Chapter 1 – The Night of Sparks (Part 1)
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The Night of Sparks
The city of Mumbai was a beast of a different breed after midnight—its veins glowed with streetlights and neon, its heartbeat pulsed through the sea breeze, and somewhere in the darkest alleys, deals were sealed in blood rather than ink.
Sanaya Singhania gripped the cold railing of the old dockyard, the mist from the Arabian Sea touching her face like a whisper. Her heart was racing—not because of fear, but because this night was the first step in a game she had sworn to play.
A game that would ruin the man who had ruined her family.
Akshay Malhotra.
The name alone tasted like iron on her tongue. The man was a phantom in headlines—rich, untouchable, rumored to be both a savior to the poor and a devil to his rivals. But for Sanaya, he was not a myth. He was a target. Her target.
Far down the alley, a convoy of black SUVs arrived, their headlights cutting through the fog like knives. Men stepped out—broad shoulders, slick suits, the glint of metal under their jackets. And then, from the last car, he emerged.
Akshay Malhotra.
He was younger than she expected—mid-twenties at most, though his aura carried a weight that older men struggled to wield. A black three-piece suit hugged his tall frame, his dark hair slicked back, a watch on his wrist that could pay off a mansion’s debt. And yet, it wasn’t the wealth that struck her.
It was the silence he carried.
Every man around him seemed to lower their tone, as if the air shifted to obey him.
Sanaya adjusted the shawl around her shoulders, hiding the faint tremor in her fingers. She had staged this moment carefully—her car “breaking down” near this very dock, the phone call to her accomplice cut short just as the gunfire started.
Because there would be gunfire tonight. Her sources said so. A gang deal. A shipment dispute. A bloody night where shadows would clash.
And that was when fate—or rather, her plan—struck.
The first shot cracked the night like thunder.
Men shouted, crates toppled, and the smell of gunpowder sliced through the sea breeze. Sanaya ducked behind a container, clutching her chest as bullets danced in the distance.
Through the chaos, she saw him—Akshay—calm as a predator amidst panic. A gun in one hand, his other pulling a wounded man to safety. His movements were precise, controlled, almost graceful.
And then, as if fate had been waiting for her cue, a rival gunman raised his weapon behind him.
Sanaya didn’t think—she moved. Grabbing a loose metal rod, she struck the shooter’s arm just as he fired. The bullet missed Akshay’s heart by inches, grazing his shoulder instead.
He turned—sharp, cold eyes meeting hers.
For a second, the world went still.
Rain tapped on steel. Smoke curled in the night air. And there she was—Sanaya Singhania, drenched in fear and defiance—standing between a bullet and the devil himself.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his voice low but dangerous.
“I… I was just—my car broke down—” she stammered, her plan rehearsed but her heart betraying her.
“Get down!” he ordered, grabbing her wrist and pulling her behind cover as another volley of shots rang out.
They stayed like that for seconds that felt like hours—his body shielding hers, his breath warm against her temple. She could smell the faint mix of rain and cologne, could hear the controlled rhythm of his heartbeat despite the chaos.
“You saved my life,” he said finally, eyes scanning her with something between suspicion and intrigue.
“Lucky reflex,” she whispered.
He smirked faintly. “Luck doesn’t swing iron rods.”
When the gunfire died and his men secured the dock, Akshay didn’t leave her behind. He wrapped his jacket around her shoulders and said, “You’re coming with me. No one’s innocent at a place like this after midnight.”
And that, Sanaya realized, was her doorway in.
The night she saved him was the night she stepped into his world—
A world she had sworn to destroy.
Chapter 1 – The Night of Sparks (Part 2)
The dockyard was bleeding silence now. What had roared with bullets and men moments ago was now a graveyard of scattered shells and bodies. Sanaya kept her head low, fingers still clutching the edge of the jacket Akshay had thrown over her shoulders. It smelled of cold rain and danger.
Akshay Malhotra stood a few feet ahead, barking orders in clipped tones. “Clean this mess. No traces. Take the wounded to Dr. Rishi’s clinic, the usual route. And find out who the hell thought they could step on my ground tonight.”
His men obeyed without question.
Sanaya stole a glance at him. Even with his shirt torn at the shoulder where the bullet had grazed him, he stood like a king in the middle of chaos—hands steady, eyes sharper than the guns around him. She wondered, fleetingly, how someone so young could command such gravity.
And then his eyes turned to her.
“You,” he said, walking toward her with a calm that was somehow more terrifying than the gunfire. “What’s your name?”
“Sanaya,” she replied, her voice soft, rehearsed.
“Sanaya what?”
She hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Singhania.”
His eyes flickered, as though the surname tugged at a memory, but he didn’t press. “What were you doing here at this hour?”
“My car… it broke down. I was calling for help when…” She gestured toward the blood-stained dock, the bullet casings that glinted like dark jewels.
“And you decided to swing a metal rod at a man with a gun?” he asked, voice low, one eyebrow raised.
“I—I just acted,” she murmured, feigning nervousness. “You were about to be shot.”
He didn’t smile this time. He studied her—too long, too silently. “Get in the car,” he said finally, tilting his head toward the waiting black SUV.
The Ride
The car smelled of leather and storm. Rain hit the tinted windows as they pulled away from the dock, the city lights fading behind them. Sanaya sat on the far side of the backseat, her hands in her lap, feeling his gaze on her like a weight.
“You saved my life,” he said after a long silence.
She forced a small smile. “Anyone would have.”
“No.” His voice was sharper now. “Most people would run. You didn’t.”
She didn’t reply.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked suddenly.
Her eyes flicked to his—dark, unflinching, almost amused.
“Should I be?” she whispered.
He leaned back, smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “Depends.”
Sanaya’s heart pounded, not from fear—but from how close she was to the man she had sworn to destroy. Her fingers itched to reach for the tiny silver locket around her neck—inside it was the last photo of her family before the night everything burned. Because of him. At least, that’s what she had been told.
And now he sat inches away, alive, breathing, dangerous.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked finally.
“My house,” he said simply.
“Why?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, as though amused by her audacity. “Because I don’t believe in coincidences. Not in my world. You show up at my dock in the middle of a war, save me from a bullet, and expect me to just… drop you home?”
“I didn’t expect—”
“No,” he cut her off, voice smooth but firm. “You don’t expect. I decide.”
The Mansion
The SUV turned off the main road, entering a private estate lined with palm trees and high walls. The Malhotra mansion loomed ahead—modern, cold, and sprawling, a fortress dressed as luxury.
Inside, everything gleamed: black marble floors, glass railings, chandeliers that looked like frozen rain. Yet it felt… hollow. Too clean. Too perfect.
A house where no one laughed.
“Sit,” he said, pointing to a leather sofa in the main hall. He shrugged off his damaged coat, wincing slightly from the graze on his shoulder.
“You’re hurt,” Sanaya said before she could stop herself.
He glanced at her, almost surprised by the softness in her tone. “A scratch.”
A man entered with a first aid kit. Akshay sat, letting the man clean and bandage the wound, never once flinching. His eyes, however, stayed on her.
“So, Sanaya Singhania,” he began, voice calm again, “what do you really do?”
“I—I’m a designer,” she lied smoothly. “Fashion. I had a client meeting nearby.”
“At midnight?”
“International client,” she improvised. “Different time zones.”
He didn’t blink. “Liar.”
Her breath caught. “Excuse me?”
“You lie well,” he said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “But not well enough. Your eyes—” he pointed at her—“they shift when you lie.”
“I’m not lying—”
“You’re brave,” he interrupted again, “and brave people usually have a reason.”
The First Crack
For a moment, the room was just the two of them—his stare like a blade, hers like a shield of glass.
Then he leaned back, surprisingly calm. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you… not tonight.”
Sanaya swallowed.
“You saved my life,” he continued, “and in my world, that means you owe me nothing—but it also means I own a moment of yours.”
She frowned slightly. “Own?”
“I always collect my debts.”
Outside, thunder rolled over the sea. Somewhere deep in the mansion, a clock struck one.
Sanaya knew tonight she had walked into the lion’s den. But she couldn’t back out now—not when the game had just begun.
Akshay Malhotra had noticed her.
And that was step one.
Chapter 1 – The Night of Sparks (Part 3)
The clock had long struck two by the time the mansion began to quiet down. Sanaya sat where he had left her—on the leather sofa, her fingers curled into the warmth of the jacket he’d tossed her way. The storm outside had not softened; rain streaked down the glass walls like veins of mercury.
Akshay had disappeared into another room after issuing a series of brisk instructions to his men. She couldn’t hear much, but words like shipment, betrayal, and clean-up filtered through the echoing hall.
She inhaled slowly. Remember why you’re here, Sanaya.
The bullet she had saved him from wasn’t just a bullet—it was her entry pass.
And now she was inside the lion’s cage.
The Return
The soft click of boots on marble signaled his return. He wasn’t wearing the ruined shirt anymore—now a crisp black shirt hugged his frame, the top two buttons undone, his wounded shoulder wrapped but not hidden. He moved like someone who didn’t need rest.
“You’re still awake,” he remarked, his voice a casual rasp.
“I couldn’t sleep in a stranger’s house,” she said lightly.
“You shouldn’t call me a stranger,” he replied, walking to the mini-bar in the corner. He poured himself a drink—amber liquid catching the faint light—and turned, glass in hand. “Not after saving my life.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” she whispered, almost without thinking.
His brow arched. “No?”
She caught herself. “I mean—I just… reacted. It was instinct.”
Akshay smirked, sipping his drink. “Instincts are rarely that noble. But I’ll let it slide.”
A House with Eyes
He gestured for her to follow, leading her down a hallway that smelled faintly of expensive wood and gunpowder. They passed doors that were firmly shut, men posted at two of them, nodding as he walked by.
“This place…” she murmured, unable to hold back, “it doesn’t feel like a home.”
“It isn’t,” he said flatly. “It’s a fortress.”
She glanced at him. “You always live like this?”
“Alive men don’t ask for comfort. They demand survival.”
His words chilled her—not for their coldness, but for the truth they carried.
The Room
He opened a door, revealing a guest suite—larger than any apartment she had ever seen, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the restless sea. The bed was crisp, untouched; the room smelled faintly of cedar.
“You’ll stay here tonight,” he said.
She frowned. “What makes you think I want to stay?”
His eyes darkened slightly. “Want doesn’t matter. Until I know why you were there tonight, you’re not walking out of my sight.”
“That sounds like imprisonment.”
“That sounds like survival—for you and for me.”
He turned to leave, then paused at the door. “If you run, my men will find you. If you scream, no one will hear. But if you stay… nothing will happen to you.”
The First Crack in the Mask
Alone now, Sanaya let the façade slip. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass, staring at the rain-lashed horizon. Somewhere out there was the world she once knew—safe, naïve, intact. Now, she was surrounded by marble and men with guns, held by the very man her father had cursed with his dying breath.
She whispered the words again, the promise she had made over her father’s pyre: “I will ruin him.”
But as the words left her lips, she remembered the way Akshay had looked at her in the car—not with pity, not with lust, but with curiosity. The kind of look predators give only to prey they haven’t decided how to kill yet.
The Midnight Knock
Three soft knocks broke her chain of thought. She turned quickly. The door opened—and there he was again, leaning on the frame, a file in his hand.
“I did a quick check,” he said. “Sanaya Singhania—designer, graduated from Mumbai Institute of Fashion, no police record, no known links to anyone in my world. Perfectly clean.” His eyes narrowed. “Too clean.”
She forced a confused frown. “Is that a crime?”
“No.” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “But in my world, nobody is perfectly clean.”
The Moment of Control
He stopped a step away from her. Close enough that she could smell the faint smoke on his shirt, feel the weight of his presence.
“You don’t owe me your life,” he said. “But now your life is inside mine.”
Her heartbeat stumbled. “What do you want from me?”
“For now?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Answers.”
“And if I don’t have them?”
“Then I’ll make you stay until you do.”
Sanaya tightened her grip on the locket beneath her shirt, feeling the cold metal bite into her palm. She had to be careful. One wrong word, one wrong move, and she would become his prisoner for real.
He turned to leave again, hand on the door handle, then glanced back. “Sleep, Miss Singhania. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? For what?”
His smile this time was genuine—and dangerous. “To see what kind of world you’ve stepped into.”
The door shut with a click.
The Cliffhanger
Sanaya lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, rain roaring beyond the glass. Her mind replayed the night—the bullet, the docks, the car, the mansion, his eyes.
She whispered to herself, almost like a confession: “I came here to destroy you.”
Unbeknownst to her, a shadow shifted behind the ventilation panel—a small surveillance camera blinking red.
And somewhere in the mansion, Akshay Malhotra watched the live feed, his lips curving faintly.
“She’s lying,” he murmured to himself. “But why?”
Chapter 2 – The House of Shadows (Part 1)
The Morning
The rain had stopped by dawn. When Sanaya opened her eyes, the world beyond the vast glass windows glowed with a silver-blue haze. Waves crashed far below, their spray reaching the cliffside mansion like ghostly fingers. For a moment, she almost forgot where she was—until she saw the unfamiliar silk sheets, the untouched breakfast tray by the door, and the pair of boots waiting outside her room.
Her stomach tightened.
So, the lion still wants to watch his prey.
She rose, adjusting the oversized black shirt she had slept in, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. The breakfast tray held exotic fruits, warm bread, and a glass of something that looked far too luxurious for an early meal. A folded note rested beside the plate:
“Eat well. The day will be long. – A.M.”
Her lips curved in a humorless smile. “Charming… in his own twisted way.”
The Silent Escort
The door opened without a knock. A tall man in a tailored suit—one of Akshay’s lieutenants, judging by the scar running down his jaw—stepped inside.
“Boss wants you downstairs,” he said curtly.
“Do I get to say no?” she asked.
“You can. Won’t change the result.”
She sighed and followed him through the mansion’s labyrinth of corridors—walls lined with rare art, Persian carpets muffling her steps, the faint scent of gun oil mixed with expensive cologne. Cameras blinked in discreet corners. Every hallway had eyes.
The Breakfast Table
Akshay Malhotra was already at the table, sunlight streaming over his shoulders like a crown of cold fire. He wore another perfectly fitted black shirt, his injured shoulder wrapped neatly. A newspaper lay beside his untouched coffee, the headline screaming about the “unidentified bloodshed at the docks.”
He glanced up as she entered, his gaze unreadable.
“Good morning, Miss Singhania.”
“You make it sound like we’re in a hotel,” she replied, seating herself at the far end.
“In some ways, we are. People come here, stay for a while, and either leave richer… or don’t leave at all.”
She set her jaw. “That’s comforting.”
He chuckled softly. “Comfort is a lie, Sanaya. Control is real.”
The Test Begins
He slid a file across the table toward her. “Since you’re going to be here for a while, I thought you should see what I do.”
She hesitated before flipping it open. Inside were designs—actual fashion sketches, event portfolios, logistics for a luxury gala planned under one of his legitimate fronts. But the numbers in the margins didn’t match the art; they were codes, shipment IDs, routes.
“This isn’t… just a gala,” she said carefully.
“No,” he admitted, sipping his coffee. “It’s a smokescreen. My business wears a suit, Sanaya, but it bleeds just like the streets.”
She glanced up. “Why are you showing me this?”
“Because you’re an unknown in my territory. I’d rather you understand what you’ve walked into.”
The Cat and the Mouse
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You saved my life, and that puts me in your debt. But I don’t like debts. I clear them—one way or another.”
Sanaya’s pulse jumped. “And how exactly do you plan to clear this one?”
“By giving you a choice.”
She raised an eyebrow. “A choice?”
“Yes. You can leave this house under my protection, never cross my path again, and forget that night at the docks. Or… you can stay.”
“Stay? As what?”
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “An ally. A designer. A woman under my roof—not my prisoner, not yet.”
“Not yet,” she echoed bitterly.
Her Inner Storm
She wanted to say no. To spit in his face, to throw the files back and storm out. But her father’s voice haunted her: Get close to him, Sanaya. Closer than anyone has ever been. Only then can you destroy him.
And here he was, unknowingly offering her the very opportunity.
“Think carefully,” Akshay added, his tone deceptively calm. “People who come close to me often burn.”
“I’m not afraid of fire,” she replied.
For the first time, his eyes softened—just slightly, like a blade catching dawnlight. “We’ll see.”
The Mansion Tour
The rest of the morning unfolded like a silent theater. Akshay walked her through the mansion—each floor a different world: the grand ballroom for his high-society masks, the underground cellar where whispered deals were made, the cliffside helipad always ready for a quick escape.
Everywhere she turned, his influence dripped like oil into water—elegance painted over violence. Men greeted him with respect that was part loyalty, part fear. And women… they watched him from a distance, never daring to cross into his orbit.
Sanaya noticed the way he walked—never rushing, never hesitant, every step claiming space. He wasn’t just a man; he was a storm held in human shape.
The Whispered Warning
As they reached the inner courtyard, one of his old advisors—a silver-haired man with a cane—brushed past and murmured just loud enough for her to hear:
“Be careful, girl. The last one who walked this close to him disappeared.”
She stiffened. “What did he mean by that?” she asked once the advisor left.
Akshay didn’t answer directly. “Some people think I’m cursed. Some think I’m merciful. The truth is—I’m neither. I just do what needs to be done.”
The Cliffhanger of Part 1
By noon, Sanaya was back in her room, staring at the ocean. The choice he had given her echoed like a riddle. Leave now… or stay and burn.
She touched the locket again, her father’s ashes sealed inside. No, I won’t leave. Not yet.
She didn’t know that across the mansion, Akshay was reviewing surveillance footage again, pausing on the moment she whispered in the night: “I came here to destroy you.”
His fingers drummed the desk. “So it’s a game, is it?”
And Akshay Malhotra never lost a game.
Chapter 2 – The House of Shadows (Part 2)
The Afternoon Interrogation
The mansion was unnervingly quiet after noon. Sunlight streamed through the long windows, painting gold patterns on marble floors. Sanaya had just finished sketching on a notepad—a habit that helped her appear harmless—when a knock sounded.
“Come in,” she said, expecting a servant.
Instead, Akshay entered, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a thin file.
“You’ve been busy,” he remarked, glancing at her sketches. “Fashion?”
She folded the paper. “Habit.”
He sat across from her, too close for comfort. “I’ve had my men look into you.”
Her heart skipped. Already?
“And?” she asked, masking her unease.
He tossed the file on the table. “Sanaya Singhania. Twenty-three. Graduate in design. Recently returned from London. No debts, no scandals, no known enemies. Clean… too clean.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
“For someone who steps in front of a bullet for a man she doesn’t know? Yes.”
The First Clash
His gaze was a scalpel—calm, precise, unblinking.
“Why were you at the docks that night?” he asked.
“I told you—I was lost.”
“No one gets lost in that part of the city,” he said flatly. “You either belong to someone… or you’ve come looking for trouble.”
Sanaya’s fingers tightened on her notepad. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“I’m giving you a chance to tell the truth.”
“And if I don’t?”
A small, dangerous smile touched his lips. “Then I’ll find it myself. I always do.”
The Trap
That evening, he invited her to the main hall, where his core men had gathered around a mahogany table. Maps and coded documents lay scattered—routes, shipments, alliances. She recognized some of the names; they were whispered enemies of her father’s syndicate.
“This,” Akshay said, gesturing to the table, “is what keeps this house standing. Every name here has tried to take a piece of me. Some succeeded. Most didn’t.”
He handed her a glass of wine. “Pick one name. Any one.”
She hesitated. “Why?”
“Because tonight,” he said, eyes never leaving hers, “that name will decide how much I trust you.”
She felt the trap snap shut. If she chose wrong, she might expose herself. If she chose too carefully, he’d know she was calculating.
Think, Sanaya. He’s testing your instincts.
She picked a name at random, one she vaguely remembered from old family conversations—an ally-turned-traitor of her father.
Akshay studied her for a long moment. “Interesting choice.”
The Private Warning
After the meeting, he walked her back to her room. The corridor was empty, their footsteps echoing.
“You know,” he said softly, “if you’re hiding something, this is the part where it starts to eat you alive.”
She stopped, meeting his gaze. “And if I’m not?”
“Then you’re a rare breed,” he said. “Because everyone hides something. Even me.”
There was a flicker in his eyes—something almost human, almost wounded. But it vanished as quickly as it came.
The Shadows in Her Mind
That night, Sanaya lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The sound of waves crashing below reminded her of the oath she had taken.
He thinks I’m here by chance. Good. Let him think that. The closer I get, the more blind he’ll be when the knife finally turns.
But a voice in the back of her mind whispered: And what if he’s the one turning the knife?
Akshay’s Perspective
Meanwhile, in his study, Akshay poured himself a drink. One of his lieutenants stood nearby.
“She’s hiding something,” the man said.
Akshay swirled the glass. “Of course she is. But I want to know why she hesitates—why she trembles, then steadies herself like a soldier.”
“Do you want us to dig deeper?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. Let her think she’s safe. The ones who come close with secrets—they always reveal themselves. One way or another.”
He glanced at the monitors showing her room. She was awake, restless, staring at the sea.
A faint smile curved his lips. “Let the game begin.”
Cliffhanger for Part 2
The night deepened. Somewhere in the mansion, footsteps moved in the dark—neither hers nor his. A shadow listening. Watching.
And far away, in a cramped flat, a burner phone lit up with a single message:
“She’s inside.”
Chapter 2 – The House of Shadows (Part 3)
The Invitation
The next evening, the mansion was strangely alive—music hummed softly in the background, expensive whiskey flowed, and Akshay was nowhere to be seen for hours. Sanaya was invited—not asked—to join a “small gathering.”
The message was clear: she had no choice.
When she entered the hall, the room smelled of leather, smoke, and secrets. Akshay was at the head of a long table, a glass of amber liquid in hand, his men seated along both sides. Their conversations paused as she stepped in.
“You made it,” he said, his voice calm but cutting. “Come. Sit.”
Sanaya obeyed, choosing a seat near the edge, but his gesture commanded her to sit closer—right beside him.
“Tonight,” he said, “you will see how decisions are made in my world.”
The Auction
On the table lay a black envelope. Akshay slid it open, revealing photographs—ships, crates, a coded ledger. The air thickened.
“One of these shipments will move tomorrow. We’ve been informed someone might try to intercept it.”
Sanaya stayed silent, her heart drumming. She recognized the ledger marks—her father’s syndicate had once used similar routes.
Akshay leaned closer, his breath ghosting her ear. “What would you do, if you were me?”
She hesitated. Say too much, and he’ll know I understand the codes. Say too little, and he’ll see I’m hiding something.
“I’d… move quietly,” she said. “Make them think you cancelled the shipment. Then move it another way.”
He studied her profile, then chuckled softly. “You’re either very clever… or very dangerous.”
The First Crack
Later, when the men dispersed, Akshay poured two drinks and handed her one.
“You have a mind that doesn’t belong to an ordinary designer,” he said.
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s a warning.”
She raised her glass. “I don’t scare easily.”
“Neither do I,” he replied, and for a moment, the tension between them shifted—less of predator and prey, more like two wolves circling each other, waiting for the first one to slip.
The Attack
It happened just past midnight. Sanaya had gone to her room when the first explosion shook the east wing. Glass shattered. Alarms blared.
Before she could react, the door burst open—Akshay, his gun drawn, eyes sharp as steel.
“Down!” he ordered.
She dropped to the floor as bullets tore into the hallway. Men shouted. Somewhere below, a grenade went off.
Akshay dragged her behind the dresser, shielding her with his body. The scent of gunpowder and his cologne mingled.
“Stay here,” he muttered, aiming at the corridor. Two masked intruders appeared—he fired twice, clean shots to the chest.
Her breath caught. She had seen violence before, but never this close, never this precise.
The Aftermath
The assault lasted ten minutes. By the time the smoke cleared, three men were dead, two captured. Akshay stood in the middle of the hallway, his shirt torn, blood on his knuckles—not his own.
He turned to her. “You alright?”
She nodded, though her hands trembled. “Who were they?”
“Another syndicate. Or maybe a warning.” His eyes narrowed. “But they knew where to strike… and when.”
The implication hung heavy between them.
The Intimate Interrogation
Later, in his private study, he stood before her—no guards, no weapons, just the weight of his presence.
“You were in this wing when it started,” he said. “Lucky.”
“I didn’t plan an explosion if that’s what you mean.”
“Did you warn them?” His voice was ice.
She met his gaze. “If I wanted you dead, Akshay… you would be.”
Silence. Then he laughed—a sharp, dark sound. “You have spirit, Sanaya. That might be what kills you.”
The Wound
Only then did she notice a streak of red along his side—shallow but bleeding.
“You’re hurt,” she said.
“It’s nothing.”
She stepped closer, instinct or performance she didn’t know anymore, and pressed a cloth to the wound. He didn’t flinch, just watched her with that same unreadable intensity.
“Why do you care?” he asked.
“Because I don’t like owing anyone,” she said. “You saved me. Consider this… even.”
The Unspoken Line
When she left his study that night, the mansion felt different—less like a gilded cage, more like a coiled serpent waiting to strike.
In her room, she stared at her reflection. You’re getting too close, she told herself. He’s the enemy. He’s the reason for everything.
But the memory of his hand gripping hers in the chaos, the way his voice cut through the gunfire—those were harder to erase.
Akshay’s Thoughts
In the shadows of his balcony, Akshay lit a cigarette.
“She’s either my curse or my weapon,” he murmured to the night. “And I haven’t decided which yet.”
Cliffhanger for Chapter 2
Down by the sea, a black SUV waited with its headlights off. A man inside made a call.
“Phase one complete. She’s closer than ever.”
hapter 2 – Part 4: The Night of the Setup
The city never truly slept, but tonight it was quieter than usual—like the silence before a storm. The Malhotra estate, with its cold marble floors and towering chandeliers, felt like a fortress hiding something restless beneath. Sanaya sat in the drawing room, her fingers wrapped around a cup of untouched coffee. Her heartbeat had been uneven all evening, and she couldn’t quite say why.
Akshay had been distant since sunset. Meetings with his men, phone calls in hushed tones, and that sharp look in his eyes that always signaled something was brewing. He hadn’t told her anything—but then, he rarely did. Trust wasn’t a gift in his world. It was a debt that had to be paid a thousand times over.
The clock struck midnight.
Sanaya stood to leave when the door slammed open. Two of Akshay’s men walked in—hard eyes, tense shoulders. Between them lay a brown leather file. They didn’t look at her as they placed it on the table and exited without a word.
She stared at it.
Something about the way the air thickened around that file told her it wasn’t meant for her eyes… yet it was here. Alone. Unattended. Tempting.
Her fingers twitched.
A whisper of her father’s voice filled her mind—“He destroyed us, Sanaya. He took everything. Don’t forget why you are there.”
She opened it.
Inside were photographs—grainy, printed, taken from a distance. Her. Entering a restaurant two nights ago. Talking to a man she didn’t recognize. Another one—her on the phone, looking over her shoulder. The final image: a close-up of her slipping a letter into her purse. It wasn’t her handwriting. It wasn’t her letter. But the implication was clear: she was a mole.
Her chest tightened.
This wasn’t evidence—it was a setup.
And then she heard it: slow, deliberate footsteps approaching. Akshay’s.
She snapped the file shut and stepped back, as if the table itself had caught fire. The door opened, and there he was—dark shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, jaw set like stone. His eyes flicked from her to the file and back.
“You opened it,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
“I… it was just here,” she managed.
He walked closer, the air between them becoming unbearably tense. “Do you know what this is?” His voice was calm, too calm.
She shook her head. “I—no. I don’t.”
He picked up the file, flipped it open, and let the photographs spill onto the table like shards of glass.
“Someone thinks you’re working against me.”
Her heart stuttered. “That’s not true.”
“Is it?” His voice cut like a blade—soft, but sharp. “Because these men are dead now. The ones you were seen with. Dead because they leaked information only someone inside this house could have given.”
“I didn’t—Akshay, listen to me—”
He raised a hand and she fell silent, the weight of his gaze pinning her down. He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to.
“Do you know what happens to traitors here, Sanaya?”
She swallowed. Her nails dug into her palms.
“They don’t get a second chance.”
The room felt colder. Outside, thunder rumbled across the horizon.
“I didn’t betray you,” she whispered, forcing the words through the knot in her throat. “This is a setup. Someone wants you to believe this.”
“Who?” he asked instantly. “Name them.”
She opened her mouth, but no name came. Because the truth was—she didn’t know. Whoever framed her was good. Invisible.
And that made her dangerous to him.
He stepped closer until their breaths collided. “You want to survive now?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Stay under me. Completely.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Until I find out the truth—whether you’re mine, or theirs—you don’t get to leave this house. Not a step without me knowing. Not a word without me hearing.”
Her instinct was to resist—to scream that he had no right. But another voice, quieter, deadlier, reminded her: If he believes you’re a traitor, you won’t live to explain.
So she nodded.
His fingers brushed her chin, tilting her face up. For the first time, his eyes weren’t cold—they were dangerous in another way. A warning. A promise.
“I don’t trust you,” he said. “But I want to.”
And with that, the door slammed behind him, leaving her alone with the photographs—the silent proof that her game had just changed.
Twist Impact
Sanaya is framed as a mole before she can execute her own revenge plan.
Akshay doesn’t kill her—he imprisons her in his world, starting the dark turn of control and psychological captivity.
A new enemy is hinted at—someone else who wants both of them destroyed.
Their dynamic shifts: from fragile connection → suspicion → forced proximity.
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