Author's POV

Saaisha stood rooted in place, her legs heavy, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

The dim light of the torture room flickered against her pale face, but inside her mind, there was no light, only fire and shadow.

Voices. So many voices. Her thoughts collided, ripped apart, and stitched themselves again, leaving her on the edge of madness.

“He’s already accepted death,” one voice whispered, soft, coaxing.

“He took poison. He will die. Why stain your hands? Why dirty your soul?”

Her throat bobbed, the softness almost tempting her. But then another voice cut through, harsh and raw like claws scratching against her ribs.

“Die? Yes. But by his choice. An easy death, a coward’s death. Do you want to give him that satisfaction? Do you want him to decide how his ends, when it should be you?”

Her lips trembled. Her nails dug into her palm until blood rose beneath them.

Another voice, quieter, guilt-ridden, tried to sway her.

“But he said sorry. He admitted he was guilty. Maybe… maybe that’s enough?”

And then her rage screamed, so loud she felt it in her bones.

“Sorry? You think sorry matters? If he truly felt guilt, would he have called you a prostitute? Would he have excused himself with drunkenness? He remembered your face. He remembered what he did. Drunk or not, he fucking knew what he was doing that night. Sorry is not guilt. Sorry is survival.”

Her breath caught, shoulders shaking with the weight of her fury.

Another whisper, sly and venomous, slithered in.

“It won’t matter. He’ll die anyway. Whether by your hands or poison, it’s the same. What difference will you make?”

Her jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

“Difference? It will change everything!” the darker voice roared back.

“From now on, when you remember him, you won’t only recall your screams, you’ll remember his. His pleading. His flesh torn, his body broken. Every scar on your back will carry the memory of what happened to him. You’ll have proof.
Proof that monsters bleed too. That they don’t always walk away laughing. That pain doesn’t always end with you.”

Her knees weakened, but she refused to fall.

“But… let karma decide”

one timid voice in her mind whispered, almost pleading.

And then came the coldest voice of all --- the one that silenced everything else. The one that felt like truth.

“Karma,” it spat.

“You’re thinking of karma? Tell me... where was karma when he pinned you down?
Where was karma when your cries were swallowed by the dark?
Where is karma when women bleed in police stations, when they’re torn apart in courtrooms, when society points fingers at them instead of the culprits?
Karma does nothing.
Karma is a lullaby people sing to make peace with injustice.
You’ve seen it, Saaisha.
The victim always burns.
The monster always breathes.”

Her chest rose and fell violently. Her nails cut deeper into her palms.

“If you wait for karma, nothing will change. Today it was you. Tomorrow it will be another girl. Another scream in the night. Another body left broken.
Do you want that? To watch, to wait, to pray for karma while more lives are destroyed?
Or do you want to end it now with your own hands?”

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her vision blurred. For a moment she thought she might collapse.

But then.. she felt it. Shaurya’s presence. Silent. Steady. He hadn’t said a word, but she could feel his gaze on her like fire and ice, a weight pressing on her chest.

He wasn’t going to help her, wasn’t going to guide her.
No. This was her choice. Her trial.

The voices inside her clawed, screamed, demanded. Her body shook under the weight of it.

And for the first time, she realized, this was not about him. Not about Steve. Not even about punishment.

This was about her.

Would she walk out carrying pain alone?

Or would she carve her rage into his flesh, so that her scars were not the only ones left behind?

The storm in her head raged louder, and the world waited for her decision.

Saaisha’s gaze flickered between Shaurya and Ryan.

Her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, but her eyes... God, her eyes were burning with something neither of them had seen before. Determination. Fire. Revenge that had finally found its voice.

“I have decided,” she said, her voice low but firm, each word cutting through the suffocating silence of the room.

“I know what I want.”

For the briefest second, Shaurya’s lips curved, an almost-smile threatening to break free but he controlled it, knowing this wasn’t the time.

Ryan, on the other hand, just watched her with that unreadable face of his, no smirk, no mockery only an icy stillness.

He raised a finger lazily toward the three objects laid before her.

“Which one?” His voice was deceptively casual, but it reverberated in the room like a challenge.

Without hesitation, Saaisha’s trembling hand stretched forward. She picked up the gun. The cold weight of it pressed into her palm, heavy, final.

Shaurya’s eyes softened as he gave a small, approving nod.

“If that’s what you want,” he said, his tone steady but his chest tightening with something deeper... pride, fear, awe, he couldn’t tell.

Ryan extended his hand, expecting her to give it to him. But in the next second, Saaisha shoved the gun aside with force. Her voice rang out, steady as steel:

“No. Not the gun. I want… both of these.”

Her finger pointed straight at the poison and the knife.

Even Shaurya was taken aback, his brows knitting slightly in surprise.

Ryan’s eyes, however, flickered something dangerous passed through them. Amusement? Shock? Or was it pride at the savagery gleaming in her soul? Whatever it was, for once, even Shaitaan had no words.

“Okay,” Ryan finally said, reaching to pick them up. But before his fingers could touch the poison packet, Saaisha’s voice cut him down.

“Not like this.”

Saaisha’s mind echoed with the words she had heard that day, the ones that had been spat out casually as if they were enough to erase the crime.

“I was drunk.”

Her jaw tightened, and her fingers curled into fists. Those three words had been his shield, his escape, his excuse for tearing her soul apart.

And now, staring at him trembling before her, she knew exactly how he should meet his end.

She turned slowly to Shaurya and Ryan, her eyes glinting like shards of broken glass.

“Let him die being drunk,” she said, her voice low, deadly calm.

“Let his excuse… become his last wish. His last meal. His last breath.”

Shaurya’s brows furrowed, a flicker of surprise and something darker crossing his face.

Ryan tilted his head, his lips twitching with a ghost of amusement, as though savoring the cruelty behind her words.

Saaisha moved forward, her hand gesturing at the table. “Bring alcohol.”

The men in the shadows hesitated for only a moment before scurrying away. Within minutes, ten bottles were lined up before her, their glass glistening under the dim light.

She picked up the poison and, with hands that didn’t tremble, poured it into each bottle one by one. The liquid swirled and disappeared, as if the darkness itself had been sealed within.

She straightened, her voice slicing through the room.

“First we will burn him alive with red chili and lemon water. Let his skin scream. Let him beg for relief.”

Her eyes fell on the bottles, then back at Steve, who was trembling harder with every passing second.

“And when his throat burns with fire, he will reach for this. His alcohol. His excuse. Only this time, it will not free him. It will finish him.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Even Shaurya, the man who had painted the world in blood before, was momentarily shaken by the cold precision in her tone.

Ryan’s eyes glittered, unreadable, but the curve at the corner of his lips spoke volumes---approval, pride, and perhaps a hint of admiration.

Saaisha didn’t look at them again. Her gaze stayed fixed on Steve, her voice trembling with neither fear nor hesitation, but with the weight of justice.

“He said he was drunk. Fine. Let drunkenness be the last taste on his tongue. Let it be the fire that rots him from inside out. Let it be the excuse he chokes on until death rips it away.”

Steve’s breath hitched, horror painting his face as realization struck. He wasn’t facing a victim anymore. He was staring into the eyes of his executioner.

Siya sat quietly on the chair, her gaze never leaving Saaisha. A faint smile touched her lips as she whispered, almost to herself,

“That’s like my Ishu… I’m proud of you.”

Veer leaned closer, concern flickering in his eyes.
“What happened? Is it paining?”

She shook her head gently, her smile widening.

“No… just feeling happy seeing her like this. I told you, she’s stronger than she looks.”

Veer’s lips curved, his voice low and teasing.

“Yes, butterfly… but I don’t remember you ever mentioning she was this cruel.”

Siya let out a soft laugh, the kind only Veer could draw out of her.

“Honestly, I was shocked too at first. But come on… this is Kaala Darbar. Mercy has no place here.”

Veer chuckled, his gaze drifting back to the scene before them.

“Still… it’s the first time I’m seeing someone whose punishments are as cruel as Shaitaan’s.”

Siya smirked, nodding knowingly.

“I know, right? Ryan must be secretly proud. I wonder if he and Ishu were siblings in another universe.”

Her words lingered in the air, and for a moment, silence filled the hall again. Only the sound of ragged breaths fading into nothing, echoed from the center.

Steve lay sprawled on the cold floor, his body drenched in blood, his skin raw and burning, his throat poisoned with the alcohol he once used as an excuse. Around him, the shattered bottles stood like a mockery of his final words.

Justice... brutal, merciless, and absolute had been delivered.

And this time, it wasn’t Shaurya, or Ryan, or Veer or even Siya who dealt the final blow.

It was Saaisha.

The survivor had risen.

The executioner had been born.

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