The grand hall stretched vast, bathed in a dim golden glow, the kind that whispered of power rather than screamed it. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen cascades from the vaulted ceiling, their light reflecting off glasses filled with aged whiskey, fine wine, and bubbling champagne. The scent in the air was a potent mix-cigars smoldering between expensive fingers, the tang of expensive colognes, and the faintest trace of gunpowder clinging to the coats of men who did more than just business.
This was not just a party-it was a battlefield of unspoken wars. Deals were made with firm handshakes, betrayals were exchanged behind sharp smirks, and in some corners, decisions of life and death were finalized over a sip of liquor. The room thrummed with low murmurs, with laughter that held no true warmth, with the presence of men whose wealth came with a body count.
Among them, unnoticed, a figure stood near the bar-a shadow blending effortlessly into the luxury. Aaravi Ahlawat. She was draped in black from head to toe, the hood of her outfit casting a shadow over her sharp gaze. In a room where every movement was scrutinized, she was invisible, easily mistaken for a worker, a background blur in a world of kings. But that was the beauty of it-when no one noticed you, they never saw you coming.
She took a slow sip of her champagne, letting the bubbles fizz on her tongue as her eyes flickered across the room, scanning. The mob lords from every corner of power had gathered here, each with their own agenda. Some were here to secure alliances, others to celebrate their victories. And then, there were those who had come to settle scores in the most ruthless way possible.
Aaravi remained still, a quiet storm wrapped in silk and shadows. The night had just begun, and in this world of kings and killers, she was neither. She was something far more dangerous-an unseen predator, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Aaravi's gaze moved like a blade, slicing through the crowd, registering every shift in movement, every subtle exchange of glances, every concealed motive lurking beneath polished smiles. She had trained herself to read people like an open book-the hesitation in a flicked cigar ash, the twitch of a muscle near the jaw, the false bravado laced in laughter. Here, in this den of kings and executioners, nothing was ever as it seemed.
And then, her eyes found him.
Vihaan Shekhawat.
The lord of the dark mob.
His presence was a slow-burning storm, the kind that darkened the skies long before it struck. He didn't command attention-he forced it. Conversations dulled when he passed, laughter died mid-sentence, and eyes that dared to meet his own quickly flicked away as if staring too long might invite their demise. The air around him was thick with something unspoken, something lethal. He was dressed in a sharply tailored black suit, its elegance doing little to soften the brutality that lingered beneath.
There was an effortless dominance in the way he stood, a glass of whiskey hanging loosely from his fingers as if the entire world existed at his leisure. His sharp jawline was dusted with a hint of stubble, and his dark eyes-cold, unreadable-scanned the room with the detached amusement of a predator who already knew no one here could match him. His aura wasn't just dangerous-it was suffocating, a silent promise of violence wrapped in an intoxicating allure.
But to Aaravi?
He was nothing.
Just a fleeting wisp of smoke, doomed to disappear into the night.
A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, hidden beneath the dim lighting. He was a god in this world, feared and revered in equal measure. But she had never believed in gods. She believed in endings. And Vihaan Shekhawat?
His was long overdue.
Aaravi's gaze drifted past the sea of criminals, past the glinting whiskey glasses and hushed conversations, straight toward the towering beast of a structure outside-the Shekhawat Mansion. A fortress of wealth and blood, its silhouette loomed against the night sky, its towering walls hiding secrets written in violence. From the outside, it was just another display of power, but she knew better. That mansion wasn't just a home. I
t was a kingdom built on graves.
Her fingers curled around the delicate stem of her champagne glass, tightening just enough that, for a moment, it seemed like it might crack under the pressure. The weight of the mission pressed against her ribs, a reminder of why she was here. A slow, composed sip of the bubbling liquid masked the storm brewing beneath her skin. She couldn't afford distractions. Not now.
Then, a voice.
"Status?"
The low murmur in her ear came from the tiny earpiece hidden beneath her hood. Shivansh. Her partner in the shadows. The only person who knew the truth of why she was here.
Aaravi's expression remained indifferent, her movements smooth as she lowered the glass. To anyone watching, she was just another faceless presence at the party. But beneath the surface, she was calculating, planning. She spoke under her breath, just enough for the mic to pick up her words.
"Target confirmed. Vihaan Shekhawat is here. Everything is in place."
She could almost hear Shivansh smirk on the other end. "Careful, Aaravi. You're walking in a den full of wolves."
Aaravi's eyes flickered with something cold.
"Wolves don't scare me."
She took another sip of her drink, eyes still locked on the mansion outside. Because soon, this place-the empire Vihaan had built-would crumble. And she would be the one to light the fire.
Vihaan stood among the elite-men draped in power, their wealth heavy on their wrists, their sins hidden beneath crisp suits. The Shekhawat family's most influential figures were gathered in a tight circle, conversing in low voices, their words laced with unspoken threats and lucrative deals. Beside them stood a few high-ranking businessmen, men who dined with criminals and slept soundly despite the blood on their hands.
Yet, Vihaan remained detached.
His posture was relaxed, his expression unreadable, but his presence alone kept the conversation from dissolving into arrogance. The men spoke in careful tones, their voices measured, their gazes flickering toward him every few seconds, as if seeking silent approval. But Vihaan had no interest in their hollow words. His whiskey glass rested lightly in his grip, the amber liquid swirling lazily, mirroring the disinterest in his cold, piercing eyes.
After a while, without a word, he stepped back. A single nod to his associates was all he gave before turning away, excusing himself from the gathering. He moved with an effortless authority, his strides unhurried, his back straight. He never needed permission to leave-he owned this night, this city, this world.
Aaravi watched from her corner, her champagne glass barely touched. The moment he exited the grand hall, disappearing into the cool night air, her lips curled into a smirk.
Finally.
She let the seconds tick by, keeping her stance relaxed, giving the illusion of someone lost in thought. But inside, she was a coiled wire, waiting for release.
Then, she moved.
Slipping through the crowd with practiced ease, she followed. Like a whisper of darkness, she blended into the night, her footsteps silent against the cold marble floors. She stayed just out of sight, her presence nothing more than a passing shadow trailing after a storm.
Vihaan Shekhawat had left the party.
And now, Aaravi followed him into the lion's den.
Vihaan stepped into the Shekhawat Mansion, the heavy doors shutting behind him with a quiet finality. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the vast hallway, the expensive marble floors echoing the soft, precise sound of his shoes. Without hesitation, he climbed the grand staircase, his presence commanding even in silence.
Aaravi followed, her movements calculated, her breaths measured. She stayed just far enough behind, blending into the darkness, her hood still shielding her face. Every second mattered. Every step had to be perfect.
Then-trouble.
From the corner of her eye, she caught the movement of a man heading straight toward her. A guard. His brows furrowed in suspicion as his gaze landed on her. Aaravi's muscles tensed, her mind working in rapid calculations. She couldn't afford to be seen.
In a blink, she slipped behind a pillar, pressing herself against the cold stone. Her heartbeat remained steady, trained for moments like these. She exhaled quietly, peering out just in time to see Vihaan's retreating figure disappearing down the corridor upstairs.
But before she could step out-
A rough grip latched onto her wrist.
The guard had caught her.
His confusion was evident, his brows drawn together as his mouth parted to question her presence. "Who the hell-"
He never got to finish.
Aaravi moved in a flash.
A sharp twist of her wrist broke his grip, and before he could react, her elbow rammed into his ribs. He barely gasped before she struck again-quick, precise. A hand to his throat, a well-placed hit behind his ear. The man's body sagged before he could even process what had happened.
She caught him before he could collapse too loudly, lowering his unconscious form to the ground. No alarms. No witnesses.
Without wasting another second, she straightened her hood and sprinted up the stairs, her eyes locking onto the corridor where Vihaan had disappeared.
The hunt had only just begun.
Aaravi pressed a finger to her earpiece, her voice barely a whisper as she stepped closer to the door.
"I'm in," she informed Shivansh, her tone steady.
"Be careful," came his reply, laced with tension. "You're in the heart of the beast's den now."
Aaravi didn't respond. She didn't need to. She had always known what she was walking into.
With practiced silence, she turned the knob and slipped inside.
The room was massive, wrapped in darkness so thick it felt alive. The faintest slivers of moonlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long, eerie shadows against the walls. It smelled of expensive cologne, leather, and something faintly metallic-a scent she recognized all too well.
But Vihaan wasn't here.
Her sharp eyes scanned the space, taking in the luxurious yet minimalistic setting-dark walls, a sleek glass table, a large bed draped in black sheets. No unnecessary decorations. Just like the man who lived here-cold, ruthless, and without distractions.
Moving swiftly, Aaravi melted into the shadows, her body pressing against the wall beside a massive wooden drawer. The darkness swallowed her whole, making her nothing more than a whisper in the room. Her breaths were shallow, controlled, as she waited.
Then-
A soft click.
The sound of a door unlocking.
The attached bathroom door swung open, and Vihaan stepped out.
The dim light barely reached him, but it was enough to carve out his presence in the room like a force of nature. His white shirt clung to his broad frame, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing tattoos that curled along his muscles like silent threats. His hair was damp, strands falling slightly over his forehead, giving him an almost careless look-but nothing about Vihaan Shekhawat was ever careless.
He exuded danger without trying.
The room, the air, the very atmosphere shifted around him as he walked further in, his hand running through his wet hair, his jaw tight as if deep in thought.
Aaravi remained still, her heart steady, her body coile
d like a predator in waiting.
Vihaan Shekhawat was finally within reach.
And now, the real game began.
Vihaan stood with his back to her, completely unaware-or so she thought. The dim light from his phone screen cast a faint glow on his sharp features as he typed something, his focus unwavering. His posture was relaxed, shoulders broad yet at ease, as if the world itself bowed before him.
Aaravi's fingers curled around the hilt of her knife, its cold steel a familiar comfort against her palm. In one smooth motion, she pulled it from the band strapped around her thigh, the blade catching the faintest glint of moonlight. Silent as a shadow, she moved closer, her breathing controlled, each step calculated.
And then-
With a swift, fluid motion, she pressed the knife against his throat.
His fingers froze over his phone screen.
Damn it. She had to tiptoe just to reach his neck.
The irritation flickered in her mind for only a second before she tightened her grip, pressing the blade just enough for him to feel the warning. Her voice was firm, unwavering.
"The codes."
For a moment, nothing.
Then-
A deep, amused chuckle rumbled from his chest, slow and deliberate, as if this was nothing more than an entertaining game to him.
Aaravi's brows furrowed slightly.
Vihaan smirked, the curve of his lips utterly sinful, as if the cold steel against his throat was no more than a whisper of silk. Slowly, deliberately, he tilted his head slightly-not in surrender, but in challenge.
"You know," his voice was rich, deep, laced with something dangerous, "if you wanted to get this close to me, sweetheart, you could've just asked."
Aaravi's grip tightened, but damn it-something about the way he said it sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
He exhaled slowly, his voice dropping lower.
"You think that little knife can make me talk? Cute."
Before she could react, his hand moved-fast. Too fast.
In a heartbeat, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, his grip firm yet maddeningly gentle. With a swift turn, he spun, her back now pressed against the wall, the knife still in her grasp but caged between them. His scent-clean, dark, intoxicating-invaded her senses, the warmth of his body too close, too solid.
His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest second before flicking back up to her eyes, his smirk never faltering.
"Between your legs, minx."
Aaravi's breath hitched, her pulse betraying her.
Damn him.
The air between them thickened, charged with something dark and electric.
Vihaan had her pinned against the wall, his body pressing just close enough to make her feel the heat radiating from him. His grip was firm around her wrist, forcing her own knife against the soft skin of her throat, the cold steel teasing a dangerous promise. Yet, it wasn't pain-it was control.
And he reveled in it.
Aaravi's breath was steady, but she could feel the intensity of his presence seeping into her skin. He was close-too close. His scent, a sinful mix of expensive cologne and something inherently masculine, invaded her senses, making it maddeningly hard to focus.
His smirk deepened.
"A knife to my throat, then mine to yours? Interesting turn of events, sweetheart." His voice was a slow, intoxicating drawl, deep and teasing, like a dark lullaby meant to pull her under.
His fingers flexed around hers, guiding the blade against her skin in a taunting stroke, just enough pressure to send a shiver down her spine.
"Tell me," he murmured, his lips dangerously close to where her jaw disappeared beneath her mask. "Did you think you could walk into my den, put a knife to my throat, and just walk away?"
Aaravi's jaw clenched, her body refusing to give in to the heat simmering between them. But damn him, Vihaan knew exactly what he was doing. His thumb lazily traced the inside of her wrist, the small movement sending an unwanted thrill through her veins.
She knew he couldn't see her face-the mask and oversized hoodie kept her hidden-but that didn't stop him from leaning in as if he could see through every layer, stripping her bare with nothing but his gaze.
"You're quiet." His breath ghosted over her covered cheek, his lips inches from her skin. "Cat got your tongue? Or..." His grip on her wrist tightened slightly, just enough to make her pulse jump. "Is it something else?"
Aaravi willed her body not to react, not to let him win this silent battle of control. But Vihaan Shekhawat was a storm, and she was caught in the eye of it.
He smirked again, as if he could feel her struggle, as if he already knew how this game would end.
"Admit it, little spy." His voice dropped to a whisper, lethal and sinful. "You like this."
And for the first time in her life-Aaravi wasn't sure if she could deny it.
A sharp knock echoed through the massive room, breaking the charged silence between them.
"Boss?" A man's voice called from outside, firm and laced with suspicion. "Have you seen anyone unfamiliar around? One of our men was knocked out near the corridor."
Aaravi's breath hitched for the first time.
Vihaan's smirk only deepened.
He didn't turn toward the door. Didn't move an inch. His piercing gaze remained locked onto her masked face, the sharp edge of her own knife still resting against her throat. His grip on her wrist remained firm, his thumb still tracing the inside in lazy, taunting circles-completely unbothered, completely in control.
The silence stretched just long enough to make her pulse hammer in her ears.
Then, with an ease that was almost cruel, Vihaan finally responded.
"No."
The single word was smooth, confident, dripping with amusement. He hadn't even glanced at the door. Hadn't hesitated.
He was covering for her.
Aaravi's fingers twitched against the knife, her mind racing. Why?
The man outside hesitated. "Are you sure, boss? We-"
"Did I stutter?" Vihaan's voice dropped an octave, dangerous now, sending a chill down even her spine.
A pause. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps retreating.
The second they were alone again, his smirk returned, wicked and knowing.
"Now," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Where were we, little spy?"
Aaravi's heart pounded so violently against her ribs that she swore Vihaan could hear it.
Damn it.
She needed to move. To do something. She couldn't let him see her face. Couldn't let him hear her voice.
F**k!
Her mind raced, searching for an opening, a weakness-anything. But Vihaan Shekhawat was a fortress, his grip steady, his body caging her in effortlessly. His smirk remained, dark and unreadable, as if he was waiting, daring her to make a move.
And then-she did.
With a sudden surge of strength, Aaravi twisted her wrist sharply, throwing him off just enough. Before he could react, she slammed her knee into his side, using the split second of distraction to slice through his arm with her knife.
The blade dug deep.
A sharp, clean cut.
Blood bloomed against the white of his sleeve, a stark contrast that should have made him flinch.
But he didn't.
Vihaan merely looked down at the wound, his expression unreadable. His smirk never wavered. He didn't even try to stop her.
That unnerved her more than anything.
Aaravi didn't waste a second. She spun on her heel, her heartbeat a thunderous roar in her ears, and ran straight for the window.
And then-
She jumped.
The cold night air hit her like a whip as she landed gracefully, her boots barely making a sound against the ground. Without looking back, she disappeared into the darkness.
Vihaan stood still in the room, blood dripping down his arm, his smirk now something far more dangerous.
"Interesting," he murmured to himself, flexing his fingers. "This just got fun."
Aaravi landed swiftly, the impact sending a sharp jolt through her legs, but she didn't stop. Her breath came out in heavy pants as she tapped her earpiece, her voice urgent yet controlled.
"Shivansh, how far is the safe transport?" she asked, pushing herself forward, her heartbeat still racing from the close encounter.
Static crackled for a second before Shivansh's voice came through. "Three hundred meters ahead. SUV's waiting. Move fast, Aaravi."
She didn't need to be told twice.
With the moonlight barely illuminating her path, she sprinted through the shadows, her hoodie whipping against the wind. Every second counted. Every heartbeat was a reminder that Vihaan Shekhawat wasn't someone she could underestimate.
The SUV came into view, its headlights dimmed, engine humming softly in the silence of the night.
Aaravi pushed herself harder, closing the distance.
Aaravi's lungs burned, but she didn't slow down. Her boots barely made a sound against the gravel as she weaved through the darkened path, her fingers twitching around the knife still slick with Vihaan's blood.
The SUV loomed closer.
"I see it," she muttered into the earpiece.
"Good. Get in fast," Shivansh's voice was tight, all business. "We might have company soon."
Aaravi didn't doubt it.
She could still feel Vihaan's presence, the weight of his smirk lingering on her skin like an unshakable shadow. He had let her go. He hadn't tried to stop her, hadn't called for his men. Why?
She hated that she didn't have the answer.
With a final push, she reached the SUV. The back door swung open, and without hesitation, she jumped in, slamming it shut behind her.
Shivansh, seated in the driver's seat, hit the accelerator before she could even settle. The tires screeched against the pavement as they sped off into the night.
"Report," Shivansh demanded, his sharp gaze flicking to her through the rearview mirror.
Aaravi exhaled, still gripping her knife. "Mission incomplete."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Why?"
She leaned back against the seat, her mind flashing back to the way Vihaan had trapped her against that wall, how he had pressed her own blade to her throat like it was a mere game.
A shiver-not of fear, but something far more dangerous-ran through her.
"Vihaan Shekhawat..." she murmured, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her knife. "He's not just a target. He's a problem."
The SUV cut through the empty roads like a shadow, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. Aaravi's chest still rose and fell heavily, her pulse not yet settled from the encounter.
Shivansh kept his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. "What the hell happened in there?"
Aaravi exhaled sharply, tilting her head back against the seat. "I had him. The knife was at his throat. But..." Her voice trailed off, her mind replaying the scene.
The way he pinned her, his grip firm but never painful. The way he had smirked, completely unfazed, like he had been playing along the entire time. And most of all, the way he had let her go-bleeding, yet untouched.
Shivansh glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his brows furrowing. "But what?"
Aaravi's fingers traced the handle of her knife absently. "He was expecting me."
Silence.
Shivansh's grip tightened. "You're saying this was a trap?"
Aaravi shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "No. If it was, I wouldn't be sitting here. But he wasn't surprised, Shiv. It was like he was..." She exhaled. "Amused."
Shivansh cursed under his breath. "That bastard plays a different game. You should've killed him the second you had the chance."
"I tried." Aaravi's voice was sharper than she intended. "You think I don't know that? But he's... different. The way he moves, the way he thinks. He doesn't react like a normal man."
"That's because he's not a normal man." Shivansh's voice was grim. "He's Vihaan Shekhawat. The dark mob's king. If he knows about you-"
"He doesn't." Aaravi cut him off, her jaw tightening. "He never saw my face. Never heard my voice."
"Yet." Shivansh's voice was eerily calm. "You left a mark tonight, Aaravi. And men like him? They don't forget."
Aaravi's fingers clenched around her knife.
She knew that.
She knew Vihaan Shekhawat wouldn't just forget.
And that meant this wasn't over. Not even close.
Aaravi took a deep breath, forcing her racing thoughts to settle. Dwelling on Vihaan Shekhawat wouldn't do her any good-not now. She needed to regroup, to think clearly.
"Take me home, Shiv," she ordered, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.
Shivansh shot her a glance through the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he seemed like he wanted to argue, to push her for more details, but in the end, he simply nodded.
"On it."
With that, he pressed down on the accelerator, the SUV speeding through the silent streets, taking her away from the battlefield she
had just left behind.
Away from Vihaan Shekhawat.
For now.
As the SUV rolled to a stop in front of Ahlawat Mansion, I let out a deep sigh, my fingers loosening around the knife still in my grip. The towering structure stood before me, familiar yet suffocating in its own way.
Without sparing Shivansh another glance, I pushed the door open and stepped out, my boots hitting the pavement with a dull thud. The night's events still clung to me like a second skin, but I shoved them to the back of my mind.
I climbed the steps slowly, my muscles aching from the tension that had gripped them all night. Before I could even knock, the heavy wooden doors swung open.
There she was.
My mother-Radhika Ahlawat.
Her sharp eyes immediately scanned me, as if searching for something out of place. For a wound, a hesitation-anything.
I forced a small smile, pushing past her unspoken questions as I stepped inside.
"You're late," she finally said.
"I know," I murmured, my voice steady, betraying nothing.
And with that, I walked deeper into the mansion, letting the weight of the night settle behind me.
I glanced at my mother, my voice calm yet firm. "Where's Dad?"
She didn't hesitate. "In the study. He's been waiting for you."
I gave a short nod, not wasting another second as I turned on my heels and walked straight toward his study. My footsteps echoed through the silent halls, my mind already preparing for the conversation ahead.
Reaching the heavy wooden doors, I lifted my hand and knocked twice before pushing them open.
Inside, my father-Ranjeet Ahlawat-stood by the window, his silhouette framed against the dim glow of the city lights outside. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture unwavering, radiating the same authority I had grown up under.
At the sound of my arrival, he turned, his piercing gaze locking onto mine.
That same look. The perfect mixture of firmness and something softer-something only I ever got to see.
I straightened my shoulders, meeting his eyes head-on.
He silently gestured toward the chair in front of him, his expression unreadable. I gave a small nod and took my seat, my posture straight, controlled. Across from me, he sat down as well, his fingers lacing together as his sharp gaze settled on me.
"The mission?" His deep voice held no impatience, just expectation.
I took a steady breath before speaking. "I got in. Located Vihaan Shekhawat. Got close enough to end him." My fingers curled slightly as I continued, "But something was off. He didn't react the way I expected. He let me go."
A heavy silence filled the room.
Ranjeet Ahlawat-feared by enemies, respected by allies. The leader of our organization. Yes, he was a mob lord, ruling over Ahlawat Syndicate, a name whispered with both fear and reverence. But alongside that, he commanded one of the most powerful underground spy networks in existence.
And I?
I was his best. His most lethal. His favorite.
Not because I was his daughter. But because I had earned it.
He had trained me himself, shaped me into what I was today. Unlike many in this world of blood and betrayal, he wasn't cruel-stern, yes, but never needlessly harsh. That was something I admired most about him.
But tonight...
Tonight, I wasn't sure if I had met his expectations.
My father's expression hardened, his jaw tightening slightly as he stood up and walked toward the window. The dim glow of the city lights cast shadows over his sharp features, making him look every bit the ruthless leader he was known to be.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, his voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Forget Shekhawat for now. There's something more urgent."
I straightened, waiting.
"Raza Mirza." His name alone sent a chill through the air. "The head of the Mirza Cartel. Arms dealing, human trafficking, organ smuggling-you name it, he has his hands in it."
I clenched my fists. Everyone in this world knew the kind of monster Raza Mirza was. Unlike the strategic, calculated mob lords, he thrived on brutality. Women, children-nothing was off-limits for him.
"He has something I need," my father continued. "A ledger. One that contains the names of every corrupt official, every syndicate leader who has been working under him. If we get it, we don't just dismantle his cartel-we expose half of the underground world."
My heart pounded. A mission like this wasn't just about stealth; it was about survival.
"Where is he?" I asked, my voice unwavering.
My father turned back to me, his dark eyes sharp. "Dubai. He's hosting a private gathering at his underground estate in two days. The only way in is through his personal guests."
I understood immediately. "You want me to infiltrate."
A slow nod. "And retrieve that ledger at any cost."
I exhaled slowly, already calculating the risks. This wasn't just another mission.
This was war.
I leaned forward slightly, my gaze locked onto my father's. "Is Raza Mirza coming to Udaipur?"
He didn't hesitate. "Shivansh will brief you on all the details."
I gave a curt nod, understanding that was all the information I'd get for now. If my father was keeping it short, it meant he had already set things in motion.
His expression softened just a fraction, but his tone remained firm. "Go freshen up and have dinner."
I exhaled slowly, then stood up. My body still carried the weight of the night-the chase, the confrontation, the moment Vihaan Shekhawat let me go. But now wasn't the time to dwell on that.
Without another word, I turned and stepped out of the study, the heavy door clicking shut behind me.
As soon as I entered my room, I shut the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment, my breathing uneven.
Slowly, my gaze dropped to my wrists.
Both hands-pinned by him. His grip, firm yet controlled. The way his fingers had wrapped around mine, the way his touch still lingered like an unshakable ghost on my skin.
I sucked in a sharp breath and shook my head. No. I wasn't going to let this affect me.
Without wasting another second, I strode toward the bathroom, turning on the shower. The sound of rushing water filled the space, but it did nothing to drown out the memory of that moment.
Stepping under the stream, I grabbed my wrists and started rubbing them-harshly, desperately-trying to erase every trace of him.
His touch. His presence. His smirk.
The heat from the water scalde
d my skin, but I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
Vihaan stood at the edge of his grand balcony, the dim city lights casting sharp shadows across his sculpted features. A crystal glass of whiskey rested in his grip, the amber liquid swirling lazily as he took a slow sip, his smirk never fading.
The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain, but Vihaan barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere-back in that dark room, where a certain little spy had dared to press a knife to his throat.
A chuckle rumbled in his chest, deep and dark.
His free hand flexed at his side, the faint sting of the cut reminding him of her. His left sleeve was soaked in blood, the fabric clinging to his arm, yet he hadn't bothered to treat it. He welcomed the pain-let it burn against his skin like a reminder.
That small, masked intruder had been quick, precise. But not quick enough to disappear from his mind.
Vihaan leaned against the railing, tilting his head slightly. His sharp jawline, kissed by the golden glow of the city, made him look every bit the lethal man he was. A predator who had just caught the scent of his prey.
"Interesting," he murmured to himself, his smirk deepening.
She had gotten away tonight.
But not for long.
Vihaan stepped back into his dimly lit room, the heavy curtains barely letting in the outside world. He moved with lazy grace, his fingers effortlessly undoing the buttons of his blood-soaked shirt, one by one. The fabric peeled away from his skin, revealing a body carved from discipline and power-every muscle taut, every line defined, a canvas of dominance.
His tattoos stretched across his toned chest and arms, inked stories of war, blood, and power. Some intricate, some crude, but each one a mark of the life he ruled with an iron grip. He should have tossed the ruined shirt onto the floor like he usually did, but tonight, he placed it inside his closet-folded, as if keeping a reminder of the little spy who had dared to cut him.
A smirk ghosted his lips. Feisty little thing.
He turned toward the bathroom, his steps unhurried, exuding an effortless arrogance that came naturally to him. The moment he stepped inside, he twisted the knob, letting the warm water cascade down in steady streams.
Stepping under the heat, he let his head fall back, his wet hair slicked against his forehead. The warmth seeped into his skin, stirring the fresh wound on his arm.
A sharp sting. A slow burn.
His jaw clenched, and a low, guttural growl rumbled in his chest.
Pain had never been a weakness for him-it was a reminder, a thrill, a challenge. And this particular sting? It belonged to her.
His little spy had left her mark.
Vihaan chuckled darkly, running a hand through his wet hair, droplets of water sliding down his chiseled chest.
"You got away this time, sweetheart," he murmured, voice deep, laced with amusement and something far more dangerous.
He dragged his tongue across his bottom lip, exhaling slowly as the heat wrapped around him.
"But next time?" His smirk returned, devilish and sharp. "Let's see how far you run before I catch you."
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