Summary: A threat from the past arrives in a prison courtyard: You die next. For Maya, survival turns into a daily war—one of whispers, isolation, blood, and betrayal. Vikas Bharadwaj, once her rejected lover and now a rising underworld rival, wants her destroyed—not fast, but slow and brutal. Inside the prison, she is hunted. Outside, he pulls the strings. But Maya isn’t built to break. From blood-soaked tiles and shadowed corridors, she begins to rise again. Not as prey. As a predator. And this time, she isn’t just fighting back. She’s preparing to end it all.
Section 1: The Note
The jail looked normal. But the moment Maya stepped out of her cell and walked toward the courtyard, she knew something was wrong. Glances turned away too fast. It felt like the walls were listening. She sat at the far edge of the yard, away from the usual groups. A metal clang echoed from the mess hall. Someone laughed loudly, then stopped.
She took a sip of water from her cracked tumbler to steady her nerves. But her fingers had already begun twitching. Her skin tingled—not from heat, but from the sense that something unseen was closing in.
Then she saw her—Kamla. Everyone knew her in the prison. She ran errands, passed messages, and did favors for anyone who paid. She didn’t belong to any group. She was walking straight toward Maya.
Maya didn’t move. Not yet.
Kamla stopped in front of her, eyes scanning the yard briefly, then lowering to meet hers.
“Trouble’s coming your way,” Kamla said, voice low, almost amused. Then she added with a smirk, “VB sends his regards.” Maya didn’t understand the meaning right away.
Kamla leaned in, slipped something under her hand, and walked away. No explanation. No expression. Just silence.
Just getting a note from someone like Kamla made her nervous. Her thoughts scattered. She didn’t respond. Not yet.
Maya waited a few seconds before looking. A small piece of paper, folded twice, damp at the edges.
She opened the note quietly, keeping it hidden from view under the bench. She unfolded the note.
It said: You die next.
Her vision dimmed. The courtyard blurred. Her breath stopped for a moment. But there was no name, no signature.
She didn’t see it right away. But as she stared at the note, Kamla’s whisper finally made sense. VB. Vikas Bharadwaj. The name hit her like a shock. The method, the silence, the delivery through a prison runner—it was all his style. He had always struck this way. From the shadows. Silent. Precise. Personal.
She clenched the paper tightly, her heart hammering. But beneath the initial jolt of fear came a sharper sensation—confusion.
Why Vikas?
She had expected threats from Rathore, from the system. But Vikas? Arjun was his enemy. His death should have served Vikas. Should have made Maya irrelevant.
Unless she wasn’t irrelevant. Unless she was something worse—a threat.
That’s when the pieces began to fall into place.
Vikas didn’t see her as a friend. He saw her as a traitor.
She wasn’t seen as an ally. She was a traitor. If she could take down Arjun, she could do it to anyone. Vikas didn’t see her as someone fighting for justice. He saw her as someone who chose survival over loyalty. That made her dangerous. Unpredictable. A risk he couldn’t ignore.
Then Maya saw it clearly. It wasn’t just fear. It was personal now.
Vikas had wanted her once. That was years ago. Maya had just come to Mumbai from Delhi. She was chasing modeling work. He was a tech freelancer back then—not a gangster. He did hacking jobs and computer and technical surveillance for anyone who paid. That’s when they met. He liked her fast. It turned into one-sided love. He even asked her to marry him. Promised respect, protection, a future. Maya said no. She wasn’t ready. She had dreams to chase. She walked away without regret. Vikas rose after that. Job after job. Connection after connection. He climbed the ladder and became Arjun’s enemy. But Maya’s rejection never left him. It wasn’t just business now. It was personal.
She hadn’t just chosen Arjun. She had rejected Vikas.
Now her betrayal of Arjun meant more. It reminded Vikas of what he had buried—rejection, shame, and a woman who rose above him. And now she looked ready to rise again.
This wasn’t just about vengeance.
It was about a man trying to rebuild his pride by spilling blood.
Maya’s hands shook as she tore the note into strips, holding on to them tightly. She walked to a corner of the courtyard, crouched by the trash pit, lit a match from an old cigarette box, and watched the strips burn.
The flames ate through the paper fast. The words disappeared. But the threat stayed in her mind.
She stood up, staring into the distance.
Let him come.
She had survived Arjun. She had survived Rathore.
And if Vikas wanted war, she would give him one.
But one question wouldn’t leave her. Rathore had said the contract to kill Arjun came from Vikas Bhardwaj. Approved by the powerful. That made sense. Arjun was Vikas’s enemy. But now Maya saw something deeper. What if it wasn’t just business? What if it was personal? Vikas hadn’t just wanted Arjun gone. He wanted to erase the man Maya had chosen over him. The man who had what Vikas once begged for. Her. That changed everything. Maybe this war had started long before Arjun’s death. Maybe it had started the day she said no to Vikas.
Section 2: Breaking Point
The note was gone, but the threat stayed in her mind. Each hour, it grew heavier. The prison looked the same, but nothing felt normal. People stared too long. Whispers died the moment she passed. Silence followed her like a shadow.
It started small.
At the food line, the woman behind her blew air at Maya’s neck. A soft hiss. Not loud. Not playful. Maya turned. The woman was smiling—too wide, too long. A minute later, someone bumped into her hard from the side. No accident. Just silence. Three women stood nearby. No smiles. No movement. Just waiting. Watching.
Later that night, her bedsheet was gone. In its place, a foul stench rose from something smeared across the mattress. A message written without words.
She dragged the sheet into the corridor. One of the guards glanced at it, then at her. She smirked.
“People are turning against you,” she said flatly. “You better watch yourself.”
Another guard, slouched nearby, said without looking up, “Or don’t bother. Let them finish you. Easier for everyone.”
Maya said nothing. Her mind was spinning. Nothing in her life made sense anymore. Everyone was turning. Every move felt dangerous. She didn’t know what was coming next—or from where.
The note was just the start. Vikas’s threat spread through the jail like poison. It was in the way women looked at her. In how fast the whispers stopped when she walked by. Everyone knew now. Maya wasn’t just marked. She was alone. Exposed. In a place like this, that meant death could come from anyone, at any time.
She stopped sleeping properly. Her food came last. The dal was cold. The roti half-cooked. Her spoon went missing. Her shoes were switched with torn ones. Someone shoved her in the corridor. Someone jabbed her hard during line-up. Small things. But not random.
Each act was small. But together, they were part of a plan—clear, deliberate, and meant to break her.
And then it came—a real attempt.
Late morning. A routine walk to the washroom. No guards in sight. Silence in the corridor.
She entered, senses alert. The moment the door clicked behind her, her spine tightened. She scanned the mirror reflexively—and caught it. A flicker. Movement. Steel flashing low.
She turned, ducked instinctively, the blade grazing her arm, tearing fabric and skin. She gasped, stumbled back, pain ripping through her shoulder.
The attacker came again, fast, silent.
A sharp whistle rang out—right on cue, almost as if it had been planned.
Footsteps rushed in. The attacker paused, then bolted through the side door. A few seconds later, guards ran in with weapons, shouting as they chased after him.
One guard looked at Maya’s bleeding arm and said, “Watch where you walk. Blades don’t move on their own.”
The guards didn’t help. They stood back, blank-faced, like they’d known it was coming. Maybe they were part of it. It sure felt that way.
Maya’s knees gave way a little. She pressed against the wall. Her heart raced. Her shoulder throbbed with pain.
They hadn’t come to protect her. Maybe they came to check that the plan was working. To confirm to their bosses that Maya was being broken, step by step.
That night, Maya didn’t sleep. She sat by the bars with her knees pulled in. Arms locked around them. Eyes fixed on the corridor. Cold. Awake. Waiting.
This wasn’t just fear in her head anymore. It was real.
It was warfare.
She watched every footstep. Noted every shift change. Tracked who whispered and where. Every face looked like a threat. Every silence felt loaded. She ate alone. Bathed facing the door. Slept with shoes on. The rules were different now. So she became different too.
Vikas hadn’t sent a murderer. He’d sent a message: break her spirit before her body.
And it was working.
She sat on her bunk, eyes on the ceiling. Her fingers traced the scab forming on her arm.
What was worse—Arjun’s world or this one?
At least there, you saw the gun coming.
Here, death came quietly—hidden in silence, always close.
But something had begun to wake inside her again. Not hope. Not courage.
Instinct.
The instinct that had once helped her rise in a world that devoured the weak.
That instinct was back now.
And it wasn’t just survival she was thinking about anymore.
This wasn’t survival anymore. This was the beginning of her revenge.
Section 3: The Fire Behind the Smile
The bar was small and dark. It sat behind a tire shop at the city’s edge. No name on the door. No one asked questions. People didn’t come here for drinks. They came to make moves.
Vikas Bharadwaj sat in a corner booth. His rum was untouched. He wasn’t here to drink. He was here to plan. With Arjun gone, Mumbai’s underworld was up for grabs. Vikas wanted control. His eyes stared ahead, blank but focused. His sleeves were rolled up. A faint scar on his forearm caught the light. He looked calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that meant something violent was coming.
Across from him, a man in plain clothes leaned forward and placed a folded slip on the table. Vikas glanced at it. A usual update—bribe details for the prison staff. He noticed the amount was higher this time. The message was clear. Tormenting Maya came with a cost. He made a mental note, crushed the slip into a ball, and tossed it aside without a care.
“She’s restless now,” the man said. “Not sleeping. Avoiding people. Eats alone. Like a hunted animal.”
Vikas didn’t respond. He stayed silent. Eyes steady. Listening.
“She’s starting to understand,” the plainclothes man said quietly. “But not enough.”
The man shifted in his seat. “Should we press harder?”
Vikas tapped his glass slowly, his voice flat. “Not yet. Let her rot first.”
The man frowned. “But you said—”
“I said I want her destroyed. But not quick. Not easy.”
He leaned back, eyes still distant.
“She doesn’t deserve a bullet. She deserves to break. Slowly. Piece by piece. Until she begs for it to stop.”
A silence stretched between them.
And then, as if summoned from the dark, a memory surged.
Years ago. Mumbai. Maya had just arrived in the city. She was chasing work in modeling and films. Vikas was also trying to climb. He did hacking and surveillance for whoever paid. Still on the edges of the underworld. That’s when they met. Two strugglers. Like many others, Vikas had been drawn to her. Maya was sharp, driven, and stunning. But unlike others, he had fallen hard—and fast. Promised her respect, safety, a future. Even marriage. But Maya wasn’t interested. She wasn’t like other girls dreaming of safety or marriage. She had bigger plans. She wanted more than comfort. She wanted power, freedom, and her own place in the world. Love could wait. Dreams couldn’t. She said no and moved on. He never forgot.
Vikas never forgot. He didn’t fight his way up with fists. He used his mind. Surveillance tech. Blackmail setups. Digital tracking. He built his name quietly, one job at a time. One gang at a time. He made himself useful. Then necessary. Then feared. By the time he faced Arjun Malik, he wasn’t on the edges anymore. He was a force.
For years, Vikas and Maya stayed out of each other’s lives. Then came the news—Maya had chosen Arjun. That hit harder than her rejection. It wasn’t just hurt. It was insult. Humiliation. Vikas had offered her safety, status, and power. She had chosen a man like Arjun instead. A gangster. A risk.
And now she was the one who helped bring Arjun down. That should have pleased Vikas. But it didn’t. Because by the time he learned Maya had played a role, the story had already changed. People whispered her name. Praised her. Made her part of Arjun’s fall.
It wasn’t him who finished Arjun, they said. It was her.
That rewrote everything. Erased his move. Made it hers.
It boiled in his chest.
“She didn’t just kill him,” Vikas muttered. “She stole it. Took what was mine.”
His voice was cold. “I gave the order. I paid for the bullet. And they cheer her.”
The jail staffer stayed silent. He was only there to give updates and collect bribes. Nothing more.
“She was nothing. A nobody. She threw me away like I didn’t matter. Then she picked Arjun. And now? They say she’s the reason he’s dead. They talk like she won. Like she did what I couldn’t. Like it was her revenge, not mine. She didn’t just take Arjun. She took away the credit. She made it look like it was her doing. Like she was the one who brought him down. Not me. Not the man who gave the order. That’s what burned most. She stole my revenge. She made it hers.”
He finished his drink, jaw tight.
“She didn’t kill Arjun. She stole the moment. She stole the credit. They talk like she did it. Like I had no part. Like it was her revenge. Not mine.”
He scoffed, voice rising. “She threw me away. Picked Arjun. Then took even his death from me.”
He leaned forward, eyes burning. “I gave the order. I paid for it. And they clap for her?”
His fist clenched. “This isn’t about logic. This is about pride. About ego. About the kind of wound that never closes.”
He looked straight at the jail staffer. “You don’t understand. I see her face, and I burn.”
His voice dropped. “I want her gone. Slowly. Publicly. Until the world forgets her name.”
Vikas reached into his coat and pulled out a thick bundle of fresh notes. Then another. Then another. He stacked them slowly, deliberately, letting the weight of it fill the space.
The jail staffer’s eyes lit up. He grabbed the bundles without counting. Not a word. Not a blink. Just a silent greed, full of worship. Like a dog waiting for its master’s next signal.
He stuffed the money inside his shirt and leaned forward, eager.
“What else do you want done, sir?”
“Stop her extras. No soap. No pads. No snacks. Nothing to make her feel human. Let her stink. Let her bleed. Spread whispers. Isolate her. Make even the weak turn their backs. Break her without touching her.”
“And if she survives that?”
Vikas smiled faintly, eyes cold.
“Then we break her bones next.”
He stood, adjusting his watch. “Break her from the inside first. Mind, body, then name.”
His voice dropped lower.
“When I’m done, they won’t even remember she existed.”
He walked out without looking back.
And behind him, the storm he had built waited for its next command—silent, loyal, and hungry.
Section 4: Awakening the Predator
Pain hit first. Sharp. Fast. The blade cut clean through her back during morning duty. Skin tore. Cloth ripped. She dropped hard, knees scraping the concrete. Her vision spun. Blood soaked her back, warm and fast. It pooled beneath her as the world blurred and chaos exploded around her.
Voices shouted. Footsteps thudded. But no one came to help.
The guards came slow. Too slow. Their faces blank. Their eyes dull. They looked at her like she was a problem, not a victim. One of them muttered, “Wrong place, wrong time,” like she had asked to be stabbed. Then they just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Unmoved.
By the time she reached the jail hospital, she was half-conscious. They had let her suffer long enough. Just before it got fatal, they stepped in. The nurse stitched her fast. No greeting. No questions. Just cold gloves, antiseptic, and silence. Like fixing a machine.
Maya lay still on the cot afterward, the smell of blood thick in her nostrils. Her shoulder throbbed with each breath, but the silence cut deeper.
No one asked if she was okay. No one even looked at her. Not even the guards outside glanced her way.
Something inside her cracked.
Grief. Fear. Exhaustion. Everything she had carried since Arjun’s death collapsed under the weight of something colder.
Fury.
Enough.
No more hiding. No more waiting to be killed.
By the time she walked back to her cell, something in her posture had changed. Her shoulders were squared. Her eyes sharp. There was no panic now—only clarity.
She sat by the bars that evening, watching the corridor. She wasn’t scared anymore. She was quiet, sharp, waiting—like a predator holding back until it was time to strike.
She watched everything—how food was handed out, who lingered near which corners, who whispered near which wall. The politics of the prison were no longer background noise. They were data points.
She began studying the ecosystem—pawns, messengers, influencers, floaters. She noted every extra packet of food, every shift in body language. She tracked who the guards favored and who they ignored.
And for the first time, she wasn’t thinking about survival.
She was thinking about strategy.
Two days later, she made her move.
Laundry duty. Humid corridor. Lata stood near the drying line. She was older, sharp-eyed, and carried herself like someone who had seen everything. She had spent years inside and had learned not just how to survive—but how to control what mattered. She didn’t belong to any group, yet no one messed with her. She knew how to deal with guards, barter favors, and read threats before they came. Maya had seen her talking to two guards earlier. Not pleading. Not flattering. Just calm, firm words. Like a woman who had currency no one else could see.
Maya walked up to her. No pleasantries. No time.
“I need names,” she said. “Someone in here is working for Vikas. I want to know who.”
Lata kept folding clothes, calm as stone.
“You look like someone already marked for death.”
“I am,” Maya said. “They’ve stabbed me, starved me, humiliated me. I’m still standing.”
Lata said nothing.
“I’m not asking for sympathy. I can offer value. Favors. Trade. Whatever you need. I don’t plan to die here.”
Lata gave her a glance. Just a second. Then looked away.
“You think you’re different from the last girl who said that?”
“No,” Maya said. “I know I am.”
A pause. Then Lata’s voice, dry.
“We’ll talk. If you’re still breathing next week.”
It wasn’t help. It wasn’t trust.
But it was something.
And Maya would take it.
That night, Maya sat alone in her cell, back against the wall, staring at the scar beneath her uniform. Her fingers moved unconsciously to it—then to her memory of Arjun’s last words.
The red file.
His voice echoed faintly in her mind—half-warning, half-legacy.
That file still existed. Somewhere. Buried deep.
And with it, the last key to a war she hadn’t yet begun to fight.
Maya stood slowly and faced the cracked mirror. Her reflection stared back—pale, bruised, bandaged. But beneath the fatigue, her eyes had hardened.
She didn’t whisper this time. She said it aloud, cold and steady.
“I’m not dying in here.”
She stepped closer, staring at herself until she no longer saw pain—only fire.
“I’ll burn them all first.”
Then she turned away, shoulders squared, footsteps echoing into the night.
She was done surviving.
She was ready to strike.
