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[FILE REF: 734-B1-KARMIC_ADJUSTMENT] [TARGET: AVINASH SINGH, MINISTER FOR URBAN DEVELOPMENT] [LOCATION: BANDRA-WORLI SEA LINK, MUMBAI] The leather of the backseat still smelled of money. Avinash Singh liked that. He loosened his silk tie, the city lights of Mumbai smearing past the bulletproof glass of his custom Mercedes-Maybach. On the console, his phone buzzed. It was his aide. "It is done, sir," the simpering voice said. "The land has been rezoned. The slum clearance will begin tomorrow." "No protests?" Avinash grunted, watching the distant lights of Worli Fort. "None that a few new police batons can’t handle, sir." A smirk touched Avinash’s lips. It was a good day. A profitable one. "Excellent," he said, and ended the call. That’s when the car’s interior lights flickered from warm amber to a sterile, clinical white. The gentle classical music was replaced by a soft, electronic chime. On the main infotainment screen, the navigation map dissolved. New text, in a simple, stark white font, bloomed in its place. KARMA AUDIT INITIATED: AVINASH SINGH. He frowned. "Ravi," he barked at the driver. "What is this nonsense? Some new software update?" The privacy screen between him and the driver hummed up, sealing him in the back. A chill, not from the air conditioning, snaked up his spine. "Ravi!" he shouted, banging on the glass. The screen remained unchanged. Then, new lines of text appeared beneath the first. TRANSACTION ANALYSIS: ✓ COMMUNICATION LOGS: ✓ BIOMETRIC STRESS MARKERS: ✓ VERDICT: GUILTY. CHARGES: CORRUPTION (312 COUNTS), PERJURY (89 COUNTS), BETRAYAL OF PUBLIC TRUST (1,450,982 COUNTS). Avinash’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was a hack. A sophisticated, terrifying hack. He fumbled for the door handle. It wouldn’t budge. The electronic lock clicked, sealing him in. The car began to accelerate smoothly, effortlessly. Far faster than his driver ever would on the busy Sea Link. A final line of text appeared on the screen. It glowed a faint, ominous red. PENALTY: ACCOUNT BALANCE. "Let me out!" he screamed, his voice a pathetic, muffled thing inside the German-engineered tomb. "I'll give you anything!" The car didn't respond. It swerved with impossible precision, slipping between two slower vehicles like a phantom. Directly ahead, the thick concrete support pillar for the bridge’s cable-stayed section grew larger, a grey monolith rushing to meet him. The car's internal sensors noted a sudden spike in Avinash Singh's heart rate and cortisol levels. It logged the data. Then, everything went black. [STATUS: ACCOUNT BALANCED.]
A delayed flight. A crowded lounge. Two strangers who can’t stop noticing each other. At Gate 27, a fleeting spark turns into a story of hesitation, connection, and choices that could change everything.
Betrayal never walks in wearing chains—it slips through the door dressed as duty. Aditi Mehra had always believed storms raged outside windows, not inside marriages. But when her family’s debts chained her to Aryan Mehra—a man who wielded power like a scalpel—she discovered the truth: some prisons are carved from silk and signatures. Mumbai’s skyline thundered the night it began. Neon bled down glass towers while her parents stood silent, watching their daughter traded like a contract clause. Aryan wasn’t cruel in the obvious ways. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t gloat. He simply spoke with the calm certainty of a man who never lost. And in that stillness lay the danger. For Aditi, marriage was not a promise—it was a transaction. Every ritual felt like a performance stitched in gold thread, every smile another mask. Yet behind the cameras and chandeliers, a darker truth coiled: Aryan wanted obedience, and she refused to bow. Their war was not waged in boardrooms or bedrooms alone—it burned in glances, in silence, in the press of a hand that felt more like a brand than a caress. But hushed stillness hides cracks. Desire doesn’t ask permission. And when Aditi found herself torn between the man who caged her and the ghost from her past who still knew her pulse, she realized survival wasn’t enough. She would either reclaim her soul or lose it in the fire. This is not a story of love. It is a story of obsession, betrayal, and the dangerous hunger that blurs the line between punishment and passion. Welcome to a marriage forged in debt and sustained by desire. Welcome to Bound by Hate.
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