Hey lovelies!
I know Chapter 1 of CRIMSON VEINS took a little longer than expected—sorry for the wait! 🙈
But trust me, I’ve been pouring my soul into making it absolutely perfect for you. Every scene, every line, every roast—carefully crafted to pull you in from the first word. I hope you love it as much as I do. 💔🔥

Also... what's your loss in dropping a vote and comment, huhh?
Don’t disappoint me again, okay? 😉
I want to hear your thoughts—ALL of them. Let’s make this journey unforgettable. 💥

P.S. — I don’t know much about Delhi, so if I mess up any details here and there, please forgive me! 😅

Enjoy!

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> "I don’t trust nobody and nobody trusts me."
— 🎵Taylor Swift, “Look What You Made Me Do”

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SIA'S POV

The city hadn’t even yawned awake yet, and I was already slicing through the early morning fog on my matte-black Ducati Diavel. The engine growled beneath me like a beast I’d tamed — sleek, deadly, and loud enough to scare off Delhi’s brain-dead drivers.

Black helmet. Black jacket. Dark jeans. Poker face on.

Speed was therapy.

By the time I pulled into the Crime Lab’s underground parking, the sun had barely stretched. I killed the engine, pulled off my helmet, and tied up my hair in a messy ponytail as I walked in like I owned the place.

Because I kinda did — not on paper, but in presence.

First thing I saw when I stepped into the lab? Raj dropping a sealed sample container like it was cursed.
(Note: RAJ and NEHA are Sia's co-workers)

Again.

If stupidity were a disease, my lab would be the epicenter of a full-blown pandemic.

Raj dropped the sealed blood sample for the third time this week. He stared at it like it had personally broken his heart. Neha, meanwhile, waltzed in like she was walking the Lakmé Fashion Week runway, flipping her hair and clicking her heels like a rejected shampoo ad.

“Raj, darling,” I deadpanned, not even looking up, “It’s a blood sample, not a grenade. Handle it like you’ve touched a test tube before.”

From behind me, a soft chuckle echoed.

“Be nice, Sia,” said a familiar voice—warm, amused, maternal in a twisted way.

I turned to see Dr. Meera Sharma, my mentor, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and her dimples out in full force. She was sipping her coffee, clearly enjoying the circus.

I smirked. “Neha just tried to UV scan a coffee stain again, Meera. Tell me—how do I not lose brain cells around them?”

Meera burst out laughing, nearly spilling her drink. “Sia, one day your sarcasm will kill someone faster than cyanide.”

“Good. Saves us a toxicology report.”

Neha, clueless as ever, glared at me while fixing her eyeliner. Raj attempted to look busy, shuffling papers like a confused raccoon.

“Yaar, aise log forensic lab mein kaise ghus gaye?” I muttered under my breath. “Kapde ke daag aur khoon mein farak nahi samajh aata inko.”

Meera winked at me. “Because the universe has a sense of humor.”

She walked off chuckling, and I returned to my command centre - a cluttered desk layered with blood report, photos and Chaos.
Home sweet home.
The blood sample in front of me didn’t sit right. Too clean. Too staged. Like it wanted to look like a message.

I trusted my gut more than I trusted 90% of Delhi’s population.

Just as I was noting details, my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

Text: Watch your back. Everything you think you know is about to burn.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? Plot twist. Finally.”

I tucked the phone away, the corners of my lips twitching. I was getting bored anyway.

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Later in my apartment.

I had just stepped into my apartment after a long, soul-sucking day, fully ready to crash, doom scroll, and dramatically overthink of my life in peace. Shoes off. Hair up. Sanity low.

I signed, already imagining the sweet silence that was about to greet me.

Ding dong.

God, no.

I froze. Maybe if I stood still like a T-Rex, the sound would go away.

Ding dong.
ding ding ding ding ding.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.

Oh. great, Wild animals.

I peeked through the peephole.

As I expected - Rhea and Aarohi.
Grinning like devils Sent straight from hell. My peace? Officially dead. Just wow!

I tiptoed back like I was avoiding a bomb.

"If I stayed quite, maybe they'll think I'm not home," I whispered to myself.

Bad idea.

"SIAAAA! We saw the lights on, bitch!" Rhea yelled from outside, banging the door like she had a  personal vendetta against wood.

"Bro, she's literally breathing near the door," Aarohi added.
"I can hear her refusing to socialize."

I covered my mouth to stop the laugh. Idiots.

"Okay fine, mission silent ghost mode is fail," I muttered, heading to the door and opening it halfway.

They barged in like they owned the place.

Rhea thew her bag on the couch and flopped down.

Aarohi walked in behind her,
graceful as ever, then turn to me and said,"Your face says 'Kill me,'
But your aura says 'Burn the world,' You good?"

I raised an eyebrow. "That's just my resting soul-dead face."

Rhea jumped up."Ughhh finally,
Girls' night! Come on, give me  gossip, tears, memes,"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm ready to throw both of you off the balcony."

"Love you too", they chorused.

The next hour was chaos.

They started fighting over who sat where, who got the bigger cushion, and who last betrayed in whom UNO.

I stared at them, borderline concerned.

Under my breath, I muttered,"I don't even know if this is my house or a damn jungle...with this wild animals in it."

They didn't hear me. Too busy being dramatic.

Aarohi tried to snatch the remote. "I swear to god, Rhea, I will shove this up your--"

"I DARE YOU!" Rhea yelled, tackling her.

I watched them roll around,
Knocking over a cushion tower
I'd spent a whole five minutes stacking.

I gave up and ordered food. it was the only path to peace.

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Thirsty minutes later

"Food's here!" I called as the doorbell rang again.

Rhea sprinted like her whole life depended on it "MY MOMOS!"

We unpacked the momos, pizza,
fries-- the holy trinity.

Peace? Brief.

Rhea snatched the last momo.

"GIVE IT!" Aarohi shrieked.

"IT'S MINE! I PAID IN SOUL POINTS!"

"I'LL SHARE!" Rhea finally yelled,out of breath.

They spilt the momo like it was a divorse.

Then Aarohi look at me and smirked,"BABY, aren't you going to share?"

"SHARING IS CARING," Rhea added. look who's saying!!

I took a slow bite of my pizza and stared at her with peak main character energy.

"Neither I'm sharing, nor I'm caring, I'm proud to be shameless."

They both paused. Looking at me like I had just offended their ancestors.

Mentally, I can feel them cursing me in five different languages.

I smirked.

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Later - Rooftop, at 10:45 PM

We dragged ourselves to the terrace, half-dead, fully fed, and emotionally unstable as always.

The city lights stretched below us, a sea of chaos we didn't have to deal with - tonight.

Rhea spread her arms wide,"I'm queen of the worlddddd!"

I looked at Aarohi, "Push her?"

She didn't even hesitate. "Gladly."

We laughed so hard we nearly fell of the bench ourselves.

Then came the weird silence.
The good kind.

"Y'know," Rhea said suddenly,
"Sometimes, I feel like something big's coming."

Aarohi turned towards her,"Okay Miss Stranger Things."

I chuckled, but deep down..
Something in me agreed.

Something I couldn't name.
Just a weird shift in the air.

But I shook it off. Because in that moment - on the cold terrace, with city noise far away and starts blinking overhead - everything feel calm.

Whole.

Like maybe, just maybe... this madness was what that kept me sane.

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           T H I R D  P E R S O N
        Somewhere else in Delhi

The hum of fluorescent lights echoed faintly in the late-night silence of the Intelligence Bureau’s South Delhi unit. The city outside never slept, but here—behind reinforced glass, encrypted systems, and layers of classified access—only a few souls were still chasing shadows.

ACP Kabir Sen leaned over the glowing monitor, his jaw clenched, arms crossed over his chest. The decrypted file before him was still rendering—rows of call logs, financial traces, and fragments of intercepted voice notes—each one linked to the man Kabir had been chasing for the better part of four years.

Aaryan Verma.

Industrialist. Philanthropist. Mafia ghost.

And always, two steps ahead.

But tonight, something had shifted. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as a new flag popped on-screen—one tagged by the deep-web surveillance algorithm. A name that didn’t belong there.

Dr. Sia Roy.

Kabir straightened slowly, eyes narrowing.

That name didn’t just ring a bell. It struck a chord.

He clicked into the flagged interaction—an anonymized call log routed through an offshore server. One of Aaryan Verma’s burner numbers, recently active. One inbound call traced to a location just a few kilometers from the Delhi Forensic Crime Division. The registered SIM belonged to none other than Dr. Roy.

Sia Roy — the prodigy, the profiler, the cold-blooded genius with a poker face and a sharp tongue.

He remembered the case they’d crossed paths on. Four years ago. A double homicide. He’d been impressed. And mildly terrified. Her analysis had been surgical, but it was the way she’d looked at the suspect—like she could peel back the layers of his soul and leave his sins on the table—that stuck with him.

Now, she was showing up in mafia call logs.

Kabir frowned.

“Is this a lead... or a warning?”

He moved to the massive intel board plastered with strings, photos, and redacted documents. Aaryan Verma’s image was at the center—sleek black suit, cold dark eyes, confidence etched into every line of his posture. Beside him, a fresh printout: Sia Roy. Sharp cheekbones, unsmiling eyes, and a mind no one had quite figured out yet.

He drew a red line between them.

Something in his gut twisted. Either Sia was in danger… or she wasn’t as clean as she looked.

Kabir didn’t like maybes.

Just then, a soft beep came from the surveillance feed behind him—subtle, nearly missed. The system had picked up a match from a traffic cam in Lutyens’ Delhi earlier that evening.

Subject: Unknown Rider.
Vehicle: Ducati Panigale V4.
Match Probability – 89%.
Possible Identity: Dr. Sia Roy.

He turned slowly to the still image. The rider was almost unrecognizable—helmet secured, all-black gear, posture sleek and sure. But the stance, the height, even the slant of her head—it all screamed confidence. Control. Precision.

Kabir stepped closer.

“You’re not scared,” he murmured. “You’re already in the fire.”

What disturbed him wasn’t that she might be involved.

It was that, if she was… she didn’t seem to be running from it.

She was walking straight into the dark.

Somewhere else in the city, far from the IB offices, a pair of eyes watched the same footage on a private server—streaming live across encrypted channels. A man in a tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, leaned back in his chair, cigarette smoldering between two fingers.

Aaryan Verma.

The corners of his mouth curved into a slow, amused smirk as he exhaled a lazy trail of smoke.

“She’s already part of the game,” he murmured, voice like silk wrapped around a blade.
“And the cop just stepped onto my board.”

---

So.. who send the message to Sia?
Is it a normal threat or the start  something bigger?

Will Kabir Sen connect the dots before it's too late?

The game has started.
And trust me - no one's safe.
Coz
#PlotTwitsAreMyLoveLanguage.

And yes, I know you’re waiting for the “hero.”
But Aaryan Verma doesn’t make quiet entries — he erupts.

His POV is loading, but not in this chapter —
Some storms need time to gather.

For now, tell me —
What did you think of Sia’s entrance?
Is she ready for what’s coming…
Or is the world not ready for her?

This was just the Crimson Beginning.

𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐎, 𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐚𝐝:𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐳𝐳
WITH LOVE,
RITIKA
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