The first thing Anika noticed was the stench—alcohol, sharp and burning, riding on his breath and clinging to his clothes. She flinched instinctively, her shoulders curling inward, but Vikram's gaze locked on her and didn't move.
His eyes were dark, burning with resentment. "So? In your eyes, I'm just a pervert?" His voice was low, dangerous—a challenge wrapped in venom.
Aadhi's eyes widened in alarm. "Vikram!" he warned sharply, reaching out as if to stop whatever was about to happen. "Stop! Please!"
But Vikram's smirk only deepened. "Let me see what things you have to accuse me of like that." His eyes roamed deliberately, slow and cruel, tracing her from head to toe. When they landed on her chest, a cold, cruel amusement flickered in his eyes.
Anika's fingers twitched. She clutched her shawl tighter across her chest, her knuckles bone-white, and instinctively stepped back—only to feel the cool wood of a door press against her spine.
Vikram's pupils darkened, his expression twisting when he noticed her tightening the shawl. Without thinking—or caring—he closed the distance in two strides and yanked the shawl away from her shoulders.
The air seemed to freeze.
Her breath caught, and she immediately wrapped her arms around herself. Even if her oversized clothes still covered everything, the shawl had always been her shield—her invisible armor. Without it, she felt stripped, exposed. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, humiliation burning hotter than any shame she had known before. Her attempt to hide only seemed to amuse him further.
"You're exposed now," Vikram taunted, voice low and cruel. "What do you have to hide, huh?"
His gaze lingered on her chest, contempt mixed with something far more insidious. "Hmm? What's this? You're still growing? Nothing remarkable. Just as flat as I thought."
His cruel words sliced through the air. Then, turning his gaze to Aadhi, he taunted, "What do you think, Aadhi? Look at your sister's breasts."
Aadhi's blood boiled at the cruel insult. He could barely bear to see Anika like this—her modesty stripped away in front of two men. Even though her chest was barely visible, concealed beneath her clothes, he knew. Since they were thirteen, even their mother hadn't seen her unwrapped like this. And now, here she was—stripped of her shawls, cornered, humiliated—by this man.
His fury exploded like a dam breaking. With a roar, he lunged forward to push Vikram away.
But Vikram was quick. He shoved the door open with a shove, sending Anika stumbling back into the cramped room.
Before she could steady herself, Vikram followed and slammed the door shut behind them.
Anika's hands flew instinctively to her flat stomach, clutching it protectively—a fragile attempt to shield the tiny life growing within her from the darkness closing in.
"Anu!" Aadhi's voice cracked. His palms slammed against the door as Vikram stepped inside and closed it with a solid click. "Vikram, open the door! Don't hurt her! She's not like what you think—please! I beg you!"
But Vikram paid no heed to the pleas. His drunken haze clouded his judgment, and he shoved Anika roughly onto the bed.
She lay trembling, glaring up at him with eyes red-rimmed from the fear and helpless tears she fought to hold back. One hand rested protectively on her stomach, while the other tried to shield her chest once again. But Vikram caught that hand in his grasp, forcing it away.
His shadow loomed over her, heavy and suffocating.
"You called me a pervert, didn't you?" His voice was low and cruel. "Let me show you what a real pervert can do."
Anika's lips quivered, barely a whisper. "Don't… please… I…"
Before she could finish, Vikram crushed her words with a rough kiss, silencing her pleas. Her eyes flew wide in shock—her soul seemed to shatter, sucked away by the overwhelming despair. The fight drained from her limbs; her struggle ceased, as if numbed by a cruel resignation.
For Anika, humiliation was no stranger—the cruel words, the leering glances, the unwanted touches. But this—kissed against her will, trapped beneath him—this was a violation far beyond the cruel words she'd endured.
Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over in silent streams of shame and despair. The warmth of humiliation mixed with disgust flooded her senses.
Vikram leaned closer, pressing his body firmly against hers. His hands roamed boldly over her, exploring the curves hidden beneath her clothes. Each touch was a violation, each movement a violation of the space she fought so hard to protect.
His voice was laced with a disturbing mix of surprise and mockery. "Not bad. I thought you'd be flat, but you've got some good stuff hidden away."
As he spoke, his hips shifted, pressing his hardened arousal against her thighs. He moved just enough for her to feel it through the layers of fabric. "Anu… do you feel it?" His tone dripped cruelty. "Feel how much I want you."
Disgust overwhelmed Anika's entire being. The contact—though through fabric—felt like fire and ice, burning her skin, freezing her soul.
"Now you're free to call me a pervert for the rest of your life," Vikram spat, unaware that every cruel touch and word pushed Anika deeper into a silent abyss.
He never took off her clothes, but his assault was no less violent. Every inch of her was marked by his poisonous touch. The violation was already complete. Even covered, she felt as naked as if stripped bare.
And then, something within Anika broke. The tiny flicker of light in her eyes—the fragile spark that had kept her barely alive—snuffed out completely. The shivering stopped. Fear disappeared, replaced by a deep, numbing void.
Because she knew fear didn't protect her. It never had. Her terror couldn't stop his venomous hands or twisted words.
When it was over, his movements slowed, and the alcohol claimed him. He slumped beside her, his breathing deep and even.
Anika sat frozen, her eyes locked on him. The room was silent except for his sleep-heavy breaths. Her tears returned—slow, unsteady—and began to fall, soaking into the fabric of her dress. Each drop seemed to take something with it: her humiliation, her disgust… and finally, the last fragments of trust she had left for men.
By the time the tears stopped, her face was dry, her expression unreadable.
Her soul recoiled further from all men, carving distrust so deep it etched into her bones.