My Enigmatic Ex-husband's Passion

The one who saved Anesha from falling was Ankit.

After carefully helping Anesha sit on the stool, Ankit gazed at her.

Seeing Anesha's intoxicated eyes and her flushed, beautiful face, a serious expression crossed Ankit's features.

He glanced around sharply, his eyes filled with anger.

Just then, Raunit bounced over, his curiosity piqued, and asked Ankit, "Is she high? Has the intoxication hit her?"

Upon hearing Raunit's words, Ankit narrowed his eyes.

With a suspicious look, he shot back, "Why are you asking that?"

"I, I... I was just curious," Raunit replied, shifting his gaze awkwardly.

Ankit, now grinding his teeth in fury, demanded, "Raunit! Answer me honestly—did you do something to make her drunk?"

Raunit, seeing the anger on Ankit's face, scrunched his nose and retorted in a taunting tone, "Yes, I did. I mixed a little wine into her juice, hoping she'd get drunk and spill everything. We need to know what happened two years ago that made her so melancholic. And by the way, I wasn't the only one involved. Mira helped me. The plan was hers; I merely executed it."

Ankit, seething with rage, exploded, "You idiot! Have you lost your mind? You know—"

But then, Raunit suddenly stopped.

It dawned on him that Anesha was oddly calm. In fact, it was a miracle in itself—how could she remain so composed after drinking?

However, there was a catch. Anesha wasn't calm at all. She wasn't there anymore. She had vanished.

Realizing this, a cold sweat broke out on Ankit's forehead, and a deep crease formed on his brow.

Frantically, he scanned the room, but there was no sign of Anesha anywhere.

"Ani! Ani! Where has she gone?" Ankit muttered, clutching his head.

His face had turned pale, a mixture of fear and panic taking over.

When Anesha was drunk, she didn't stay herself. She became an entirely different, unruly person.

The more intoxicated she became, the bigger the chaos she would unleash.

Seeing Anesha was missing, Raunit's face too grew pale.

The two of them, anxiety etched on their faces, began searching everywhere for her.

Just then, Mira and Mahi appeared.

"Why are you both so frantic? Where's Annie?"

"She's gone missing, and she's drunk."

Upon hearing this, Mira and Mahi froze, their expressions stunned.

In the dimly lit club corridor, the anguished cries and groans of a few boys reverberated, painting a grim picture of their plight.

Five boys lay sprawled across the floor, writhing in agony. Some had fractured arms and legs, while others coughed up blood, their faces etched with pain and fear.

One of them, realizing the severity of their mistake, mustered enough strength to speak. With trembling lips, he pleaded with the enigmatic woman towering over them.

"Ma'am, please… forgive us. We swear, from this day on, we won't even glance at a woman, let alone dare to tease one."

Anesha, her expression a blend of mischief and menace, tilted her head slightly. Her voice, soft yet chilling, echoed through the corridor.

"Oh, really? But how do I know you're sincere? Shouldn't I have proof?"

The boys exchanged panicked glances, their faces pale.

Taking a deliberate step forward, Anesha's lips curled into a devilish smile. Without hesitation, she swung the rod in her hand, delivering a calculated strike that snapped one boy's arm.

The corridor filled with his harrowing screams as the others froze in terror.

Anesha's laughter rang out, light and melodic, yet unsettling in its childlike glee. To the boys, it sounded more like the cackle of a witch savoring her victim's torment.

Her eyes sparkled with dark amusement as she clapped her hands, as if reveling in the chaos she had orchestrated. The remaining boys, cornered against the wall, cowered in sheer dread.

To them, Anesha resembled a mythological demoness, her beauty laced with an aura of danger.

Abruptly, her laughter ceased, replaced by an eerie silence that seemed to amplify their fear.

With a cold, commanding tone, she tapped the rod against the floor and asked,

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes! Yes, we are!" they stammered in unison, nodding fervently like frightened children.

Anesha ran a hand through her hair, her voice laced with mock approval.

"Good. Very good."

Then, in a startling shift, her demeanor transformed. Adopting a deep, theatrical tone reminiscent of Nana Patekar, she began reciting iconic dialogues with uncanny precision.

Her mannerisms, her voice, and even her intensity mirrored the legendary actor, leaving the boys utterly bewildered.

"This woman is possessed," one boy whispered, his voice trembling.

The others nodded in agreement, their fear escalating.

Moments later, Anesha's tone shifted again—this time into a soft, chilling English accent, eerily resembling Wednesday Addams.

"I don't believe in Heaven or Hell," she said, her poker face adding to the unease, "but I do believe in revenge."

Her words sent a shiver down their spines. As she advanced toward them, every step felt like the approach of death itself.

One boy, paralyzed by fear, couldn't hold back and wet his pants. Between sobs, he cried out,

"Please, not Wednesday! We beg you, bring back Nana Patekar instead!"

His plea only seemed to amuse Anesha further. Her expression remained stoic, her next words calculated.

"I find social media to be a soul-sucking void of meaningless affirmation," she muttered, stroking the rod in her hand with unsettling calmness.

The boys, now in hysterics, wailed,

"We swear we'll delete all our social media accounts! We won't even utter the word 'social media,' but please, let us go!"

Their cries were met with silence.

One of the boys, desperate for salvation, began reciting the Hanuman Chalisa.

Anesha stopped abruptly, tilting her head as if intrigued. Her eyes filled with tears, and she suddenly sank to the floor, crying out,

"My child! Please bring him back to me. I can't live without him!"

Her sudden breakdown left the boys stunned. For a moment, they believed she was truly battling a tormented spirit.

Taking advantage of her vulnerable state, they tried to flee.

But before they could, Anesha's demeanor shifted once more.

Her voice, now as cold as ice, cut through the air.

"Prove your regret," she said, her tone sharp and commanding. "Spill your blood as penance. Show me you'll never harm another girl or indulge in the superficiality of social media again. Otherwise…"

She paused, her gaze piercing.

"You already know—I don't believe in Heaven or Hell. But I do believe in revenge."

Her words sealed their fate.

Across the street from the nightclub, at the opulent Hotel Ring Star,

The entire Kapoor and Singhania families had gathered for an exclusive dinner.

The hotel, reserved entirely for this occasion, was eerily quiet, with only the two powerful families occupying its grand halls.

The parking area gleamed with an array of luxurious cars, a testament to the unmatched wealth and influence of these two elite clans.

Security was airtight, with bodyguards from both families strategically stationed around the hotel.

Hina Singhania, the eldest daughter of the Singhania family, gently nudged her mother and whispered, "Mom, you'll bring up my engagement with Mr. Devansh tonight, won't you?"

"Of course, darling! That's precisely why we're here," Seema Singhania replied with a warm smile.

Relief and joy washed over Hina's face, her smile brightening instantly.

Hina was the epitome of grace and beauty at 25, a woman whose allure was matched only by her formidable success.

Revered as Bollywood's Queen and Kingmaker, Hina commanded unparalleled respect in the entertainment industry. Her influence was absolute; nothing in Bollywood moved without her approval.

A highly accomplished film director and producer, she held a position of immense power and prestige.

"Mr. Devansh has arrived," announced a staff member.

The words caused a radiant smile to spread across Hina's face, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink.

_________________________

What will happen next?

To know…

To be continued...