Author's Pov

The glittering ballroom of the Grand Regent Hotel buzzed with the low, monotonous hum of elite chatter, clinking crystal, and orchestrated laughter. At nearly eight o'clock, Rishabh stepped through the grand double doors, seamlessly blending into the sea of high-society figures.

Dressed in a sharply tailored black tuxedo that accentuated his tall, imposing frame, he cut an arresting figure. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his sharp, chiseled features bore an expression entirely devoid of warmth, a mask of calculated indifference.

His dark eyes swept over the crowded room with practiced precision. He instantly began dissecting the gathering, analyzing the body language of the city's most prominent legal minds, politicians, and corporate magnates. They smiled and shook hands with an easy, radiant grace, entirely belying the cutthroat rivalries and corporate bloodbaths that kept them at each other's throats behind closed doors.

As a premier criminal lawyer who spent his days navigating the darkest alleys of human nature, Rishabh had learned one immutable truth: always remain calm, analytical, manipulative and three steps ahead. In a room full of apex predators wearing expensive silk suits, naivety was a fatal liability, and no one here was as innocent as they pretended to be.

A waiter clad in a crisp uniform glided past, balancing a silver tray laden with champagne flutes and sparkling mocktails. Rishabh smoothly lifted a glass of chilled soft drink from the tray, his fingers lightly brushing the crystal rim. He had never had any inclination toward alcohol; to him, life was far too sharp, too fragile, and too precious to dull his senses or waste on fleeting vices.

He took a slow, measured sip, his gaze drifting around.

Achint stepped through the grand glass doors of the ballroom accompanied by her father's personal assistant. She was dressed in an exquisite, ethereal white gown that clung gracefully to her frame, featuring a high slit starting from her thighs that caught the warm overhead lights with every step. Her long, dark wavy hair cascaded freely down to her mid-back, and her natural brown skin glowed softly, giving her a mesmerizing, almost otherworldly presence. She paired the look with towering white heels that added an extra edge of elegance to her stride.





(Anyone from these two!)

Her father's PA promptly guided her through the sea of elites until they reached her father, who was currently engaged in a deep conversation with a former judge. As she approached, her father turned. With a practiced, entirely unnatural smile plastered across his face, he placed a firm hand on her shoulder and proudly introduced her to the judge and his young son.

Achint offered a polite, dazzling smile, but beneath the surface, frustration boiled. Her father only cared about his social standing and public image; he hadn't even bothered to ask how she was doing, whether she was okay, or how her journey had been. One by one, she was paraded around and introduced to a revolving door of high-society guests, flashing the exact same polite, exhausting smile to every single one of them.

Suddenly, her father led her toward another small circle of guests. When she lifted her gaze to meet the face of the man standing there, her eyes widened in utter disbelief.

"Aap?" (You?) slipped past her lips in a hushed gasp as she stared straight at Rishabh.

Rishabh looked equally stunned, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a jolt of surprise.

"Do you know him?" her father asked, raising a brow.

Achint quickly cleared her throat, straightening her posture. "Yes, he's my trainer!" she replied smoothly.

Her father's smile widened into something bright and approving. "That's really nice! Because who doesn't know Rishabh Ranawat? One of the sharpest legal minds right now!" Her father heaped praise on Rishabh, while Achint had to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes at her father's flattering.

"Thank you, sir. It's good to hear this from you," Rishabh replied politely, maintaining his professional composure.

After a brief exchange of formal pleasantries, her father excused himself to meet another associate, leaving her standing by the edge of the floor.

Moments later, the judge's son....Shashi, approached her. She offered a polite smile, though her facial muscles were starting to ache from the hours of holding a fake expression.

"May I join you?" he asked smoothly.

"Nahi akal ke andhe, door hi reh tu!" She thought.

She nodded politely. They sat down at a small table, and Shashi immediately ordered two drinks from a passing waiter.

"So, you're studying law!" he observed, trying to strike up a conversation.

She nodded.

"Of course, your father is a lawyer, so..." he began, assuming her path was pre written.

Achint cut him off instantly. "It's not because of my father. It's because I love debating, I love proving them wrong, winning again and again, and showing them that they can't defeat me!" she declared with a confident smirk.

Shashi laughed softly. "That's cool! How old are you, by the way?"

"Twenty three," she replied.

"Oh, that's so young! You'll be a powerhouse lawyer soon," he praised.

The waiter returned, placing the glasses down. They both took a sip, but the moment the liquid hit Achint's throat, she coughed softly as it burned. She slammed the glass down.

"What kind of drink is this?" she demanded, turning to him. "Don't say it's alcoholic!"

"Uh... I'm so sorry, I didn't know you don't drink!" Shashi apologized, instantly waving his hand to call a waiter to replace the beverage.

"No, it's okay, leave it," she waved him off, refusing to risk consuming anything intoxicating when she had to go back to home alone tonight.

Out on the center of the floor, the soft melody began to play as few people drifted toward the dance floor.

"Shall we?" Shashi asked, standing up and offering his hand.

"No, I..." she tried to refuse with her best polite smile.

"Please!" he insisted, stepping closer and firmly grabbing her hand.

Achint's jaw tightened. Yeh toh leech ki tarah chipak gaya hai! (This guy has latched on like a leech!) she thought in sheer annoyance. Desperate for an escape, her eyes scanned the perimeter of the room until they landed on a familiar figure standing quietly in the opposite corner. Rishabh.

"Umm... actually, I need to see one of my friends!" she excused herself, pulling her hand away.

"Oh, right after that, though..." Shashi started, persistent.

"Only if he lets me go, you know!" she shot back with a swift, playful wink, turning on her heel and marching straight across the ballroom toward Rishabh.

Rishabh, who had been standing quietly observing the room, frowned deeply as he watched her approach. He looked up, expecting her usual cheeky sneer, but found her wearing a blinding, overly sweet smile instead. For a fraction of a second, he had to take a slow, deep breath; he couldn't even deny to himself that she looked entirely different tonight and......breathtakingly beautiful.

"May we dance?" she asked in a sugary, polite tone that felt so violently out of character it nearly gave him whiplash.

Rishabh's eyebrows shot straight up. He was entirely unaccustomed to her using a sweet tone; usually, she used to throw sarcasm and insults at his way.

From the corner of her eye, Achint spotted Shashi still lingering, watching her expectantly. Ugh, kya musibat hai ye! Agar papa ka guest nahi hota, toh iski hekadi, main nikal deti! (Ugh, what a nuisance! If he wasn't my father's guest, I would have put him in his place!) she fumed internally.

"No," Rishabh refused flatly, turning his head away.

"Ek dance hi toh hai, itna kya bhaav kha rahe hain!" (It's just one dance, why are you acting so high?) she whispered, scrunching her nose.

"No, Miss Sharma," he repeated firmly, keeping his gaze fixed on the ballroom crowd.

"Arey, kar lijiye na!" (Come on, just do it!) she pleaded, reaching out and giving his sleeve a sharp tug.

Rishabh frowned, turning his head back to glare at her. "Ye kya tareeka hai? Aap zabardasti dance karengi mere sath?" (What kind of behavior is this? Are you going to force me to dance with you?)

"Haan!" (Yes!) she replied without missing a beat.

He narrowed his eyes. "Please! Warna uss neech ke sath dance karna padega mujhe," (Please! Otherwise, I'm going to have to dance with that creep over there,) she whispered urgently, gesturing subtly toward Shashi.

Rishabh started to turn his head to look at the guy.

"Don't turn!" she hissed, panicking. Without thinking, she reached out and cupped his face with her palm, forcibly turning his head back to face her.

Rishabh completely froze. The sudden, unexpected coolness of her hand against his warm skin sent a sharp, electric jolt straight through his body.

Meanwhile Achint still oblivious to his reaction, snatched her hand back not even noticing the red shell of his ears. "Please!" she urged again. "Main pura ek din aapko pareshan nahi karungi!" (I won't bother you for a whole day!)

Rishabh didn't budge, keeping his expression neutral.

"Achha, do din!" (Fine, two days!) she bartered quickly.

He shook his head slowly.

"Chaar din!" (Four days!) she pleaded desperately.

Rishabh ignored her entirely, casually picking up his glass to take another sip of his drink.

"Okay fine! Pure ek week!" (Okay fine! A whole week!) she surrendered in agony.

That magic number finally caught his attention. Rishabh slowly lowered his glass and turned his head to look down at her. A smile was about to come at his face at her act but he held himself.

"Aaj kaafi achha behave kar rahi hain aap," (You're behaving surprisingly well today,) he remarked with a slight smirk, setting his glass down and standing up to his full, towering height.

"Musibat me gadhe ko bhi baap banana padta hai," (When you're in trouble, even a donkey has to be called 'father',) she muttered under her breath in pure resentment.

"What?" he asked, catching the muffled sound of her idioms.

"Nothing!" she beamed brightly, linking her arm smoothly through his. "Let's go!"

Achint took a step forward to follow him onto the polished wooden floor, but her movement froze mid-motion. Her eyes drifted across the perimeter of the ballroom and landed squarely on her father. He was standing beside a woman, entirely too close for comfort. He was throwing his head back in a carefree laugh as the woman whispered something intimately into his ear.

Achint's breath caught. A sharp, suffocating pain tightened painfully around her throat, suffocating her from the inside out. Without a single thought, her hand lashed out, snatching a glass from a passing waiter's tray and gulping down the amber liquid inside in one violent swallow. The fiery alcohol scorched her throat, burning intensely, but it wasn't nearly enough to numb the agonizing ache radiating from her chest.

Stumbling slightly, she forced her feet to move, walking blindly behind Rishabh.

Rishabh paused in the dead center of the floor, turning around to pull her into position. But the moment his eyes landed on her face, the words died in his throat. Her entire expression had transformed. The mischievous spark was gone, the cheeky glint was gone, instead there was a serious unyielding expression. For the very first time, he saw a stark, serious expression etched across her features.

The soft, romantic song was already playing.

"Chahe kuch na kehna, bhale chup tu rehna, mujhe hai pata tere pyar ka..."

She stepped right in front of him. Rishabh hesitated, a fraction of his professional boundary flaring up, dancing with his student felt dangerously wrong, a line he had never imagined crossing.

She looked up, her dark eyes flashing with a sudden, restless irritation. "Muhurat nikalwau?" (Should I consult a priest for an auspicious time?) she snapped.

"Huh?" His brows drew together in a confused frown.

"Haan toh, mujhme kaante lage hain jo aap touch karne me itna soch rahe hain?" (What, do I have thorns on me that you're thinking so much just to touch me?) she demanded, her voice tight and trembling slightly. Before he could react, she grabbed his hand, and wrapped her fingers around his while his other hand instinctively hovered just above her back.

Frowning at his hesitation, she reached up and physically pressed his hand flat against her waist, anchoring him to her.

Rishabh's breath hitched violently as their eyes collided in the warm light.

"Khamosh chehra, aankhon pe pehra,khud hai gawah tere pyar ka..."

They began to move in a slow, rhythmic sway. But Achint's gaze kept darting over his shoulder, locking onto her father once again, who was still deeply engrossed and laughing intimately with that woman. Every fiber of her heart felt like it was fracturing into smaller, agonizing pieces. She was entirely too quiet, an eerie, unnatural silence for a girl whose mind and mouth usually moved at a million miles an hour.

"Teri jhuki nazar, teri har ada, mujhe keh rahi hai ye dastan...

Koi shaks hai jo ke in dino

Mere zeheno dil pe hai chha gaya..."

Her eyes swam with unshed tears at her father's blatant disregard. For a fleeting, pathetic second tonight, she had foolishly hoped he might remember her, might ask about her, care about how she was surviving. But he hadn't. She had simply been a pretty showpiece for his high-society networking before he tossed her aside to lose himself in his own pleasures.

She lowered her gaze swiftly, blinking furiously to keep the hot, traitorous tears from spilling over her lashes.

Rishabh, whose attention had never left her face for a single second, noticed the sudden, defeated slump of her shoulders and the way she refused to look up. A deep frown lines his forehead.

"Hoo... teri zulf jab bhi bikhar jati hai, aye haseen tu haseen aur ho jati hai...

Jo kitabon me padhte rahe aaj tak

Wo pari humko tujhme nazar aati hai"

He stepped back and she spun outward, her arms opening wide. Her long, dark waves flew out in an arc, lightly brushing across his face. The sudden, intoxicating fragrance of her shampoo drifted over him, sending a strange, quiet warmth straight to his chest. He closed his eyes for a single beat, inhaling the scent, before refocusing. Today, beneath all her chaotic walls, her eyes looked terrifyingly innocent.

As they stepped back into each other's embrace, he gently reached up during a turn, his fingers brushing through a stray lock of her hair to tuck it behind her ear. The simple, tender gesture made him pause. Then, she pressed back against his front, and they moved together in effortless sync. He's so restless why her eyes are affecting him.

"Teri hi bahon me, panaho me, rehna mujhe har dam sada...

Teri hi yaadon me nigahon me rehna mujhe har dam sada..."

Rishabh felt his own heartbeat accelerating, hammering against his ribs far faster than logic permitted. But Achint was completely oblivious, entirely consumed by her own quiet grief.

As they drifted through a spin and he drew her back in, lifting their joined hands for a 180 degree turn, his line of sight shifted past her shoulder. That was when he saw him, that older man deeply engaged with a woman young enough to be his daughter, sharing laughter that crossed the threshold of mere professional courtesy.

Is she his wife? Does that make her Achint's mother? Rishabh's thoughts raced, piecing together the rigid tension in Achint's posture. But looking closer at the woman's dismissive, calculating elegance, she didn't look like a mother at all. She's way too younger.

His brows knitted together in deep concern as he looked back down at Achint. She looked entirely lost, shattered in a way that he had ever seen before. The fierce, unbreakable storm of a girl had completely vanished, leaving behind someone who looked impossibly fragile.

"Are you crying?" he asked softly, his voice dropping the usual sharp, authoritative edge it carried in the classroom, replaced by a quiet, unexpected gentleness.

"No!" she snapped instantly, refusing to look up, though the thick, hoarse tremor in her voice completely betrayed her lie.

"I never thought you'd cry instead of fighting!" he observed, a faint, wry note in his tone.

At that, Achint finally lifted her head. Her dark eyes swam with unshed tears, shining bright under the ballroom chandeliers, but a sharp, defiant spark still flickered within them.

"Crying isn't a bad thing, but hurting yourself is," he said, looking straight down at her with a steady, grounding intensity. "I mean, if I had said or done anything wrong to cause this, by now you would be actively making my life miserable!"

A sudden, watery chuckle slipped past her lips, breaking the heavy tension in the air.

"True," she whispered, her chin lifting as the vulnerability in her eyes hardened back into steel. "Why should I cry when I can make their situation miserable instead?" A dangerous, familiar smirk touched the corners of her mouth.

Rishabh's brows knitted together in a sudden frown, wondering what she had in mind. But before he could process it, Achint spun on her heel and marched away from the dance floor. Her head was already feeling light due to alcohol.

He stayed put, his eyes tracking her every move. She wove effortlessly through the crowded room until she stood just a few paces away from her father and the woman still whispering in his ear.

Without hesitation, Achint snatched a full glass of deep red wine from a passing waiter's tray and hurled the contents directly at them.

(Remember anything from Preet ki Mala?"😁)

The liquid splashed violently across the front of the woman's expensive gown and splattered heavily against her father's tailored suit jacket.

Gasps echoed from the surrounding guests as both of them recoiled in shock, stumbling back.

"What the f!" the woman shrieked, staring down in horror at her ruined dress.

Her father whipped his head around, his face turning an ugly shade of crimson with blind rage as he spotted his daughter. "What is this behavior, Achint?!" he roared over the music, drawing the attention of half the ballroom.

Achint didn't flinch. She stood tall, her shoulders squared, looking at her father with absolute, icy contempt. "The one you both deserve. Actually, you deserve worse, but let's call this a trailer."

Without waiting for another word, she turned her back on them, sweeping past the paralyzed onlookers. As she walked toward the grand exit, her hand darted out, neatly lifting an entire bottle of sparkling champagne right off a waiter's tray.

Standing a few feet away, Rishabh watched the entire spectacle unfold, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and profound awe. He stared at the retreating figure of his chaotic student, slowly shaking his head as a genuine, helpless smile broke across his face.

"She's really chaotic, aafat ki pudiya" he murmured to himself, a soft laugh catching in his throat as he watched her storm out into the night, leaving utter wreckage in her wake.

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The hazy warmth of sleep still clung to Janisha's eyelids when the sharp, piercing ring of the doorbell echoed through the apartment. She groaned softly, burying her face deeper into the cushion. She waited, expecting Achint to get it, before she remembered her friend had already left for that party.

Dragging herself off the bed with a heavy sigh, she shuffled toward the door, rubbing her eyes. She pulled it open only to find a delivery man standing in the corridor.

Without a word, he extended a massive, breathtaking bouquet of fresh white lotus flowers, followed closely by a neatly tied bakery box.

Janisha blinked, staring at the items in utter confusion. "Uh... I think you have got into the wrong address!" she said, shaking her head.

"No, ma'am! This is from DEV JANISHA RAICHAND to JANISHA RANWAT," the delivery guy replied brightly.

"But..." she frowned, her sleep addled brain refusing to connect the dots. "Okay, let me check!"

She took her phone off the nearby console and immediately dialed Dev's number, pressing it to her ear.

"Hello!" She said flatly.

"Hello, Jaan! Good evening!" Dev's cheerful, warm voice rang through the speaker, completely contradicting the quiet exhaustion of the apartment.

Janisha pulled the phone away, staring at the screen in disbelief. Had she dialed the right number? Yes, it was him. She pressed it back to her ear, narrowing her eyes. "What is all this?"

"Actually, I'm missing you, so I thought I'd send you your favorite flowers. Ab aapko toh meri yaad aayegi nahi, isliye socha ki yeh phool dekh kar hi aap mujhe yaad kar lein shayad," (Since you won't miss me on your own, I figured seeing these flowers might make you remember me at least,) he said with a teasing lilt in his voice.

Janisha scrunched her nose, signing to the delivery man to leave the items before pulling the door shut and locking it. "Kyun kar rahe hain aap yeh sab? Aapko kya lagta hai..."

"Shant, shant, meri jaan," he cut her off smoothly. "Yeh toh main apne liye kar raha hoon. Maine kaha na, isi bahaane aap mujhe yaad karengi, toh hua na mera fayda!" (I'm doing this for myself. Like I said, this way you'll think of me, so it's a win for me!)

Janisha rolled her eyes so hard it physically hurt. "Aur box mein kya hai?" (And what's in the box?)

"The second thing you crave the most!" he replied instantly.

"Huh?" She walked back into the living room and dropped onto the sofa, completely baffled.

"Your favorite chocolate lava cake with extra chocochips!"

"And why is this second?" she asked, her curiosity overriding her annoyance.

"Because I'm the first, Jaan. You crave for me the most!"

Janisha let out an exasperated sigh. "Still in delusion?" she deadpanned.

"Umm... it's called manifestation, betu!"

The nickname hit her like a physical wave. Betu. It had been so long since he had called her that, a relic of a sweeter, simpler time before their lives completely unraveled. Her breath hitched, and a sudden, traitorous flutter bloomed in her chest.

Panic flashing through her veins, she swallowed hard and abruptly cut the call without another word.

A split second later, her phone pinged with a text message.

Enjoy the treat and remember me, Betu!

Janisha stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the glass. She looked over at the stunning bouquet of white lotuses resting on the table, their delicate petals filling the room with a faint, earthy fragrance. For a long, quiet moment, she just sat there, wrestling with the heavy tide of emotions crashing inside her.

Why he had to remember every damn thing about her? The flowers, the cake, her cramps, everything! He remembered everything perfectly but why and how?

Without touching the flowers, and without opening the box, she stood up, turned her back on the treats, and walked straight into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Preet was walking in the hall while her Belly was little grown up and her bump slightly visible over her kurti, when she found, Dev chuckling softly, the lingering warmth of his conversation with Janisha still dancing in his eyes.

Preet noticed the bright, unguarded look on his face and shook her head with an affectionate smile. "Aye haye, bade dino baad bahaar aayi hai aapke chehre par, devar ji!" (Oh my, spring has finally returned to your face after such a long time, dear brother-in-law!) she teased gently.

Dev's attention snapped away from his thoughts, his protective instincts flaring up instantly. He looked down at her with wide eyes. "Bhabhi? Aap kyun chal rahi hain is waqt? Apko kuch chahiye tha? Aap mujhe bol deti!" (Bhabhi? Why are you walking around right now? Did you need something? You should have told me!)

Preet scrunched her nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Stop talking like your brother!" she protested, though a fond smile tugged at her lips.

Dev chuckled, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "Alright, I'm quiet. But if Bhai sees you like this, he might get a heart attack."

"I just wanted to walk a little, I was getting bored sitting inside," Preet explained softly.

"Okay let's go to the garden!" He said and they both headed towards the garden and they settled onto the bench together.

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, watching the distant lights flicker across the neighborhood. Preet turned her head to look at him, her expression softening. "I told you back then that maybe it's all just misunderstandings, just give it time."

Dev's smile faded. He looked down at his hands, a heavy shadow crossing his features. "Jaanta hoon, Bhabhi. Aur shayad ab is ek gunah ke liye main khud ko kabhi maaf nahi karunga. Maine Janisha ko us cheez ki saza di jo kabhi unki galti thi hi nahi..." (I know, Bhabhi. And perhaps I will never forgive myself for this single sin. I punished Janisha for something that was never her fault at all...) He swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in his throat. "...aur jab unhe sabse zyada meri zaroorat thi, main hi unke khilaaf ho gaya."

Preet gently shook her head, reaching out to pat his arm. "No, Dev. If you carry the burden of your sins, you will never be able to give your love. I know what this self-loathing is like, how much it burns a person. But I was lucky that my Shiv forgave me, and I forgave myself too."

Dev looked up, the raw, unmasked pain in his eyes reflecting the deep scars of his past.

"Isliye aap bhi khud ko maaf kar dijiye, kyunki dard aap dono ko hua," (That's why you should forgive yourself too, because the pain happened to both of you,) Preet continued, her voice steady and full of quiet wisdom. "Lekin iske baad aisi mohabbat karna ki kisi aur cheez ki gunjaish hi na bache." (But after this, love her in a way that leaves no room for anything else.)

Dev swallowed the lump in his throat, giving a slow, solemn nod. "That's what I'm trying to do."

Preet's lips curved back into a teasing smile, hoping to lift the heavy air between them. "Anyway, who were you smiling away to yourself about just now? Where did that big smile come from?"

Dev's cheeks flushed a faint pink, a sheepish grin breaking through his defenses. "Janisha se baat kar raha tha." (I was talking to Janisha.)

"Maan gayi woh?" (Has she forgiven you?) Preet asked, her eyes lighting up with curiosity.

"No... but she's still very soft-hearted," Dev murmured, a fond, helpless look taking over his face. "Naraz hote hue bhi dard mein nahi dekh sakti mujhe." He shook his head, a quiet wonder in his voice. "Pyar isi ko toh kehte hain, Dev, jahan khud ke dard se zyada apne partner ka dard apko dukh de." (That's what love is called, where your partner's pain hurts you more than your own.)

Preet beamed, folding her arms.

"Is lehje ke liye toh main khud ko bech kar bhi unke ek katre ki barabari nahi kar sakta, Bhabhi," (For the grace she shows, even if I sold myself, I couldn't match her even a drop,) Dev whispered, staring straight ahead into the quiet night.

Preet's heart melted at the sheer, unfiltered devotion in his voice. "Itni achhi lagti hain woh aapko?" (You love her that much?) she teased gently.

Dev turned to her, his smile blinding and utterly unbothered by how transparent he was. "Aap yeh poochiye ki mujhe woh kab achhi nahi lagti!" (You should ask when I don't find her amazing!)

Preet burst out laughing, shaking her head. "Oho! biwi ke deewane!" (Oho completely crazy about your wife!)

Dev puffed his chest out slightly, his eyes sparkling with absolute pride. "Uh-hun... biwi ka gulaam!" (Uh-huh... a slave to my wife!)

Achint stumbled along the desolate stretch of the pavement, her steps entirely uncoordinated and blurry. The high heels that had felt so elegant hours ago now felt like anchors, and her breathing came in ragged, uneven gasps. Every few steps, she lifted the champagne bottle to her lips, taking another reckless swallow of the fizzy alcohol, then blinking rapidly and widening her eyes in a desperate attempt to force the swirling world back into focus. Her vision was swimming, the streetlights bleeding into long, smeared streaks of yellow.

Finally, her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the concrete steps of a closed shop, clutching the neck of the half-empty bottle like a lifeline. Her once-flawless wavy hair was now wild and tangled around her flushed face.

Before she could even catch her breath, a shadow fell over her.

A man stepped into her space, his eyes scanning her vulnerable posture, the expensive dress, and her exposed skin with a predatory, sleazy smirk.

"Hello, gorgeous, need any help?" he purred, taking a step closer.

Achint tried to glare up at him, her eyelids heavy with intoxication. "Fu¢ k off!" she hissed, her voice thick as she tried to force her eyes to stay open.

Instead of backing away, the man lunged forward, his rough fingers wrapping tightly around her delicate wrist to yank her up.

A surge of white-hot rage pierced through the alcohol-induced fog in Achint's brain. Without a single second of hesitation, her survival instincts took over. With a fierce nature, she swung the heavy glass bottle and cracked it with full force directly against the side of his head.

The glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards with a sickening crunch. The man let out a sharp howl of pain, clutching his bleeding head as he collapsed flat onto the pavement, completely incapacitated.

Chest heaving, Achint stumbled to her feet, shaking out her stinging bloody hand and turning to stumble across the empty street.

Suddenly, a blinding, piercing glare washed over her face.

She froze mid-step, her heavy, drunken eyes squinting against the harsh illumination. She stood dazed in the middle of the dark road, staring blankly at the source of the blinding glare, her sluggish brain completely failing to process what it was.

A pair of high-beam headlights rushed closer at terrifying speed. The roar of an engine ripped through the quiet night, and within a fraction of a second, a car loomed dangerously close to her.

Achint's eyes widened in sheer, frozen terror , but her alcohol-heavy feet stubbornly refused to move an inch.