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Shivangi Sivakumar’s pov!

I fell hard, the sting of scraped knees searing through me. Tears welled in my eyes as I hissed in pain, the dirt clinging to my palms. Before I could gather myself, laughter rang through the air—sharp, mocking, and all too familiar.

I looked up, blinking away my tears, only to see them standing there. Pallavi and Adithan. My tormentors. My so-called family.

Pallavi—my step-sister, though she never let me forget the 'step' part—smirked, her arms crossed in amusement. Beside her, Adithan, her first cousin, leaned against the porch railing, his dark eyes glinting with evilness. He had always been Pallavi’s shadow, her loyal soldier in every cruel trick she played on me.

"Oh! Don't look like that. I am getting scared," Adithan taunted, shuddering dramatically.

I clenched my fists, pushing myself up, ignoring the dirt smearing my skirt. My gaze burned into his. "Count down your minutes, Adithan. If I don’t get back at you, my name is not Shivangi Sivakumar."

His grin widened, as if he relished my anger. But before he could retort, Pallavi’s mocking voice cut through the air.

"Oh? Will the dead Sivakumar come and change his name? Or are you planning to change yours?"

I felt something snap inside me. My father’s name was not hers to throw around like an insult. 

"Don’t you dare take my father’s name, Pallavi," I said, my voice low, trembling with rage.

"What’s the noise here?" A sharp voice interrupted.

Jayanthi Khullar, Pallavi’s grandmother, stepped onto the veranda, her gaze already seeking Pallavi with concern.

Pallavi’s eyes instantly shimmered with unshed tears. She played her role well, stepping toward her grandmother with a pitiful expression.

"What happened, Pallu?" Jayanthi asked, hurrying to her side.

"Shiva pushed Pallu, Nani," Adithan supplied smoothly, his voice laced with feigned outrage.

Jayanthi’s eyes snapped to me, filled with loathing. The kind of look I had long since grown used to.

I didn’t flinch. It didn’t hurt anymore. Not after years of witnessing the double standards that ruled this house.

I had never belonged here. My father had died when I was just a few months old, leaving my mother alone in a world that was never kind to women like her—young, widowed, and without protection. They had eloped for love, defying their families, and when he was gone, she was left with nothing.

With my father gone, my mother’s life became impossible to live. Duplicitous gentlemen started knocking the door at midnight, offering to take care of the young widow. Desperation forced her into a choice she had never wanted. She had gone back to her parents, begged them for help, but they had turned their backs on her, unwilling to forgive the disgrace she had brought upon them. Their only offer of redemption had been marriage—an arrangement with Prakash, a widower with a child of his own.

And so, she married Pallavi’s father.

For survival. For me.

But in this house, I was nothing more than an outsider. And Pallavi and Adithan? They made sure I never forgot it.

"How dare you hurt my precious granddaughter!" Jayanthi’s sharp voice lashed at me like a whip, her eyes burning with fury. "You ungrateful girl! Causing trouble as always!"

I refused to cower. I lifted my chin, meeting her glare with equal defiance. 

"I didn’t touch Pallavi," I said firmly. "And you know it."

"Liar!" She spat. "You think you can fool me? Always playing the victim, aren’t you?"

Before I could respond, the door banged open, and my mother, Geetika, hurried out, her face etched with worry. Her eyes landed on me, taking in my scraped knees, my clenched fists, and the tense atmosphere. I saw her heart break a little more at the sight.

"What’s going on?" She asked, her voice trembling.

"Geetika, control your daughter!" Jayanthi snapped. "Don’t ever forget that you two are living here as charity."

Something inside me cracked. A slow, simmering rage surged through my veins.

"Excuse me? Charity? Nobody is giving us anything for free. My mother works day and night in this house, taking care of everyone’s needs like a servant. So don’t you dare act like we are here for your generosity. If anything, you and your son owe us for all the unpaid labor you have forced my mother into." I scoffed, crossing my arms.

"Shiva, please, stop it," my mother begged, her voice pleading, her eyes desperate.

"This is what I hate, Maa. You let them walk all over you. We were better off without this family." I turned to her, frustration burning in my chest.

Without waiting for a response, I spun on my heel and stormed out of the house, my feet carrying me to the only person who could make me feel sane—my best friend, Hansika.

I barely made it to Hansika’s house before my knees gave out. She took one look at me—at the fresh scrapes and the dirt on my clothes—and her eyes darkened with fury.

"What did they do to you today?" She demanded, reaching for the first-aid box without waiting for an answer.

"The usual," I muttered, wincing as she dabbed antiseptic on my wounds. The sting was sharp, but nothing compared to the humiliation I had felt moments ago.

"I hate this, Shiva. Your mother should just walk out of that house already." Hansika let out a frustrated sigh. 

"You think I haven’t told her that a hundred times? She is worried about my studies. That’s all she ever says—'study well, get a good job, and escape this hell.'" I let out a dry laugh. 

"And do you even do that?" Hansika rolled her eyes. 

"You know I don’t. I have tried, Hansu. You have seen me try. But I have no brains for studies." I huffed. 

It was the truth. I had barely scraped through school, and now, in college, I had lost count of how many arrears I had. No matter how hard I tried, academics were never my thing.

"I swear, I just wish someone would show up, kidnap me and force me into marriage, and take me to his big mansion," I said, sighing dramatically. Hansika snorted. 

"Oh, you mean someone who owns a business empire spread across the whole country? A renowned surgeon with an IPS degree and, oh, let’s not forget, the leader of a secret mafia gang?" She asked, grinning mischievously.

"Exactly! That’s what I need. Because let’s be real, Hansu—there’s no way I will land a proper job with my marks. I am never going to be successful on my own. So why not just marry rich and get settled?" I said, grinning at my own ridiculous fantasy.

"You are insane. Stop reading and writing these nonsense stories online." Hansika shook her head. 

I laughed, shrugging off her words. 

"Forget all that. Let’s talk about something more fun. You just challenged Adithan, didn’t you? What’s your plan?" She asked, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

"I am going to hire a goon to teach him a good lesson." A slow smirk curled on my lips.

"A goon? Shiva, do you even know any goons?" Hansika gaped at me.

"No," I admitted with a chuckle. "But I have seen one up close."

"Who?" Her brows furrowed. 

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice as I said the name.

"Nanda."

A/N

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