The Girl in Crimson Rain

It hadn't rained in Mumbai for weeks.

But tonight, the sky opened with vengeance.

The crimson lehenga dragged behind her, soaked in a cocktail of blood and rainwater as she ran barefoot through the quiet lanes of Altamount Road—the wealthiest stretch in the country, now silent at 3:47 a.m.

Aaradhya Mehra didn't look back. She couldn't. If she did, she'd remember the sound of the gunshot. The splatter. The hollow echo of her name being called one last time.

She clutched the stolen phone tighter against her chest, its cracked screen blinking with the last coordinates her brother had sent—"R.R. House. Go now. He owes me."

A black SUV tore around the corner behind her.

She ducked into the alley beside the old Raichand Mansion and bolted through the rusted gate. Her lungs burned. Her vision blurred. The rain felt like punishment.

The second gunshot whizzed past her and shattered the antique glass of a streetlamp ahead.

She didn't scream. Not because she wasn't scared—but because silence had always been her armor.

---

Meanwhile, 3 kilometers away...

Ruhan Rathore sat alone in the music room of the Rathore estate.

The grand piano sat untouched, its polished surface reflecting the violet haze of the city lights outside. His glass of Glenfiddich sat full. Untouched. Like him—impeccably groomed, meticulously planned, and emotionally detached.

Tonight should've been ordinary. But something about the rain unsettled him.

A knock at the gate snapped his attention.

Three short buzzes. A pause. One long.

Old code.

He was already up before his brain could finish decoding it.

"Sir," came Iqbal's voice, breathless in his earpiece. "There's a girl… at the gates. She's bleeding. Says your name."

Ruhan's heart didn't race.

But he paused. That alone was rare.

---

Outside the Rathore Estate Gates

Aaradhya dropped to her knees as the iron gates groaned open.

Her vision was fading. But even in the haze, she recognized the silhouette.

Ruhan Rathore.

The man from the newspaper clippings her brother had obsessively collected. The ghost of Mumbai's elite. The enforcer no one saw—only heard about in whispers.

Tall, lean, dressed in black—he didn't look like a man who owed anyone anything.

But her brother's last words were clear: "He owes me. He'll protect you."

The last thing she saw before collapsing was a flash of worry in Ruhan Rathore's cold eyes.

---

Twenty Minutes Later

Aaradhya awoke in a room that smelled of sandalwood and antiseptic.

She blinked at the ornate ceiling and the chandelier above her head—old, regal, expensive.

She tried to sit up but winced.

"You're not dead," a voice said coolly.

She turned. He was standing by the window, backlit by gold curtains, a glass still untouched in his hand.

"Ruhan…" she whispered.

"You know my name." It wasn't a question.

She nodded. "My brother... Arnav. He said you'd help."

The name struck him like a blade dipped in old memories. He looked at her, really looked at her.

Same eyes.

Same look of misplaced trust.

"You're Arnav Mehra's sister?" His voice changed. Sharper. Tighter.

"I was."

Silence.

It rained harder outside.

---

Flashback: Six Years Ago – Banaras

Ruhan remembered the boy. Arnav Mehra. Brilliant hacker. Quiet rebel. The only civilian who ever broke into a Rathore database and walked away with a warning instead of a bullet.

Because Arnav had done more than steal files—he'd saved Ruhan's life.

Once.

"I owe you," Ruhan had said, handing him an old coin. "Use this when you're out of options."

It had never been returned.

Until tonight.

---

Present

Aaradhya handed him the bloodied coin from her palm.

It was still warm. From her hand or her blood, he couldn't tell.

"My brother is dead. And I'm next," she said simply.

"Who?" Ruhan asked.

She looked straight into his eyes. "Your enemies."

He didn't flinch.

But his next words were not what she expected.

"If you stay here, you won't leave until I decide."

She stared at him, confusion flashing. "I'm not asking for—"

"I don't care," he interrupted. "You've activated a debt. That makes you mine now."

Aaradhya's lips parted to protest, but then closed. She'd seen worse prisons.

And maybe—just maybe—this one would lead her to answers.

---

Elsewhere That Night

A black-suited man stepped out of the SUV that had chased her earlier. He knelt in the alley where Aaradhya had fallen and touched the still-wet blood.

"She's in Rathore territory," he said into his phone.

"Let her be for now," a voice replied coldly. "Let's see how far she gets… in the devil's den."