It was the last train of the evening as you hopped into the packed Metro coach at around 10:00 PM. Forget finding a place to sit, you barely had enough room to stand without bumping into four others around you. Half an hour passed, an intersection between the green and blue lines provided much needed relief. Most of the crowd dispersed to a different line, leaving barely enough passengers to occupy all the seats.

You were scrolling through your feed and found a vacant spot just nearby, settling yourself down comfortably. It was only then that you noticed my stern eyes fixated on you. I had one hand on my phone as well, but my dead pan serious face didn't make you comfortable as your stop approached. Doors on the left side sprang open and you walked out before anyone else could. Without looking back, your instinct pushed you down the stairs as hastily as you could, while the rest of the crowd lazily took to the escalator. Your alarmed sense made you deliberately take the wrong exit, which allowed you the extra opportunity to cross over at a busy juncture when the cars stopped. Minutes ticked by, but you kept walking. Halfway to your room, you looked over your shoulders and found I almost caught up with you.

Pulse racing, you froze. "Kavya Sharma?" I asked quietly, flashing the badge of the central bureau gleaming in the dim street lamps. "Y-yeah, why?" you muttered.

"Either you come with me now, or I arrest you in full public view and get you into the police van waiting across the flyover from here. Your husband has been nabbed circulating fake currency through nine states, and we have him in custody."

You realized the end was here, and no further running could save you from what was to follow. But little did you know that I wasn't taking you anywhere near a police station. You were about to be escorted into a shady hotel to serve my manhood for the rest of the night.