The heavy, quiet purr of the engine was the only sound slicing through the car. The silence between us stretched out, heavy and suffocating, until the sheer weight of it became too irritating to ignore. I finally chose to break it, my voice cutting through the dark with a flat, hard edge. "Where do you want me to drop you?"

She didn't look at me. Her pale fingers fiddled frantically with the fraying strap of her worn duffel bag. When she spoke, her voice was barely a fractured whisper against the glass. "I don't know."

I raised an incredulous eyebrow, the residual anger from my disastrous evening sharpening my words into weapons. "You don't know where you're going, but you are wandering a desolate highway with a bag at half-past two in the morning? Do you even realize how reckless that is?"

The harshness of my tone hit harder than intended. She flinched violently, shrinking back into the black leather seat like a fragile bird trying to escape a trap. The raw terror vibrating off her didn't satisfy me—it caused a sudden, sharp knot of discomfort to tighten deep in my chest.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, forcing a ragged breath through my teeth to re-anchor my composure. "Ms., have you even thought about your next steps?"

She shook her head, her wide, guileless eyes finally lifting to stare at me through the amber glow of the dashboard lights. I rubbed my temples in frustration. My brain was actively short-circuiting, looking for some kind of sense in a situation that had absolutely none. "What is your name?"

"Deepti Sharma," she whispered, her gaze immediately dropping back to the floorboards.

I nodded slowly, letting the name roll through my mind. It didn't trigger any immediate recognition, but a bizarre, fleeting ghost of familiarity brushed against my consciousness. Deepti. It felt heavy. "Are you new in the city?"

She hesitated, her knuckles turning white around the fabric of her strap, before she gave a small, quiet nod.

I didn't miss the violent tremble in her hands. Despite every cynical defense mechanism roaring at me to lock the doors and drive away, a crack formed in my armor. Raw empathy bypassed my logic. Stop this nonsense, I commanded myself, my grip tightening on the leather-wrapped steering wheel until it bruised my palms. Compassion is a weakness. You cannot afford it. Not in my world.

"Sir... can I get a job?" Her voice was small but remarkably steady now, laced with a quiet, earnest desperation that forced me to glance her way again.

༺═────────────═༻ 

My fingers clenched into the fabric of my duffle bag as I waited for his response, my lungs tight. I didn't know why, but a quiet voice deep inside me whispered that this man could save me. That maybe, just maybe, my life didn't have to end in the heavy chains I had barely managed to break tonight.

I swallowed hard, desperately pushing back the suffocating memories of Sahab's cruel laughter, Amma's transactional betrayal, and Tara's frantic, crying pleas for me to run. I had left. I had run. And now... now I had to survive.

But I couldn't tell him the truth. I couldn't let this powerful stranger know that I had just escaped a brothel, that my own mother had tried to sell my body, or that a monster was hunting me through the night. No one would help a girl like me if they knew where I came from.

People in the outside world didn't help girls like me.

His gaze flickered toward me briefly before returning to the dark road ahead. "What are your qualifications?"

"I graduated in Arts," I answered quietly.

I carefully omitted the agonizing truth behind that sentence—that my education had been bought with Tara's blood, sweat, and tears. I didn't tell him that my textbooks had to be hidden under a pile of old clothes so Amma wouldn't find them and burn them to ashes.

He remained silent for a long moment, and I held my breath, terrified of the rejection. Then, he gave a short nod. "Alright. My company has administrative departments that handle basic data entry. I will find a placement for you."

A wave of pure relief washed over me so fast that my eyes stung with unshed tears. I had a chance. A real, honest chance.

"Sir, thank you. I don't even know how to—" I whispered, meaning every single syllable.

Before I could finish, he cut me off, his tone steady but completely distant. "You can stay in my penthouse for the time being. Consider it a temporary arrangement until you find your footing and secure your own accommodation."

He said it so casually, as if offering shelter to a stray girl in the dead of night was no different than signing a basic paper. I turned my head toward the cold window pane, letting a single tear slip down my cheek. 

Krishna ji... is this really the new beginning I prayed for?

I had no idea who this man was, but for now, the details didn't matter. All I needed was this one lifeline. And I would do absolutely anything to hold onto it.

༺═────────────═༻

The car slowed to a smooth, effortless halt, and I glanced up, my breath catching tightly in my throat. Massive iron gates loomed ahead in the dark, guarded by men dressed in rigid black uniforms. Their sharp, imposing figures felt heavy with authority, and even though they weren't looking directly at me, their presence made me feel completely exposed.

The man beside me barely spared them a glance. The gates parted soundlessly as he approached, and he drove right through. He belonged here. This effortless security was his normal world. And I? I felt like a ghost, an uninvited trespasser with no right to cross this threshold.

The car rolled down a wide, sweeping driveway, and the sight ahead caused my stomach to twist into a tight knot of awe and anxiety. It wasn't just a house. It was a soaring tower of glass and stone, bathed in warm, golden light that made the structure look impossibly grand. Every single inch of the property radiated immense wealth and absolute power—concepts I had only ever read about in discarded magazines.

I glanced over at him. He didn't look impressed by the luxury around him. To him, it was just another building, a background to a life he seemed entirely detached from.

He killed the engine, the sudden silence in the car ringing in my ears, and stepped out into the night. I hesitated for a fraction of a second before pushing my door open, my fingers clamping down on my duffel bag again. It was the only familiar thing I had left to ground me.

The night air was cool, but my chest felt suffocated as I hurried to keep up with his long, effortless strides. He didn't look back to see if I was following. I moved on pure survival instinct, trailing him through the massive double doors and stepping into a reality I never imagined I would touch.

The interior was overwhelming. High, cavernous ceilings stretched overhead, polished marble floors mirrored the amber light, and chandeliers sparkled like a thousand stars clustered together. It was beautiful, but it didn't comfort me. It made me feel incredibly, terrifyingly small.

Everything about this place was the exact opposite of the world I had escaped. I had spent my entire life in cramped, suffocating rooms where the peeling walls always felt like they were closing in on us. But here, despite the massive, open space, a different kind of tightness squeezed my chest—the suffocating weight of uncertainty.

His long strides forced me into a quick, uneven walk just to stay behind him. Near the base of a grand staircase, he finally came to a halt and turned around. His sharp, piercing eyes swept over me for a quiet second, measuring my exhaustion before he spoke in that same indifferent voice.

"You'll stay here until you find your own place."

I nodded quickly, terrified that if I spoke or hesitated, the illusion would shatter and he would change his mind. "Thank you, sir."

He let out a short sigh, rubbing his temple with two fingers as if the weight of my gratitude genuinely exhausted him. "Stop thanking me."

I instantly pressed my lips together, forcing the remaining words back down.

A woman in a crisp, spotless uniform approached us, bowing her head slightly toward him. "Sir, should I prepare the guest room?"

He gave a brief nod, his eyes flicking to me one last time. "Follow her. She'll show you where you'll be staying."

I clutched my duffel bag against my chest and nodded. My legs felt entirely unsteady, trembling like water as I followed the woman up the sweeping staircase. I had no idea what sunrise would bring, but as I looked down at the marble floor below, one thought anchored me.

For the very first time in my twenty-two years, I was standing in a place where my past didn't follow me. And I was going to fight with everything I had to keep it that way.

༺═────────────═༻

Deepti followed the woman up the grand staircase, her worn canvas shoes making absolutely no sound against the polished marble steps. The penthouse was dead quiet, yet it carried a heavy, unspoken weight—as if the towering walls themselves held decades of secrets. She clutched the strap of her duffel bag a little tighter against her ribs, feeling completely out of place in this lavish, glittering world.

When they reached the wide upper corridor, the woman turned around. She possessed a gentle yet firm presence, the kind that spoke of deep experience and quiet authority. For a brief second, her sharp, observant eyes softened as they took in Deepti's trembling form.

"I'm Rosie," she introduced herself, her voice striking a perfect balance between warmth and professionalism. "I've been working here for the past ten years. The Rathore family trusts me completely."

Deepti nodded quietly, absorbing the information. Loyal and trusted. This woman wasn't just a regular employee; she was an anchor in this massive household.

Rosie offered a knowing smile, easily sensing the raw nervousness radiating off the young girl. "The man who brought you here tonight... You know who he is, don't you?"

Deepti hesitated, a small shadow of anxiety crossing her face before she shook her head. She didn't even know his full name.

Rosie chuckled softly, folding her hands neatly in front of her crisp uniform. "Aaransh Singh Rathore."

The name sent a sudden, icy shiver straight down Deepti's spine. Rathore. She had heard that name before, whispered in passing on television screens and old newspapers. Her eyes widened in quiet shock as Rosie continued.

"He's one of the top business tycoons in the country. Ruthless in the corporate world, incredibly sharp-minded, and a man of very few words." Rosie glanced at her, a hint of genuine curiosity lingering in her gaze. "You're remarkably lucky he stopped for you tonight, beta. He isn't the type to entertain strangers. Ever."

Deepti stood stunned, her mind racing. She had obviously assumed he was wealthy—the Maybach, the heavily guarded iron gates, and the palace of glass all pointed to it, but this was entirely different. A man so powerful, so utterly untouchable... and yet, he had pulled over on a dark highway to help her without even knowing her story.

A sudden, overwhelming wave of gratitude swelled in her chest, nearly choking her. Why did he help me? What made a man like that step on the brakes?

Rosie motioned toward a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall, pushing it open with an effortless glide. "This is one of the guest rooms. You can rest here for the night."

Deepti stepped inside, her breath catching instantly. The space was larger than any place she had ever called home. A plush, king-sized bed sat in the center, flanked by a pristine seating area and a dark wood walk-in closet. Everything was elegant yet understated, entirely devoid of the gaudy, cheap decor of her past. The soft, amber glow of a bedside lamp bathed the room in a gentle warmth, making the entire scene feel like a fragile dream.

"If you need anything, just ring the service bell," Rosie said kindly, stepping back toward the threshold. "For now, just get some rest."

Deepti turned to her, her heart swelling with an emotion so thick it made her throat ache. "Thank you, Rosie Aunty."

The older woman stepped forward and patted her shoulder with a comforting, motherly touch. "Rest now, dear. Tomorrow will bring new beginnings."

As Rosie stepped out and clicked the door softly shut, Deepti let out a long, shuddering exhale she felt she'd been holding since she escaped the back door of the brothel. Her knees buckled slightly from pure exhaustion as she sank onto the edge of the impossibly soft mattress. Her body was completely spent, but her mind refused to slow down.

Aaransh Singh Rathore.

He had absolutely no logical reason to save her, yet he did. Deepti stared out the large glass window at the distant Mumbai skyline, knowing that whatever fate had in store for her tomorrow, this single night had rewritten her life forever.

༺═────────────═༻

The morning sun had barely broken over the horizon when Malika Jaan stormed toward Deepti's room, her silk dupatta clutched tightly in her fists. A smug, twisted smile played on her lips. She was eager to break Deepti further today, to remind the girl that any form of resistance was entirely futile.

But the moment she pushed open the heavy wooden door, her world tilted.

The room was completely empty. The bed sat untouched, its sheets crisp and cold. There was absolutely no sign of Deepti anywhere.

Malika's breath caught sharply in her throat, her heartbeat pounding erratically against her ribs as she stepped inside, scanning every corner in sheer disbelief. No. This cannot be happening. She lunged forward and flung open the wardrobe, yanking the heavy doors back so hard that the hinges groaned. Empty. Deepti's modest clothes and her few personal belongings were entirely gone.

Cold panic seized Malika Jaan's chest, her fingers trembling violently as the sickening realization finally dawned upon her. Deepti had run away.

A guttural, animalistic growl escaped her throat. "NAHIII!"

With a deafening crash, she overturned the wooden dressing table in a blind rage, sending bottles of sindoor and containers of dark kohl smashing onto the floor. Her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps as she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, her mind instantly fixing on a single name.

Tara.

Without a moment of hesitation, she kicked open the door to Tara's room. The girl was still fast asleep, curled tightly in the corner of an old mattress, her face remarkably peaceful despite the horrors that filled the house.

Malika's eyes blazed with a murderous fury. Grabbing a heavy steel bucket filled with ice-cold water, she threw it directly onto Tara's sleeping form.

Tara gasped violently as the freezing water drenched her skin, her body jerking upright as she began to shiver uncontrollably. "A-Amma?!" she sputtered, desperately trying to blink away the blinding shock.

[M-Mother?!]

But Malika Jaan wasn't there to explain. She grabbed a fistful of Tara's wet hair, yanking her up so hard that Tara bit her lip to stop from crying out in pain. Malika dragged her through the halls like an animal, ignoring her weak struggles, and threw her onto the hard ground of Deepti's now-empty room.

Tara coughed, trying to steady herself on the cold ground, but Malika Jaan's slap landed hard across her face before she could even catch her breath.

"Kamini! Deepti, kaha hai? Bata mujhe!" Malika roared, her voice shaking with uncontrollable rage.

[Bitch! Where is Deepti? Tell me!]

Blood pooled in Tara's mouth from the impact, but she barely noticed. Instead, a small, victorious smile slowly curled onto her bruised lips. Tears mixed with her laughter as she looked up at Malika, a fierce, unbreakable defiance burning brightly in her eyes.

"Azaad ho gayi wo... Aapse aur uss Sahab se!" Tara cried out, her voice trembling yet completely triumphant.

[She has become free... from you and that sahab!]

Malika's rage only grew. She slapped Tara again, this time with enough force to make her head whip to the side. But Tara didn't cower. She only laughed harder, the taste of blood on her tongue feeling sweeter than it ever had.

Malika fisted her hair again, yanking her close, her nails digging into Tara's scalp. "Kidhar hai wo? Bata! Warna tera anjaam accha nahi hoga!" she gritted out through clenched teeth, her fury almost tangible.

[Where is she? Tell me! Otherwise, your outcome will not be good!]

Tara lifted her chin high, her breathing ragged, but her spirit completely unbroken.

"Mujhe nahi pata kaha hai wo..." she spat, meeting Malika's blazing eyes without flinching.

[I don't know where she is...]

"Bas itna janti hoon ki ab wo yaha kabhi mudke nahi aayegi. Jitna aapne meri behan ke saath bura kiya hai... ab wo sabse aazad ho gayi hai."

[All I know is that now she will never return here. Whatever you have done to my sister... now she has freed herself from everything.]

The defiant words struck Malika Jaan like a slap across her own face. She let out an enraged scream before violently shoving Tara away from her.

Malika's desperate eyes darted around the room, hunting for something—anything—that would finally make Tara break. Her gaze landed on the small coal-fired iron press sitting near the doorway, still heated from the morning laundry.

A sinister, bone-chilling smile slowly curved her lips.

Before Tara could react, Malika grabbed the burning-hot iron and pressed it against Tara's delicate wrist.

The sizzle of burning flesh filled the air, followed by a blood-curdling scream as Tara's body convulsed in agony. Tears streamed down her face as the pain seared into her skin, but even as her cries echoed through the halls, she didn't beg. She didn't plead for mercy.

She had already won.

Deepti was free.

༺═────────────═༻

(Few Hours Later)

The heavy, rhythmic sound of footsteps echoed through the hallways, announcing his arrival. The moment Sahab entered the house, the very air seemed to shift, becoming instantly charged and suffocating. Every servant and every girl under Malika Jaan's roof instinctively shrank away into the shadows. Their heads were bowed, and their hands trembled against their clothes. They had witnessed Sahab angry before, but today... Today felt entirely different.

He came to a sudden stop in the center of the main hall, his sharp eyes sweeping over the space like an apex predator scanning a familiar territory for its prey. His jaw tightened. Something was off.

His lips curled in deep displeasure as he turned his gaze to Malika Jaan. She stood stiffly near the base of the staircase, her face pale and unreadable.

"Meri Jaan kaha hai, Malika?" His voice was eerily calm, but the sheer undercurrent of danger in his tone sent chills straight down everyone's spine.

[Where is my Jaan, Malika?]

Malika Jaan hesitated, her fingers desperately gripping the embellished edge of her dupatta. "Woh... woh yahin kahin hogi, Sahab," she muttered, forcing a tight, fragile smile onto her lips. "Main bulaati hoon usse."

[She... she must be around here somewhere, Sahab. I'll call her.]

Sahab's jaw clenched, his patience already thinning to a dangerous edge. "Usse bulwane ki zaroorat nahi hai."

[You don't need to call her.]

Without another word, he strode past her toward Deepti's room. His steps were unhurried but filled with a terrifying sense of purpose. The tension inside the house thickened to a suffocating weight as he reached the door and pushed it open—

Only to find the space empty.

Silence fell over the household like a sudden death sentence.

The room sat untouched, the bed perfectly made. The wardrobe doors stood slightly ajar, revealing nothing but empty shelves. There were no scattered clothes, no signs of a hurried mess. Deepti had planned this with absolute precision. She had run.

For a long, agonizing moment, Sahab didn't move. His hands slowly curled into tight, white-knuckled fists, his chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths as he processed the scene before him. And then, with the sudden sharpness of a blade, his rage exploded.

With one swift, violent motion, he grabbed a glass vase from the bedside table and hurled it directly against the wall. The loud, explosive shatter echoed through every corner of the house like a warning bell.

"MALIKA!"

His roar sent the entire household into a terrified, breathless frenzy.

Malika Jaan flinched violently but hurried forward into the room, her face completely drained of color. "S-Sahab..."

His furious gaze locked onto her, his breathing harsh and uneven. "Yeh sab kab hua?" His voice dropped to a murmur now, but that quietness only made it all the more terrifying.

[When did all this happen?]

Malika Jaan's lips quivered uncontrollably. "S-Sahab, mujhe nahi pata, main toh—"

[S-Sahab, I don't know, I was—]

He stormed toward her in an instant, trapping her jaw in a bruising, iron grip and forcing her to meet his dark, raging eyes. "Jhoot mat bolo, Malika." His voice remained low and controlled, but it seethed with unrestrained fury. "Meri jaan ko bhagne diya tumne?"

[Don't lie, Malika. You let my Jaan run away?]

Malika whimpered in pain, shaking her head frantically against his fingers. "S-Sahab, meri kasam! Main bhi shock mein hoon. Mujhe nahi pata tha ki wo bhaag jayegi!"

[S-Sahab, I swear! I am also in shock. I didn't know she would run away!]

Sahab's grip tightened for a brutal second before he violently shoved her back, making her stumble against the doorframe. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a dark, humorless chuckle.

"Mujhe dhoka diya tumne, Malika," he muttered, his voice dripping with absolute disgust.

[You betrayed me, Malika.]

Malika's mind raced frantically. She knew Sahab was not a man who tolerated failure. If she didn't offer him something immediate to pacify his rage, he had the power to destroy everything she owned.

And then a desperate thought struck her.

Steeling herself, she forced a honeyed, pleading smile onto her face despite the violent tremor in her limbs. "Sahab," she said, her tone turning desperate. "Deepti toh chali gayi... lekin Tara yahin hai."

[Deepti is gone... but Tara is here.]

Sahab's eyes darkened further, but Malika pressed on, blind to the danger.

"Tara, Sahab. Wo aur bhi sundar hai. Aur wo Deepti se jyada accha nachti—"

[Tara, Sahab. She is even more beautiful. And she dances better than Deepti—]

The sharp, echoing sound of a slap rang through the hall.

Malika staggered backward, clutching her burning cheek as a sharp gasp escaped her lips. Her ears rang violently from the impact, the sheer force of the blow knocking her head completely to the side.

Sahab stood before her, his hand slowly lowering back to his side, his expression unreadable but deadly.

"Tumhe lagta hai mujhe koi bhi ladki chahiye, Malika?" His voice was pure venom, filled with sheer contempt. "Mujhe sirf—Deepti chahiye!"

[Do you think I want just any girl, Malika? I want only—Deepti!]

He took a slow, measured step toward her, forcing Malika's back flat against the wall.

Sahab's lips curled into a slow, menacing smirk. "Main Tara nahi chahta. Main sirf Deepti ko chahta hoon." Each word was deliberate, cutting through the silence. "Aur jo cheez meri hai, woh sirf meri hai."

[I don't want Tara. I only want Deepti. And whatever is mine, is mine only.]

His fingers twitched at his side, barely holding back his temper from tearing the room apart. "Main uska malik hoon. Uske jeene ka, uske saans lene ka bhi haq sirf mera hai." His eyes darkened into pitch black, his voice lowering into a deadly whisper. "Aur wo mujhse bhaag nahi sakti."

[I am her owner. Her right to live and even to breathe belongs to me alone. And she cannot run away from me.]

Malika swallowed hard, the absolute finality in his words sending a shiver straight down her spine. She had seen many powerful men obsessed with control in her lifetime. But Sahab? He was far beyond simple obsession.

He wasn't just angry that Deepti had run away. He was enraged that she had possessed the audacity to try.

And Malika Jaan knew, without a single doubt in her mind—Deepti would never truly be free.

Sahab's gaze remained murderous as he turned away, pulling his phone swiftly from his pocket. His fingers moved with practiced efficiency, dialing a private number. The moment the call connected, his voice was clipped and ruthless.

"Mujhe Deepti Sharma chahiye. Jahan bhi ho, dhoondh ke lao."

[I want Deepti Sharma. Wherever she is, find her.]

His jaw tightened as he ended the call, his fingers curling tightly around the device.

Everyone in the house held their breath, knowing that when Sahab fell, this silent, utter destruction always followed. Deepti had run. 

And now, she would learn the hard way that no one—absolutely no one—escaped from him.

༺═────────────═༻

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AUTHOR NOTE🤍:

Hello Shyrahearts... they have finally met! My hands are literally shaking while typing this! 😭

Writing this chapter was such a rollercoaster! I really loved creating the contrast between the quiet safety in Aaransh's car and the absolute chaos of Sahab's fury.

Also, my heart breaks so much for Tara. 💔 She is going through absolute hell right now, but please do not worry! She will escape this dark place soon enough to meet her own Savior. She actually has her own separate book, titled "EKTARA: His Star, Her Savior"!

How was Chapter 5?? Did you like the pacing?? Which part gave you the biggest chills? Do you really think Deepti escaped the clutches of Sahab?

I am thinking of uploading future advanced chapters on Scrollstack as a paid option. But please do not worry! The regular updates will still be posted here on Wattpad, completely free, as soon as our chapter targets are met. I am a student, so I really need to start earning through my hard work. I hope you all understand and keep supporting me! 🥺❤️

Let me know everything in the comments!

Goal for Chapter 6: 80 Votes | 40 Comments

Byee! 

With Love,
Authorshyra 🩷🫶🏻