Anvitha
By the time I reached home, the sky was already beginning to shift - the horizon tinged with grey-blue streaks, the prelude to sunrise. In a little while, the sun would shine and scatter its golden rays over this cursed world.
But no sunlight could erase the darkness festering inside me.
Not after what just happened.
Not after I let him touch me like that.
No - not let. Wanted.
I clenched my jaw as I landed on the balcony railing, my fingers gripping the bark of the tree that had become my only escape route over the years. The old oak stood loyally beside my room, a silent accomplice in all my midnight sins.
I couldn't risk walking through the front gate. The automatic lights would flicker on. Cameras might catch me. Maids would talk. Appa would ask. The guards would stammer. The last thing I needed was anyone seeing me like this - frustrated, bothered, flushed like a woman who had done the unspeakable.
I didn't need the world guessing what Ryan Raichand had done to me.
What I allowed him to do.
The second my feet hit the floor of my room, I slammed the balcony door shut behind me. My body was burning under my clothes - every inch of skin prickling, hypersensitive, aching from touch that still felt like a ghost between my legs.
The red of my blazer suddenly felt suffocating.
One by one, I stripped each piece of clothing off with a fury that matched the storm inside me. The crisp shirt. The black leggings . The lacy black underthings that were supposed to make me feel powerful. All of it landed on the floor in a pile of disgrace.
I stepped into the shower and twisted the tap until the water came down in an icy, punishing cascade.
Still, it wasn't cold enough.
It didn't help.
The water hit my skin like needles, but all it did was awaken the memory of his hands. His mouth. His voice whispering filth and prophecy against my skin. I closed my eyes, bracing both palms against the tiled wall as the truth carved itself into my chest.
I rode his fingers.
I moaned for him.
I wanted him.
And worst of all - I let him see that side of me. The part I had buried so deep, I forgot it existed. The part that was not cold, not strategic, not composed - but wild. Vulnerable. Curious. Raw.
He touched not just my body. He touched the part of me I didn't even allow myself to look at in the mirror.
But he wasn't just a man. He wasn't just a moment of weakness.
He was the beast that recognized my darkness.
And that made him dangerous.
Because I wasn't the soft, fragile beauty from a children's fairytale.
No.
I was a venomous thing dressed in silk and legacy.
And the day I drown in my own poison...
...will be the day he ends.
I stepped out, water dripping down my spine, and wrapped a blood-red robe around my body. It didn't cover much - not physically. But after tonight, I had nothing left to hide anyway.
Exposed. Violated. Tempted. Owned.
No more.
I grabbed my phone and typed out a quick message to Raven.
> "Send me the contact of a discreet PI. No questions. Immediate response."
His reply came within thirty seconds.
> "Karan. Trusted. Works clean. Encrypted line. This is his number: +91-XXX..."
Perfect.
I didn't hesitate. I pressed call, wiping fog from the mirror with my other hand.
The phone rang twice before a deep voice answered. Smooth. Calculated.
"Hello?"
"I want to hire you," I said without introduction.
There was a pause. "Who is this?"
"My name is Anvitha Ramaswamy."
Another beat of silence. A pause of recognition, maybe. Or assessment.
"And what exactly do you want me to do, Miss Ramaswamy?"
"I want you to investigate someone. Actually, two people."
"Go on."
"First-" I took a deep breath. "-I want you to gather every detail you can find about a man named Ryan Raichand. His business. His inner circle. His personal habits. Things the media won't know."
"Understood. And the second?"
I swallowed.
"Myself."
"You?"
"Yes. Me. Everything about me. Especially... before I turned eighteen. There are blanks in my past I need filled."
"That's a unique request."
"You'll find I'm a unique client. I'll text you a secure account for communication and payment. You'll get what you need."
He didn't argue. "Fine. I'll begin immediately."
"Wait."
"Yes?"
"If you find anything... off. Anything that doesn't fit - you tell me first. No matter what it is."
There was a pause. Then, "Understood. I'll be in touch, Miss Ramaswamy."
I ended the call and stared at my reflection.
The woman in the mirror was flushed, her lips still tinged with heat, her eyes bloodshot from exhaustion and humiliation. But beneath all of that...
...was steel.
I might have lost tonight's battle.
But this war?
It was far from over.
And I would win it with blood and secrets if I had
The clock on my wall blinked 5:50 AM.
The sky outside had begun its slow bleed from night to day. Pale gold spilled through the windows, illuminating every inch of the room in a hushed stillness. The kind of light that made secrets look sacred. And sins, almost poetic.
I didn't even realize I'd spent nearly two hours in the shower.
Two hours... of standing beneath freezing water like it could wash away the fire his touch had lit beneath my skin.
It didn't.
It never does.
My hair was still damp, sticking to the side of my neck as I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor like it would offer answers. Sleep was a distant country - unreachable, foreign. So instead, I got up and walked over to the coffee table, flipped open my laptop, and typed his name.
Ryan Raichand.
Search.
Click.
Scroll.
Again.
Again.
Articles. Press releases. Business profiles.
Charity donations. Red carpet appearances. Annual events with high society bloodsuckers and billionaires. Interviews where he spoke in calm, charming tones about entrepreneurship and giving back to society. A man of vision. A man of discipline. A fucking saint, according to the internet.
But I wasn't reading the words.
I was reading between them.
None of this was real. It was a mask - curated to perfection. He wanted the world to see him a certain way, but he couldn't fool me. Not after what he whispered into my neck. Not after what he did to my body with his hands, his mouth, his words.
He was far more than what the world thought of him.
Far more dangerous.
And I wanted to know everything.
I was mid-scroll when a knock disrupted the silence. A soft, practiced rhythm. The kind that said servant, not stranger.
"Come in," I said, barely looking up.
The maid entered, balancing a silver tray with robotic precision. On it - a steaming black coffee, a glass of water, and those white pills. My pills. The ones no one had ever explained. The ones that made me question everything.
She placed it on the table gently, then stood there... waiting.
I looked up at her.
She lowered her eyes before saying, "Mr. Ramaswamy is asking for you, Miss."
My heart stuttered. "This early? He's awake?"
"Yes, ma'am. He's in the garden."
Of course he is.
With the lilies.
She left without another word.
I glanced back at the tray. The water. The pills.
White. Round. Harmless in appearance. But the root of all the wrongs in my life. Every time I looked at them, I felt like a stranger in my own story.
I needed to get answers - from him, from my father, from whoever thought they could gaslight me into compliance.
But not now. Not yet.
For now, I had to play the obedient daughter.
I threw on a sky-blue oversized tee and white joggers - a lazy choice, but soft enough to mask the storm underneath. My bare feet padded down the hall. No sound. No rebellion.
I stepped out into the garden.
He stood by the flowerbeds, his back to me, his posture regal and brooding - like always. The sun outlined his silhouette in soft gold, and I could already smell the lilies. Avantika's lilies. Her favorite.
My feet slowed on instinct.
"Appa," I called out, walking toward him.
He didn't turn immediately. Just continued staring at the flowers.
When he finally looked at me, his eyes settled on my face for two seconds too long. "You didn't sleep."
The breath I'd been holding caught in my throat. How?
"Why do you say that?" I asked, voice sharper than I intended.
"You look tired."
I exhaled. Relief trickled in.
But it lasted all of five seconds.
"Where were you last night?" he asked.
My blood turned to ice.
'Just riding your business partner's fingers, Daddy.' - That's what I didn't say.
Instead, I lied. The kind of lie that tasted bitter before it even left my tongue.
"I was at a club."
His head turned sharply. "Club?"
His tone held surprise... and something else. Suspicion.
"Yes," I said, arms folded, spine straight. I had to double down.
"You were out the whole night?"
"Not really. I was leaving when I ran into a classmate from college. She was drunk. No ride. I couldn't leave her there with a bunch of vultures, could I?"
His expression didn't change. "So now you do social work too? Interesting. You never mentioned that hobby before, Anvitha."
My smile was tight. Fuck.
He wasn't convinced.
And I couldn't afford an argument. If he got more suspicious, he'd assign me extra guards, restrict my movements, or worse - revoke my access to Raven. And I wasn't done being wild. Not yet.
"I won't do it again," I said quickly, offering the olive branch he needed to hear.
He stared at me for a moment before speaking, voice low and final. "You should think about your safety first. Other people aren't your responsibility."
I nodded.
But inside?
I was screaming.
I nodded. Not because I agreed. But because it was the easiest way to end the conversation.
But my father didn't turn away this time. He kept looking at me, the edges of his face softening under the morning light. And when Devraj Ramaswamy let softness show, it wasn't a casual thing. It meant something was coming.
"You used to cry, you know," he said suddenly.
I blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"When we started your training," he continued, voice low with memory. "Self-defense. Fitness. You were nineteen. You cried every day for a week."
"I did not," I said quickly, almost on instinct.
His smile was amused. "Yes, you did. Not in front of anyone. You'd go to your room, lock the door, and cry into your pillow. But every morning, you showed up again."
My chest tightened. "Why are you bringing that up now?"
He exhaled, eyes drifting to the lilies. "Because that girl... the one who fought through every bruise and ache to get stronger... she had a reason. A fire. I see glimpses of her now, but it's buried. And I wonder what's putting it out."
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
Because the truth was... he was.
Ryan Raichand was the gasoline, but my father was the spark. This world they both ruled with silence and secrets - that was the smoke choking my lungs.
"You're strong," he said after a pause. "But strength without direction becomes recklessness."
"Or freedom," I whispered.
His jaw tightened. "Freedom doesn't mean foolishness, Anvitha. You're being watched-"
"By who?" I snapped before I could stop myself. "By you? Your guards? The whole damn world?"
He said nothing.
The silence was answer enough.
"Is that why you made me take those pills?" I added, voice sharp, trying to watch his reaction.
But he didn't flinch.
He didn't blink.
Instead, he placed a hand gently on my shoulder. "Let's not ruin the morning. Come."
"Where?"
"To the back patio. Breakfast will be served soon, and I want to talk to you about the foundation project we're launching next month. You'll be representing us."
Of course.
I swallowed the bitter taste rising in my throat and followed him.
The world called it grooming.
He called it preparation.
And somewhere between those two words, I was losing myself.
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Thank you so much for reading the chapter and giving your precious time to it , hope it feel worth it.
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_Kell_
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