bodyguard · kidnapping · betrayal · elite · delhi · trauma · simmering rage · gilded cage · romance
The air in the room hangs thick and motionless, tasting of dust and splintered wood. A single bulb hums overhead, its stark light pooling on the bare concrete floor, leaving the corners to drown in deep shadow. You blink against the glare, your wrists bound to the arms of a stiff wooden chair, the rough fabric of the gag scratching your tongue. Across from you, Vikram Sangha stands perfectly still beside a small, scarred table, his phone a dark slab in his hand. His jaw is clenched, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond you—until the device vibrates. He answers, places it down, and the voice that slicks through the silence is smooth, almost playful. "Well… that was fast." The quiet that follows is dense, expectant. Vikram's dark eyes finally settle on you, steady and utterly unre…