(Adheer’s POV)
Malhotra Estate breathed silence.
But Adheer didn’t.
His mind replayed her face — not with affection, but with irritation.
The accident.
The child’s wound.
And her hands.
The way she’d whispered to calm him.
> “Close your eyes. We’ll count together.”
What kind of girl talks like that — to a stranger?
What kind of girl... shines?
> And why did it bother him so much?
---
A knock.
One of his men entered, placed a file on the mahogany desk, and left wordlessly.
Adheer didn’t thank him. He never thanked for things he expected.
He opened the file.
---
Name: Maheer Sharma
Age: 22
Education: Final Year, BFA — Fine Arts
Mother: Deceased
Father: Mahesh Sharma
Traits: Fair. 5’5”. Brown eyes. Slender. Calm demeanor. Reserved. No social media. No scandals. Excellent academic and artistic record.
Her photograph was stapled at the top.
Soft cheekbones. Naturally pink lips. Hair pulled back in a careless bun.
No effort. No need.
Adheer stared.
> "You look untouched," he muttered.
"That won’t last long."
---
The next few pages were about her father.
Mahesh Sharma.
Owner of a struggling printing press.
Debt owed: â‚ą50,00,000
Three unpaid loans
Property under seizure notice
Lenders circling like vultures
Reputation in ruins
Adheer leaned back, just a touch.
> “Some men beg. Some men break. And some… sell.”
He picked up the landline.
---
Ring.
Click.
> “Hello?”
> “Mahesh Sharma?”
> “Yes... who is this?”
> “Someone who knows your debt clock is ticking. And has a way out.”
Mahesh didn’t speak.
Adheer continued, flatly:
> “I’m offering full loan clearance. In return, your daughter will participate in a private gathering. She will be compensated. So will you.”
A pause.
> “Private... what kind of gathering?”
> “You already know what kind, Mr. Sharma. Let’s not pretend.”
---
Somewhere in a crumbling Delhi apartment, Mahesh Sharma put the phone down.
Not because he was shocked —
But because he wasn’t.
He looked at the dust on his wife’s photograph. Then at Maheer’s sketch beside it — drawn when she was just ten.
His hands were dry. His spine stiff. His heart… quiet.
> “I gave her everything. Her school. Her canvas. Her food. Her medicines. Her dreams.”
“I never remarried. I buried my youth keeping hers alive.”
> “Now it’s her turn to repay. If this is what it takes—so be it.”
He didn’t shiver.
He didn’t cry.
He picked up the pen and signed.
---
Back in Malhotra Estate, Adheer closed the file.
No smile. Just silence.
He looked at her photo again.
> She’ll come in trust. With stars in her eyes.
She’ll think it’s about her art. Her future.
She’ll carry her paintings, her pastels, her innocence…
And walk into a place where souls are priced and light is a weakness.
> There is no gallery.
Only an auction.
And she’s the product.
---
💌 Author’s Note:
Betrayal doesn’t always scream.
Sometimes, it signs a form.
In this chapter, a girl was sold.
No hands were raised. No doors slammed.
Just a father who forgot what love looks like…
and a man who believes innocence is meant to be broken.
If that silence made your stomach twist —
then you’re exactly where this story wanted to lead you.
> I’m still finding my voice — word by word, breath by breath.
If something stirred inside you, tell me.
I’d love to know what you felt.
Your feedback helps me grow — not just as a writer, but as a storyteller.
> 🔓 Free to read | Updated daily
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— Crimson Pen 🖋️
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