my family, or terrorize the innocent, sat chained, bound in heavy iron.

The moment I stepped into the cellar, my boots clanged against the concrete like gunshots, sharp and commanding. The room went still. Every head snapped toward me, every muscle tensing. And then... slowly, inevitably... they began to shiver.

Fear filled the air, thick and suffocating, because they all knew exactly who had entered.

Everyone in the den was crying and pleading, hands clasped, voices trembling, but I didn't care. I walked past them, stopping in front of a cellar door where a man stood, wearing a vicious smile. Blood slicked his face; he was pale and thin, yet his eyes showed no fear. The grin was precise, almost surgical, eerily calm for a situation that should have terrified him.

"Bring him to me," I ordered. My men froze, trading nervous looks as if the air itself warned them off, then moved slowly, reluctant, just the way I wanted. He was dangerous, vicious, a carved-out thing of blood and menace, but not more than me.

He watched us with that same creepy smile, unblinking, like a man who'd already decided how this would end.

One of my men tried to grab him, but that bastard pushed my man's arm and started biting down hard on his neck. The guy went limp, dead on the spot. Blood trickled from his mouth, and the killer licked his lips in a sick, calm way that made everyone tremble. Rage seared through me; I dashed forward and grabbed a fistful of his hair.

"Did you enjoy that?" I snarled, hauling his hair so hard it made him laugh like a psychopath. I dragged him across the floor like a mangy pup, but he didn't cry or beg. He was a monster in human skin, cold, methodical.

He'd killed dozens, even his own toddler, keeping trophies and perverse mementos of his crimes. The sight of his smile, calm and sick, made my blood run colder.

I threw him to the floor. All of my men flinched; fear flashed in their eyes. I commanded the deadliest, most ruthless crew in the city, but this bastard, this thing, was a different breed. He started to crawl toward me, grinning.

"You know what I enjoy most?" he crooned, voice slick. "Drinking your hot blood."

His wicked smile spreads, shaking the entire den. My men flinch, fear crawling over their skin, while my blood keeps boiling with every echo of that laugh.

Something twisted in my gut. I didn't answer; I kicked him hard in the stomach. He spat, winded, but the grin didn't leave his face. The room stank of iron and panic, and every breath tasted like a promise: I would make him pay.

I grabbed him by his hair and started to punch his face with brass knuckles, again and again, until blood spattered across the concrete. But this Asshole, he licked the blood from his lips and the ground like some animal. The sight made everyone recoil; even my men, hardened as they were, went green.

I pummeled him until my fists burned, yet somehow he found the strength to rise. The whole den trembled under that vicious grin; people looked as if the devil himself had walked through the door.

I yanked an axe off the rack and strode toward him, every step a promise. He didn't even flinch.

He stared at me with that vicious grin, then ripped his shirt off in one savage motion, chest bared like a challenge. I'd tangled with enemies before, but nothing like him, doped, deranged, untouchable.

His eyes mocked me, certain of victory. I closed my eyes as memories slammed into me: the screams of those he'd tormented, the sick delight he'd taken in their pain. The sound lingered, raw and bitter, like smoke I couldn't shake.

In one fell swoop, I chopped his arms. Instead of crying, he laughed, causing everyone to shudder. I poured acid on his chopped arms, but he concealed his pain with his laughter. I smirked at him. "Do I stop what I was doing?" I taunted him, seeing his eyes well up.

"You do... You don't need to pity me." His voice was cracking. My men put salt and pepper on his chopped arms, but he remained silent. I chopped off his legs and poured acid on his body. His body was shivering, but he didn't stop his smug smile. I wanted him to tremble and quiver like a leaf in front of me, but this asshole wasn't cooperating.

I lost my patience and slammed the axe onto his head. "Any last wishes?"

He smiled that same stupid smile. "I want to see your downfall."

I let him have his little moment and then laughed, cold and low. "That'll never happen." I stepped forward, the axe falling in a single, clean arc.

The grin died, whatever mockery he'd carried evaporated into a heavy, absolute quiet. My people looked like they'd been punched, some by shock, some by relief.

 Here's another part! ❤️

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