The man begged for his life three times before Sia finally looked at him.

Not because she cared.

Because she liked hearing fear unravel people.

Rain hammered against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the private lounge while soft jazz music played in the background, absurdly elegant for what was about to happen. The city glittered beneath them seventy floors below, unaware that another powerful man was moments away from disappearing forever.

Raghav Bedi shook violently where he sat tied to the chair.

A billionaire.
A politician’s favorite investor.
A man untouchable for decades.

Now crying.

Sia leaned against the marble counter slowly swirling wine inside her glass while blood dripped steadily from the knife resting beside her hand.

Beautiful.

Pathetic.

Her black silk dress hugged her body like darkness stitched into fabric itself. Diamonds glittered at her throat, cold and sharp like her smile.

“You know,” she murmured softly,
“men become very honest before dying.”

“Please…” Raghav sobbed. “I gave you the files—”

“And seven years ago,” she interrupted quietly,
“you gave them my father.”

Silence.

Thunder cracked outside.

Raghav’s face drained of color.

He realized too late.

This was never business.

This was revenge.

Sia walked toward him slowly.

Her heels echoed across the room like a countdown.

One.

Two.

Three.

She crouched before him until their faces were inches apart.

“You watched them destroy my family,” she whispered.

Tears streamed down his face immediately.

“I was scared—”

“So was I.”

Something unstable flickered across her expression then.

Not sadness.

Something worse.

Memory.

A flash.

Rain.
Blood.
Someone screaming her name.
Silver rings stained crimson.

Sia blinked hard.

The vision vanished instantly.

Her breathing turned uneven.

No.

Not now.

Not again.

Raghav noticed the shift immediately.

“You’re sick,” he whispered shakily.

And suddenly—

Sia laughed.

Not normally.

Wildly.

Like something cracked open inside her mind.

“Do you know what’s funny?” she asked softly.
“Everyone says that.”

She stood abruptly and walked toward the massive mirror near the bar.

For a moment—

she froze.

The woman staring back at her didn’t feel real.

Too sharp.
Too hollow.
Eyes too dark.

Sometimes Sia genuinely feared mirrors.

Because occasionally—

for one terrible second—

her reflection smiled before she did.

A sharp ache exploded behind her eyes suddenly.

Another flash.

A knife.

Her own trembling hands.

Blood running down masculine skin.

S.

The letter carved into flesh.

Sia stumbled backward breathing hard.

“No…” she whispered.

Raghav stared at her in horror now.

“What are you?”

The room fell silent.

Slowly—

Sia turned toward him.

Then smiled beautifully.

“I don’t know anymore.”

And somehow—

that terrified him more than the knife.

She walked back toward him calmly.

Controlled again.

Elegant again.

Like madness had simply tucked itself beneath her skin for a moment.

“You funded the men who ruined my life,” she said quietly.

Raghav shook violently.

“I’ll give you money—”

“I already took your company.”

“I’ll disappear—”

“I already erased your accounts.”

“Please—”

“And tonight,” she whispered near his ear,
“I erase you.”

She carved swirling patterns on his skin as if creating art on mortal canvas, blood , warm and red, so red; her favourite colour, dripped from her fingers as she hummed her favourite song -

"Hmmm...Main jo jee rahi hu, wajah tum ho ...Hmmm...."

His screams creating a haunting background melody to her song.

Then she slid the knife slowly into his throat, the screams stopped abruptly.

A fountain of warm blood spilled across her hand instantly.

Raghav choked violently.

Sia watched without blinking.

Not angry.

Not emotional.

Only fascinated.

Like she was studying death instead of creating it.

His body collapsed minutes later.

The jazz music continued playing softly.

Sia stared at the corpse in silence before pulling her phone from her purse.

One message waited.

Unknown Number.

No text.

Only a photograph.

Her stomach tightened instantly.

It was taken tonight.

From inside this room.

The image showed her standing over Raghav’s body moments ago—

blood on her hands.

Below the image were only four words:

You’re remembering faster now.

The air left her lungs.

No.

No no no—

She spun around violently.

Empty room.

Rain.

Thunder.

Dead body.

Nobody there.

But suddenly—

she no longer felt alone.

And somewhere far across the city, hidden behind dark glass and shadows—

Aarav Vashisht watched her through the surveillance feed with terrifying calm.

His thumb brushed unconsciously against the scar hidden beneath his shirt.

The scar carrying her initials.

Still carved into his skin after seven years.