I stood in front of an old, crumbling house. The walls were cracked, the paint long faded. The neighbourhood was eerily silent—abandoned, forgotten. For most, it was just another derelict building. But for someone like me, it was the perfect hideout for shady dealings. Hardly anyone walked this road. No one would think to check here.
I had to admit—she was smart to choose this place. But not smart enough. We tracked her down easily. And now, no one will know what I'm about to do to her. Unlike her, I know how to cover my tracks.
I opened the rusted gate just wide enough to slip through. It squealed in protest, but I moved quickly, careful not to make too much noise. Inside was a dimly lit hallway with several doors at the far end. But the room I needed wasn't there. It was below me.
The rug beneath my feet concealed a trapdoor. I peeled it back and slowly opened the hatch, revealing a staircase. At the bottom was another door—wooden, worn. I opened it and slipped inside.
To my surprise, I found a luxurious living room. Expensive furniture, a massive TV, and a pristine kitchen with white marble countertops. No one would believe this was hidden under an abandoned house. How the hell did she even get all this in here? There must be another entrance.
As I stepped farther inside, I noticed a slightly open door. Movement inside. She was there. Probably trying to run. Too late. The game had just begun—and we had all night to play.
I leaned against the doorway and smirked. She was frantically stuffing money into a bag, her hands shaking. She hadn't noticed me yet. Even in her 60s, her greed was alive and well.
"Going somewhere?" I asked.
She froze. The panic in her eyes was instant, pure. "H-how did you find this place?" she stammered.
"We both know what my being here means," I said coldly. "You hid well—but not well enough. I'll give you one thing though—this place is impressive."
"I'm sorry, Saumya. I—I didn't mean—"
"I don't want your pathetic apology," I snapped. "It won't give me back the twenty years I lost. It won't bring my sister back. Because of your greed, she's gone. Missing. Maybe worse."
My voice trembled with rage—the same rage I'd carried since the day she locked me in that washroom and took Seema away.
Without another word, I crossed the room and injected her with the sedative I'd been hiding. She collapsed. Mr. Anderson, listening in through my mic, knew I could handle myself—but he never took chances when it came to my safety.
Our people arrived moments later.
"Put all the money in the bags and secure it," I ordered, pointing to the overflowing locker. "Destroy this place. Make sure no one knows it ever existed."
They obeyed without question.
We carried her unconscious body outside. Mr. Anderson was waiting by the car. We loaded her in and drove straight to the port. Time to raise the stakes.
After about an hour, we arrived. In front of us stood a massive yacht.
"Here's the illegal beauty you asked for, Princess," Anderson said in his usual monotone.
"This is the one she owns?" I asked.
He nodded.
Another property under a fake name. She'd been planning to escape on this yacht. Not anymore.
"Take her inside. Tie her to a chair," I ordered.
The men obeyed. Me and Mr. Anderson stayed on the deck while she was secured below. Midnight approached. We waited for her to wake up, passing time in silence.
"I need to report this to your father," Anderson said.
I froze. In my desperation to find Seema, I hadn't even thought of Dad. I didn't want to worry him.
"I know you care. But telling him won't help. He'll only worry more," I said.
"Your safety is my job, Princess."
"And I'm right here. Safe, aren't I? Besides, I haven't done anything reckless—"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, fine, almost nothing reckless. But please. If I get into real trouble, you can tell him. Until then… our secret?"
I gave him the look. Puppy eyes—my secret weapon. He sighed, rubbing his face.
"Fine. But one misstep and I'm telling him."
"Deal," I said, grinning. I gave him a quick hug. He didn't hug back—but he never pushed me away either.
A guard approached. "She's awake, boss."
I headed below deck. She was tied to a chair, tape over her mouth, eyes filled with fear. Just like mine were that day. I had never felt this level of satisfaction.
I knelt in front of her, looking her in the eyes.
"I'm only going to say this once. Answer my questions, or I'll start cutting off fingers. One by one."
She whimpered. I removed the tape.
"Please… it was a mistake. I was forced—"
I didn't wait. I grabbed her hand and started slicing through half of her index finger with an old rusted knife. Blood spattered on my jacket and jeans. She screamed.
"Now you only speak when I tell you to. Understood?"
She nodded, sobbing.
"Where's my sister?"
"I—I don't know! They just told me when to send a girl. After that, I had no contact—"
"Why did they want my sister?" I asked, dragging the knife, making her cry in pain.
"They only took one girl a year. That was the deal. They paid me $100,000 each time."
"How many girls did you sell?" I asked barely containing my anger the urge to kill her with my bare hands is getting stronger.
She hesitated. "Twenty-five… including your sister."
"Twenty-five girls?" I asked, seething.
Twenty-five innocent lives. Sold. Like cattle. My hands shook with rage.
"Why did you ask my parents for more money when they adopted me?"
"You were a troublemaker. I couldn't sell you. I lied, said you'd already been chosen. I wanted more money."
This bitch. No surprise. She always cared more about cash than children.
"Who were you talking to on the phone that day?"
"I don't know. They change the number each time. Send it to me by mail."
That is why it is easy for them to abandon her because she doesn't even know where they contact her from. I scoff at this idiotic bitch.
"Where are those mails?"
"In my purse. I was going to take them with me…"
At least we'd have something to go on.
"I told you everything," she sobbed. "Please let me go. I swear I'll never—"
Before she could finish, I cut off her middle finger, shoved it into her mouth, and stapled her lips shut.
"Let you go??" I laughed maniacally. "We're just getting started bitch." I smirked.
Her body shook. Blood ran down her face.
Now the torture begins…
I took a sharp carving knife from my collection and started carving out her skin on her neck, careful not to nick any vitals. Her screams are muffled due to her mouth being stapled. I laughed at how pathetic she looks. Lips tore, blood running down her mouth, her choking on her own blood while crying. I then tore of her toe nails slowly, dragging the pain, laughing as she cries. I look like a fucking psycho, laughing and smiling, her blood splattered across my face. I swear if any of my father see me right now… They will have a stroke. I don't even want to think what Papa will react. But I'm sure Uncle Landon will have a field day after hearing this. If he hears this.
"Take her to the deck," I ordered.
Mr. Anderson stood beside me as she was dragged up, sobbing silently, eyes wide in terror. He never once asked or changed his expression. It shows that he has done things far worse than this.
"What's the worst way you've killed someone?" I asked.
"Probably drowning," he replied casually, shrugging.
She heard him. Her eyes widened further. She knew what was coming.
"Let me show you a new way," I said, signalling the men.
"Well, you have ruined life of 25 innocent children and I don't believe in heaven and hell because what is the use of any punishment if it's given after dying. So, look me in the face, bitch and don't look away because when you are dying, I'll be Lucifer for you. You'll burn in my hell."
She started trashing, eyes wide while blood and vomit runs down her mangled lips and neck. They tied heavy weights to her feet. She tried crawling away, but couldn't move more than a few inches. One of the men handed me a can of kerosene.
She froze.
I poured it over her slowly—soaking her in every drop of the pain she caused. My grief. My rage. My loss.
"Now I will burn you. Every second you burn you are going to feel death hoping for the pain to stop, hoping for the suffering to end, hoping for... death. And then, I will throw you in this sea. You will feel the burning, the sting of salty water on your fresh burning skin. You will feel like you are in the sea of fire, you will try to break free to open your mouth try to breath but the weights in your feet will only take you deep every passing second. You will pray for death but demons like you don't deserve to pray. They deserve the devil to make them pay for their sins. They deserve ME."
I emptied the can over her and the bend down to look her in the eye.
"You should've protected those kids," I said. "Instead, you sold them. You beat them. You locked me away. You took Seema from me. You said kids like me didn't deserve love. You were wrong. I did deserve love. I deserved to be with my sister. And now, for the twenty-five lives you ruined, you'll suffer. One second for each of them." I stood up and stepped back from her.
I lit the lighter with timer in my other hand and looked at her trashing form. She was already looking at me, her eyes wide. She will not understand what I'm going to say now, only my people will.
"Ya ne proshchayu. Ya stavlyu tochku."
("I don't forgive. I end.")
"Eto spravedlivost', a ne miloserdiye."
("This is justice. Not mercy.")
I threw the lighter at her screaming form and start the timer.
1… 2… She burned. Her body shook in agony.
5… 6… 7… Her screams, even muffled, echoed in the night.
13… 14… My sister would never have wanted this—but it's justice.
20… 21… This is the price of her sins.
25.
I kicked her overboard. The splash silenced everything.
The sea swallowed her.
And with her, the last shred of my calm drowned.
Now, only chaos remains.
"I promise you, Seema. I'll find you. And I'll destroy everyone who ever hurt you."