ARNA

Seven hours to die.

That's all I have left.

I'm chained to a wall in a lifeless room with nothing but air and silence — both slowly choking me. The cuffs dig into my wrists, slicing skin, pressing into nerves. But I don't flinch anymore.

Why would I when no one cares ?

The only person who ever did is gone. At least, that's what the gods at Sector 17 claimed — no proof, no body, just a sealed notice and orders to forget.

Forget whom?

The one I loved with everything I had?

My brother?

He wasn't a thing to be forgotten. He was a person. My person. He was the only one who ever stayed. The only one who fixed what he didn't break.

I didn't come here to fight. I came to find him. To find the truth. To find they did to him.

But I ruined everything the second I opened my mouth. The moment my hand met the face of the trainer assigned to me — I sealed my fate.

Brilliant, Arna.

And now I've lost everything:

A chance to survive.

A chance to search.

A chance to know.

Until I heard it. "Come with me."

I looked up.

Was I seriously expecting a hero? Was I really that naive — hoping someone might crash in, unchain me, and drag me out like this was some grand rescue arc?

Pathetic.

Because the moment I saw him, I knew. He wasn't the hero. He was the villain.

Hridhan.

I should've snapped at him.

God knows I wanted to.

But something in me paused. Maybe I didn't want to risk whatever hypothetical, near-impossible chance this was. Maybe I'm just that desperate.

Whatever.

But still — why him? Why now?

Why is he here—in a prison meant for ghosts,

in front of a girl with seven hours left to breathe ?

"No gentleman? No hands?" I asked, staring up at him as he looked down like I was something small. Fragile.

He extended his hand, perfectly composed, the light catching on the polished cufflinks at his wrist.

"Yuck," I scoffed, forcing myself upright without help. "I don't touch useless men."

Yeah, I did it on purpose.

I wasn't fragile. Not now, not ever. My wrists throbbed where the cuffs had cut into my skin, but I refused to let it show.

Something shifted in his face — a slight narrowing of the eyes, the faint curl of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. I flexed my fingers, metal biting into bone, savoring the tension I'd caused.

"Keys," he said, and the guard came running, jingling a heavy ring of keys in his trembling hands. He came beside me, ready to unlock the cuffs.

"Helping ?" Hridhan asked, his voice calm, but with an edge that made the guard flinch.

"Yes, sir," the guard stammered.

"I asked for keys," Hridhan said, his patience thinning — the kind that made it clear he didn't want a half-assed gesture. The guard's hands shook as he handed over the keys, eyes glued to the floor.

Hridhan stepped closer, lifted my wrist, and clicked the cuff open. "Sometimes, the useless get useful," he muttered.

I lifted my gaze. Old man with old advice.

"Of course," I added, my voice edged with sarcasm. "But not men."

A slow smirk tugged at his mouth. "Rebel, I see." He turned, gesturing for me to follow.

"Monster, I know," I whispered back, just loud enough for me.

We walked toward the entrance. The guard stationed there straightened the moment he saw Hridhan, his expression flickering with something between fear and respect. When his eyes darted to me, he hesitated and then quickly opened a locker and began pulling my things out. My dress. My phone. My past life, folded neatly in a box.

Hridhan took the items from him and handed me the dress. "Change," he said simply.

I stepped into the adjoining room — the cold, white walls pressing in as I peeled off the rough prison uniform I'd been wearing for two days. The fabric fell away like the last layer of someone else's skin. Relief came in a rush as I draped my purple saree back over my shoulders. The color felt defiant in this gray world.

When I stepped out, Hridhan's gaze flicked over me once — unreadable, assessing. I handed the uniform back.

He passed me my phone next. I stared at the device in my hand — the screen dark, lifeless. I missed scrolling through reels. Strange how freedom could shrink down to something as small as a swipe.

"Stop making that noise," he muttered, irritation bleeding into his voice as I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth.

I didn't stop.

It was the only sound in this dead-silent, suffocating building. And honestly? I wasn't about to listen to him.

We were somewhere high — some unknown floor, inside one of the tallest, coldest blocks of Sector 17. I'd lost track after the second metal door slammed behind us. Hridhan hadn't said a word since pulling me out of the central prison.

Not one.

Even though I'd spoken at least a million.

And in those million words, I'd discovered one undeniable truth:

He was a fucking rude man.

One I absolutely, thoroughly, endlessly hated.

Hridhan. The monster of Sector 17.

The mentor everyone warned me about. His reputation was horrifying even when spoken in whispers.

But me? I wasn't terrified.

All I'd wanted was to get out of prison. To escape the seven-hour death sentence hanging over my head. To survive just long enough to find what I came here for.

But as usual — I'd already messed it all up.

My whole life has been a cycle of disaster. My parents said I was supposed to die years ago. That my brother had saved me. They never forgot to remind me. That I was a walking mistake.

"Don't slip," he said, walking beside me — his voice steady, almost indifferent.

I shot him a sideways look. "Oh? Won't you catch me? Aren't you supposed to be the gentleman of the sector?" I asked, sarcastically.

He glanced down at me, the corner of his mouth lifting. "I don't catch people who fall on purpose."

I rolled my eyes. Standing this close to him, all I could feel was ice. Cold in my chest. Cold in my spine. There's no record of how many have died under him. No names.

And I?

I hoped I'd never see him again.

If I lived long anymore.

We stood on the empty floor, silence pressing against my ears. Humans moved around, but no sound escaped them. Guards lined the perimeter, statues with rifles, rigid and unblinking. I wondered, briefly, if those rifles would even sound or not.

A man muttered something to Hridhan. I stayed still, silent, watching.

I had no idea what was happening. Why was Hridhan taking me here? He had come into the prison, released my cuffs, and now... this. A building I didn't recognize, guards frozen in place, and me — free, but still trapped in a thousand questions.

And for the first time, I wasn't sure if I'd been rescued... or reassigned.

The silence broke like glass.

The door slammed open, and a man stormed in — grey-haired, jaw tight, eyes sharp enough to cut steel.

Few Minutes Later, An older man grey-haired, tight-jawed stormed into the room like he owned oxygen itself.

The moment his eyes landed on me, his expression twisted. Disgust. Anger.

"What the hell ? Where are the cuffs ? Why isn't she tied ?!" His voice cracked like a whip against the cold steel walls, loud enough to rattle the air, like I'd just blown up a city or assassinated someone important.

I hadn't.

I slapped my trainer. That's it.

And yes, I am still upset that I hadn't left my full handprint on his smug little face. A tragic miss. Bad me.

So why was the old man yelling like he'd found a chili in his gulab jamun? Like I'd personally offended both the military code and his grandmother's dessert.

Then came his voice. Low.

"I think," Hridhan said coldly, "you should mind your words, sir."

"Hridhan, have you lost your mind or what? She's absolutely fucking b—"

The words died in his throat.

In one swift motion, Hridhan drew his sword, the edge gleaming cold and precise as he pressed it against the man's neck. The air stilled. A shallow gasp escaped the man's lips as the blade kissed skin, and his breath hitched — sharp, panicked.

His body shivered, paralyzed, while his mouth trembled with words he no longer dared to speak.

"Say one more word about her," Hridhan said, low and dangerous.

He barely moved the blade, just enough to scratch. A thin red line bloomed across the man's throat.

I wasn't scared of Hridhan.

No. Until-Now I hated him.

But I had never seen blood so close. So fresh.

I felt it in my knees first — that soft, sickening looseness. Then the pit of my stomach clenched like it wanted to throw up everything I'd ever eaten.

Get a grip, Arna.

Then, with a grace that made the gesture even more chilling, Hridhan withdrew his sword and returned it to its sheath. He stepped back slowly, as though nothing had happened, and came to stand beside me. Calm. Composed.

I looked up at him. His expression hadn't changed, but his eyes were locked on the man now coughing and clutching his neck, stunned and humiliated.

Guards rushed to the man's side, but before they could say a word, Hridhan let out a short, commanding sound — not quite a word, more an instinctive command and they immediately straightened, stepping back into position like trained dogs.

Then, as if the entire exchange were no more than a passing inconvenience, Hridhan reached into his coat, pulled out a handkerchief, and handed it to me.

"Give it to him, aru," he said, voice even.

I stared at him, uncertain if I'd heard him right.

I stared at the cloth like it was a snake.  His words were measured, but his actions... they were something else entirely. He raised a brow barely but it was enough to make me move.

I stepped forward, legs shaking in ways I refused to show, and extending the handkerchief with a trembling hand.

"Take it, and save yourself, sir," he urged, his voice strained but resolute. "My wife holds a fortune in her hands."

The man took the handkerchief, pressing it to the side of his neck where the blood was already pooling—thick, dark, and unforgiving. I stepped back, instinctively recoiling as something sharp and fast darted past us.

Confusion closed in like smoke. I didn't know what had just happened. Didn't know what I was seeing.

But I felt it. His hands caught my waist just as I was tipping backward, my balance slipping away like sand through fingers. His touch was firm—warm, even now—anchoring me as the world tilted.

"She's my wife," he said, voice flat as concrete.

"I just came to give information that she will be trained under me. I will be her mentor."

Wife ?

My brain choked on it.

"Hope you won't be interrupting our sessions again, sir."

He turned, still holding me tight against his side—like I wasn't even allowed to walk on my own. Like I was a thing.

I tried to wriggle free but stopped when he bent down, until his breath slid across the curve of my neck, hot. His beard scraped the skin beneath my ear, rough and sharp. I flinched.

He didn't pull away.

Instead, his mouth hovered close. Too close.

"Try moving from me again," he whispered, voice low enough to crawl under my skin. "I know how to tie, Arna."

I froze. Not out of fear—

but because I realized I'd made a mistake. Again.

"Don't worry," he murmured, voice like sin. "I'm a good man, Arna. I won't tie you to the floor like them."

A pause. A beat of silence. Then—

"I tie mine to the bed."

____________________

Author's note

So... how was the chapter?

Thought I'd drop a little surprise before exams start! ( Mr. Blue's master plan 🐼 )