Page 1 of One Hellish Love

PROLOGUE

The rain was relentless, hammering down on the city for hours. After four hours of continuous downpours, Delhi was already under high alert. Streets were deserted, lights flickering behind drawn curtains. Most people watched the storm safely from their windows. But nothim.

Through the dark, empty roads, a 16-year-old boy sped the car recklessly, slicing through sheets of rain. Behind the wheel, his hands trembled and his heart raced having no control over the new posh vehicle he barely knew how to drive. His knuckles whitened against the steering wheel as he struggled to steady the car. Panic clouded his mind, but the car wouldn’t slow down.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of light pierced the darkness—the high beams of a truck hurtling toward him from the opposite lane. Reflexively, the boy yanked the steering wheel hard to the left, his foot slamming on the brakes with all his might. Time slowed. Tires screeched. Before he could make sense of the chaos, the car slammed into something—someone—and then crashed headfirst into the massive trunk of a tree.

The sound of metal crunching and glass shattering split the night. The force of the impact echoed through the quiet streets, jolting people out of their homes. Doors flew open. Shadows moved swiftly toward the wreckage, toward the twisted car and the boy inside.

The boy stumbled out of the car alive with blood trickling down his forehead, his arms and legs scraped and bruised. Butthe man he hit—he wasn’t so lucky. He lay lifeless, thrown across the road like a rag doll. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the rain-soaked ground.

Sharp and haunting screams filled the air as the boy collapsed on the wet pavement, staring at the body. His breath came in short gasps, eyes wide with horror. The world around him blurred. The sirens wailed in the distance—ambulances, police vans—rushing toward the scene of devastation.

Within minutes, the dead man’s body was carefully lifted and taken away for further examination, though it was clear there was nothing left to save. The boy, however, was pulled to his feet, his legs too weak to stand on their own. His whole body trembled as the police dragged him toward their van. His ears rang despite the haze of fear and panic.

“Isn’t this boy Rudra Raheja? The youngest of the Raheja family?”

His name hung in the air like a curse, suffocating him. He barely registered the van doors slamming shut. Darkness closed in as his eyes fluttered and finally gave way to unconsciousness.

He realized this night would change everything. Nothing would be the same hereon. For the boy who took a life in the blink of an eye, the storm had only just begun.

CHAPTER 1

The accident had shaken the very foundations of the Raheja family. It had been ten long, torturous days since Rudra, the youngest Raheja, had been confined to the Observation home, a temporary holding facility for juveniles who are arrested by the police, awaiting the verdict that would decide his fate.

The air inside the Raheja mansion was thick with tension, every effort made to lessen his punishment proving futile. Their family lawyer, Roy, had been in constant touch, providing updates, but one thing remained clear—Rudra, despite his wealth and privilege, was still being treated better than most, thanks to the Raheja family’s powerful connections. Yet, even those couldn’t erase the grim reality he was facing.

The accident had exploded across headlines, plastered on the front pages of every newspaper. The media was relentless, clamoring for justice for the victim’s family. At the same time, the Raheja supporters fought tooth and nail to prove the car’s brakes had failed, as though mechanical failure could excuse a boy with no license driving a car. But none of it mattered. Rudra Raheja was underage, and no amount of wealth or influence could cover that up.

And now, the day of reckoning had arrived. The decision from the judicial panel landed like a death sentence: Rudra Raheja was to be punished. The boy born with a silver spoon would spend two long years in a Juvenile Home—without the privileges of his powerful name.

Savitri Raheja, the family matriarch and Rudra’s grandmother, hurried to see him before he was taken back into custody. Her heart broke when she saw him—he looked like a shadow of the boy she knew. His eyes were hollow, dark circles etched deep beneath them, his face pale and lifeless. As soon as Rudra spotted her, he staggered forward, collapsing into her arms.

“Daadi, take me out of here... I can’t stay in this place,” Rudra’s voice cracked with desperation. His 16-year-old frame shook as he clung to his grandmother, his plea echoing with raw fear. The headstrong woman who had carried the weight of their family for so many years now found herself helpless, crumbling as she held her grandson.

Tears she had fought to hold back now spilt freely.

“Rudra... Listen to me...”

“No!” Rudra’s voice rose, his panic boiling over. “I don’t want to hear anything. Just take me home. I want to be with you, with Bhai. I can’t stay here,” he cried out, his voice breaking as he yelled.

The police officers stood waiting, allowing the boy extra time with his family, knowing full well the weight of this high-profile case. But time was running out.

“Rudra, you have to stay there for two years. There’s nothing more we can do. Not even me,” Savitri’s voice cracked with each word. The truth was a knife in her chest.

The words seemed to drain the life from Rudra. He froze, fear settling in his eyes as he retreated into silence. Even as Savitri tried to console him with promises of visits, his expression remained blank. His mind was already drowning in the darkness of what lay ahead. Slowly, he stepped back, his body stiff as the police officers moved in, gripping his arms to take him away.

Before they could leave, the lawyer, Roy, approached Savitri, who struggled to compose herself for what was to come next.

“What else does the court orders say, Roy?” Savitri asked, her voice low, but laced with the fury of a woman who had built an empire.

Roy hesitated, knowing the news he was about to deliver would ignite her anger. He took a deep breath.

“Ma’am... the deceased has a 13-year-old daughter. The court has ruled that the Raheja family must take full responsibility for her—her education, her upbringing, her care until she turns 25.”

Savitri’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding as rage surged through her veins. A girl—an unknown girl—would now be the responsibility of the Raheja family. While her grandson was about to endure hell for two years, they would have to raise this child as one of their own.

Suddenly, chaos erupted outside the courtroom. As the police led Rudra toward the van, a stone flew through the air, striking him hard on the forehead. Rudra screamed in agony, clutching his head as blood began to stream from the fresh wound. The officers scrambled to shield him, scanning the crowd for the attacker.

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