The Surgeon's Mark

Blood never disturbed him.

It fascinated him.

The steady rhythm of a heartbeat, the pulse beneath fragile skin, the way a scalpel could open secrets and silence pain - Dr. Karan Malhotra lived for precision, for control.

But tonight wasn't about the operating table.

Tonight was about her.

He sat in the shadows of his luxury apartment, scrolling through the surveillance photos on his tablet. Every image was of her - Aira.

It started weeks ago - an accidental glance through a hospital window. She had been outside, drenched in rain, arguing with a man over a prescription slip. He hadn't even known her name then.

But something about her eyes - wild, cornered, proud - had held him longer than he cared to admit.

He had her name now.

He had everything. - school records, family records, employment history, a few blurry photos from the surveillance at the cafe.

Laughing behind the cafe counter. Crying in the stairwell of the university library. Bargaining with a pharmacist over her mother's medicine.

He watched her live a life she couldn't afford.

Yet she never asked for help.

He admired that.

But admiration wasn't why he chose her.

He needed something rare. Something real. Someone who wouldn't fall easily.

Aira was perfect.

He tapped the edge of the tablet once.

That night, he'd sent the message.

"You need money. I need someone who won't ask questions. One night. In and out".

A lie. It was never going to be just one night.

He could already picture the look on her face when she'd read it.

Confusion. Fear. Hope.

And finally... surrender.

He smiled, cold and calculated.

Let the game begin.

🥀🥀🥀

The soft clink of glass and distant murmurs of the gala below echoed through the open window of his study. But Dr. Karan Malhotra wasn't paying attention. Not to the party, not to the people celebrating his latest surgical triumph. He wasn't thinking about champagne toasts or congratulatory handshakes.

His mind was elsewhere.

His fingers traced the edges of the sleek black folder resting on his mahogany desk. Inside it: her name, her photograph, her life... laid bare before him.

Aira Sharma. Twenty-two. Final-year university student. Part-time barista. Alone. Desperate. Perfect.

She had shown up, scared but proud, fragile but defiant.

That night, when she stepped into his penthouse - wearing a cute white dress which barely covered her knees, her dark hairs tied in a ponytail while some strands of her hair still hanging on her face giving it a messy but beautiful look but along with her beauty she also borrowed courage and a trembling heartbeat - he knew he wouldn't let her go.

There was no clause protecting her from him.

She was his. Every inch. Every breath.

And he was going to ruin her.

He took a slow sip of scotch and looked out over the glittering skyline. Somewhere down there, Aira was packing what little she owned, unaware of how much she'd already given up.

She had no idea what she'd signed up for.

But she would.

Glimpse of Karan's Apartment

Author :- Please vote and drop ❤️ in the comments if you liked this chapter, also i'll update the next chapter tomorrow.