63| Countdown.
We're coming back to the race.
Aashika, exhausted from chasing the truth, gets a message from an unknown number and ends up meeting Vidyut Dhanrajgir, the lawyer who once helped destroy her mother's reputation.
Vidyut reveals everything: Hriday Singh Rajvansh-Aashika's grandfather-was behind every conspiracy, and he now rules in Rome. His deadliest move?!
The Aayansh living with them for the past two months is not the real one, he's a body double created by Hriday.
The real Aayansh is imprisoned in Hriday's underground cage in Rome T-T
The body double's mission is to take Tara and Aashika to Rome, where Hriday plans to kill them before Aayansh's eyes and seize the throne.
Manipulated by Vidyut, Aaryan and Rithvik fall into his plan.
Aashika's risking her life by heading to Rome, to save Aayansh Tara, kill Hriday, Avoiding body double's eye who can harm Tara at any moment, she thinks :)
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Warmth from the fireplace spreads through the obsidian room, breathing sin like it's nothing new.
Hriday's sitting in his velvet chair, the glow kissing half of his face as his fingers trace each bead of the rosary slowly. Not in prayer, of course-Not in remorse either-But like he's counting every sin that's left to build his throne.
As the heat rises, so does the memory he never invited... a shred from the night aaina was fed to their greed and swallowed whole.
Exactly as those traitors planned.
Servants keep their eyes low, too afraid to question, too afraid to breathe wrong.
Outside, the press is kept yards away.
Inside, every guard has been warned-
No questions. No statements. No mistakes.
Manipulating little aashika was the easiest part, she'd never seen any of those predators' faces.
Hriday reaches Aayansh's room, knocks once... then halts.
The door is already ajar, waiting.
He steps inside, letting his gaze wander over until it settles on eight-year-old Aayansh, sitting quietly at his study desk.
He'd been unconscious for hours, sedated with repeated sleep doses as no one could control him with aaina's dead body.
Especially after he had thrown an entire glass vase at a man's throat, killing him instantly, because the man had dared to murmur the word 'whore' under his breath. .. about aaina.
Aayansh didn't know the meaning of the word, but he's sharp enough to sense the disrespect of his mother behind it.
"Aayansh," Hriday calls softly, staring at the little boy who hasn't spared him a single glance till now. "What are you doing?"
Aayansh doesn't answer, his legs dangle in the air, eyes locked on the notebook with an unfazed calm. As if nothing or no one in the world can break his focus.
Hriday steps closer, eyes widening as they land on Aaina's phone lying on Aayansh's desk. A question gnaws at him-how and when did the boy get it?
"Aaina's phone, where-"
Hriday's hand reaches for it, curiosity and tension sharpening. But before he can, Aayansh warns "Hands off."
Hriday's hand freezes, caught off guard by his strange composure.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulls it back, hesitation and amazement crossing his features as he stares at Aayansh whose fingers haven't stopped moving, still tracing lines across the white page.
"Nanu" He murmurs without turning, "Dad said mom killed herself. What do you make of that?"
"Huh?" Hriday flinches, caught between confusion and dawning awareness. His voice drops heavy "Your mom was distressed, Beta. We all saw her condition these past days... she- she couldn't handle it and-" He stops, eyes moist.
“Does that make her weak?” Aayansh asks, calm and clipped.
"Of course not. She was the strongest," Hriday replies immediately.
Aayansh pauses, then slowly meets hriday's gaze "Strong people fight till the end, right?"
"Of course... and so did Aaina-" Hriday's words caught in his throat, realising mid-sentence that he was about to reveal something he shouldn't. He clears his throat, "She fought... but not every fight can be won, son."
Aayansh doesn't react to his words. He simply opens the drawer of his desk. Hriday's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he sees what lies inside?-A gun. Not just any gun. Ayushman Oberoi's gun.
“Aayansh!” He spits, panic lacing through his voice as he watches Aayansh lift the gun with steady, practiced hands. “Why is this gun with you- you...?” The last word stumbles out of him.
"Don't worry" Aayansh cuts in, casual and almost bored "I'm not shooting you." He stops, then stares back into Hriday's eyes "Not right now."
The last words hit like a threat under Hriday's skin. Mumbling something about an urgent call, he forces a stiff nod and slips out of the room... not walking, but fleeing in the slowest, most dignified way he can manage.
Reaching the hall, Hriday pulls out his phone with trembling fingers he refuses to acknowledge. The moment the call connects, his voice turns flat, surgical.
"This boy is a threat to me. Pick him up tonight and Torture him...Jab tak uska dimaag band na ho jaye aur woh sirf mera puppet ban kar saans le. Got it?"
What no one expected-
was how the night claimed its due.
And Hriday Singh Rajvansh?
He himself left the country silently... leaving not even shadows behind.
He didn't just run.
But erased himself.
Hriday's phone buzzes, pulling him back to the moment.
He doesn't look surprised, almost like he's been expecting this call.
He answers, voice steady "Hm... vidyut. I believe the work is done?"
"Buona sera, Godfather" Vidyut greets, voice low and controlled. "The trap is set exactly as you ordered. Your granddaughter- Aashika Oberoi-and those two bastards (Aaryan and Rithvik) have already walked into it themselves. They're heading straight to your kingdom... their grave."
A beat of silence.
"Before the eve, Lucifer will bring the queen."
Hriday doesn't say anything for a long second, then breathes out "All of them will get a memorable death."
His eyes lower to his wrist, and something in them twists, dark and deadly.
He rolls his shoulders slowly, without hurry or fear.
A small metallic click.
The shackles snap open and collapse onto the steel floor with a dull clang.
Silence echoes back.
"The world bends for the king." He exhales slowly, cracks his neck, then leans back into the iron chair, eyes fixed on the unbuckled chains as he smirks "Even these were always bound to bend for his shadow. Lucifer."
This Is Lucifer Kael.
Aayansh Oberoi's shadow.
His Body double.
His mirror. His voice.
His body, engineered to perfection.
A chill snakes down Lucifer's spine as his gaze drops to his wrist once again, realising every movement is still under 'His' control.
Lucifer's brain snaps back two months-the moment he stood in the presence of 'Him' for the first and only time.
|A/N: This Bratva thing is mentioned in ch 54-55, when Aayansh was in Russia|
Hriday sits in the safehouse, eyes cold and sharp pinned to the digital map. Russia's borders glow red. Bratva is gone-Russia-the last superpower crushed and bowed before Aayansh. Which means only one name rules this dark world. Only him.
Aayansh Oberoi.
To break his reign and own the throne-Hriday's holding the deadliest card-years in the making and now is the perfect moment.
“Godfather," His man's voice cuts through the quiet "He's here."
Hriday rises instantly, moving toward the dark foyer, two of his men shadowing him.
There on the leather sofa, He's already seated like the world bends before him, and he's well aware of it.
Cloaked in all black, his hair perfectly settled, face freshly shaved. And his eyes? Dark blue. Cold. Calm.
He could be Aayansh's mirror.
Hriday's gaze lingers on him. Stunned.
This is their first meeting-after years of planning-after sending him away to Rome to be built, shaped, perfected. Hriday had only heard of him... never seen.
And now, looking at the face and presence that took years to be perfected, Aayansh's shadow... Hriday just stares in daze.
But he, who's sitting there, doesn't spare any attention to Hriday's awe. His muscular arms resting on the leather edges, unbothered, bored gaze shifting to Hriday.
Hriday steps closer.
"Took years to carve you into this-" He murmurs, letting his gaze travel over the man's frame "But patience always pays."
Hriday lowers himself to the opposite chair, eyes still fixed on that face.
“I know I'm handsome,” The man cuts in, leaning back on the sofa, his tone bored “But staring at me this long is something you won't survive.”
The words snaps Hriday out of his trance. He flinches, then lets out a low chuckle, a dark thought clearly crossing his mind.
While the man's eyes now notice every twitch of Hriday's face, studying his amusement, his daze like something deadly is going on behind that calm gaze of his.
"You look exactly like him, Lucifer" Hriday mutters, almost amused. "I still cannot believe the one I'm seeing is a lie."
Lucifer's lips curl into a sly, evil smirk.
“You never know” He says, tilting his head slightly, unreadable eyes locking on Hriday “Your own eyes might be lying right now.”
Hriday chuckles, unaware what truly that line meant.
"You know the plan," Hriday continues, voice hardening "Tonight, king's returning to India. Everything is set. His jet will crash here, in Russia... and from here, he'll be taken to Rome, into my cage."
He leans in, voice dropping into a lethal whisper "The one who'll return to India in his place is... you."
Lucifer doesn't answer.
Reading Hriday's wicked expressions
...and his smirk twists darker.
“Leave.” Lucifer says, cold and unblinking, tilted head watching the way Hriday's complexion shifts with his command.
"You don't fear death, I see" Hriday murmurs wickedly, rising from the chair.
Lucifer's gaze doesn't shift.
“Death isn't feared" He replies, voice steady and cold "It's unpredictable. Kab, Kahan saamne aa jaaye-" A dark shadow passes his eyes “Ya saamne baitha insaan hi maut ban jaaye, you never know.”
Hriday's smirk falters for a heartbeat.
Then he lets out a slow, delighted breath. “Great with words.”
With that, he heads out.
Here, Lucifer presses a cigar between his lips and stands, walking to the bulletproof glass wall, face emotionless as he stares at the blurred waves crashing against the Russian daylight.
He hits a slow drag, exhaling the smoke in the air, silent as if something is going on in his mind.
From the waves, his calm eyes drop to his fingers, twitching the burning cigar between them.
And then, under his breath, his lips curl into a dangerous hum?-
“Bada chain hai in gunaahon se aage.”
It's a dark mansion.
Silent, Chilling, Scary.
Several men, donning in black, standing with their heads bowed.
In the centre, sits Aayansh.
His aura cold, face showing nothing but a chilling calm. Legs crossed, he's toying with the gun, twisting it between his fingers like a predator.
That's when someone enters, and one of his men informs in a low, almost trembling voice "Boss... Lucifer."
Aayansh doesn't look up, not yet. His icy eyes fixed on the gun gliding through his fingers. Confusion and terror tangles into the man's throat, "He-he was supposed to land in Russia the night before, as per their plan. But we abducted him before they (Hriday and his men) could reach him."
He swallows the lump in his throat, "And he-he's ready to re-align with us."
If Lucifer was already captured, then who was the one who met Hriday as 'Lucifer' a while ago, the one Hriday revealed his entire plan to?
Who?
Aayansh's expression doesn't shift.
The gun keeps moving.
Silence dries the air.
Then, finally, Aayansh's eyes shift to the man standing before him... his shadow. Lucifer Kael. His stare sweeps over him once, dissecting the way he mirrors Aayansh.
Attire, black.
Face expressionless. Cold.
A perfect lie to those who trust their eyes more than their minds.
Aayansh tosses the gun at Lucifer. Without flinching, he catches it in one fluid motion, eyes unreadable as they lock on Aayansh.
Watching zero confusion, zero shift of expressions on Lucifer's face. The man brought him here exhales, relieved. A quiet assurance rises in him... Lucifer doesn't just resemble Aayansh, he imitates his personality as well.
Everyone here believes this.
Everyone, except Aayansh.
Aayansh leans back in the arm chair, arms resting along the leather edges as he orders "Shoot at me."
Everything freezes for a heartbeat.
Confusion drains the color from every face in the room.
Lucifer hesitates, hold tightening on the gun's grip. He almost stutters, almost. "Wh-what?"
Noticing the slightest stumble in Lucifer's demeanor. Aayansh's lips curl?-not a smirk-not a smile, just scary enough to chill the bones.
“Hesitation in eyes,” He says, his tone dark “Shaking voice” Tilting his head slightly, his gaze pins Lucifer again. He pauses for a second, then “And you think you're perfect enough to breathe as my shadow?”
Lucifer's lungs tightens, but his face remains an unreadable mask. Not a word passes his throat.
Then in a blink, he raises the gun and fires at Aayansh.
A chilling stillness?-
Lucifer stares, breath trapped in his chest. Aayansh sits untouched, smirking like a devil in disguise.
No one dares to breathe.
Lucifer fired with the safety lock still on.
And safety?
Only Aayansh can unlock it.
Meanwhile, men present around them are still struggling to process what just happened. Aayansh rises, unhurried, and walks toward him, each step sharp.
He stops before Lucifer-His own reflection. The same face. The same stillness. Two identical masks.
"Wearing my mask won't make you me, Lucifer" Aayansh says, voice dripping with dark sarcasm "Your master couldn't recognise his own creation, then you're just a pawn. And pawns in my game don't get to rule. You exist to be used and-" He lets his words settle in Lucifer's head "die when I decide."
With his words, one thing clicks brutally in Lucifer's head.
'Your master couldn't recognise his own creation.' But Lucifer never met Hriday face-to-face.
Which means-
The one who met Hriday a while ago, to whom he revealed his plan, wasn't Lucifer. It was Aayansh. The real one.
Lucifer had already been abducted way before he could reach Hriday... or his intelligence network.
"Use your brain afterwards," Aayansh's voice drags Lucifer out of the daze, his tone bored as he tucks his hands in his pockets and continues.
"Your master thinks he's caging me and sending you to India in my place.
He has planned a jet crash for me, you'll be there in that jet.
And from there, you'll walk straight into his kingdom and live wearing my mask, understand? "
Lucifer's head acknowledges before he even realises, then questions quietly "If I go to Rome in your place-then where will you be?"
“Right question, wrong man.” Aayansh doesn't bother looking back this time. One silent gesture, and his men take Lucifer where he's supposed to be at this time.
Lucifer's eyes fix on his wrist. Beneath the skin, a rice-grain-sized implant pulses quietly.
One mistake.
One violated command.
One betrayal attempt.
And the device inside him will trigger a cardiac disruptor, dropping him into a black out or forcing his body into a collapse that feels like dying.
He lets his body relax onto the chair, a tired breath leaving him. "Motherfuck-just one more day. Tomorrow's the end."
As he opens the door, the first thing hits him is Tara's scent, her fragrance spreading through the room, soft and intoxicating. Seeping like a whisper he wants trapped inside him forever.
His eyes find her curled in the middle of the bed, the blanket draped over her, hiding her delicate frame, making her seem even... softer.
He reaches her and removes the blanket from over her in a heartbeat. And Tara, her eyes closed till this very moment, looks up at Aayansh.
He notices the redness in her eyes, the faint flush spreading across her cheeks.
But before anything else can stir between them, she lifts herself onto her knees and folds into his arms, clinging to him as she murmurs, “Where were you?
Where did you go last night? You?-you know there's no one here, still... you left me alone.”
Her complaint is valid though. She'd been asleep when he left for somewhere in the middle of the night, leaving her alone in this monstrous villa of his.
Aayansh slowly threads his fingers in her hair, calming her, holding her close.
Then he pulls back a little. Resting one knee on the bed, he cups the side of her neck, tilting her face toward his, whispering "Relax."
She softens in his hold, her voice quiet as she asks, "When will we go back to the palace?"
"Never" He answers, tilting her chin up as he brushes his mouth over her nose before biting the tip, not playful, just intimate.
She flinches with a soft gasp, rubbing it with her palm. "Ah-it hurts."
Aayansh leans closer to her face, his breath brushing her cheek before his teeth graze her tender skin.
She lets out a small, irritated cry. “Aayan... please.”
He smirks at her irritated little pout.
This time, his hand slides to her nape, pulling her in as he captures her lips with his.
Tara flinches for a second, remembering she didn't brush. Her fingers fisting his jacket as his mouth moves against hers, sucking the air she's holding, her eyes drifting shut before she starts kissing him back slowly.
A few minutes slips by, her arms lock around his neck.
Then-Her lips twitch mischievously against his and she bites on his bottom lip, hard, exactly the way he always does to her.
She expects him to flinch, to pull back, something. But he doesn't react at all.
He just deepens the kiss, devouring her lips with the same unbothered, consuming intensity.
And she only melts, then melts even more into him, losing whatever sanity she was holding on to.
When suddenly, he tilts her neck and bites down on her bottom lip. Her eyes shoot open as she lets out a sharp cry, only to find his gaze already on her, unblinking, locked on her face.
He loosens his hold and she pulls back, eyes glossy, a little bead of blood slipping down her lip. Caressing it, she hisses with irritation, her voice accusing "You bit my lip."
She retreats onto the mattress, eyes burning with tears, something like hurt turning into heat.
He just watches her, dark and unblinking.
But before she can escape, Aayansh drags her back to him with one arm, murmuring against her mouth “Too sensitive, little seductress.”
And without giving her a second to breathe, his mouth crashes onto hers again. More sensual this time, his lips closing around her wounded one, sucking slowly, soothing the pain he just caused.
After a few moments, he finally releases her. She's struggling to catch her breath, chest rising and falling.
His dark eyes drop from her lips to her cleavage, visible through the undone buttons of the black shirt she's wearing-
Then back to her flushed face, she has no realisation of what she's doing, he takes a deep breath to control himself.
Watching her for a moment, he settles her onto the bed.
Straightening, Aayansh pulls out his phone and texts someone.
Tara's eyes stay pinned on him, witnessing every subtle movement as he focuses on the screen.
Within minutes, the door gets a knock and Aayansh orders in his usual cold tone, "Come in."
The door opens to reveal two of Asia's finest female designers, carrying carefully selected fabrics and crafted outfits for Tara. They step in, Tara's eyes shift to them, a little puzzled.
One of the designers' gaze shifts to Tara, now standing near the bed in Aayansh's black shirt, so over-sized it's slipping off slightly from her left shoulder, and she hasn't even realised.
Her cheeks still rosy, flawless skin glowing differently against the dark fabric.
She looks entirely irresistible, adorable.
The second Aayansh notices her gaze lingering on Tara, his bone-chilling voice cuts through the room “Nazre neeche.”
The designer immediately lowers her head, a shiver crawling down her spine. Even Tara trembles at the sheer power in his voice.
"So?-sorry sir" The designer quickly mutters, Aayansh just walks past them, heading to the balcony for an important call.
The designers are focusing intently on their work, carefully examining each dress designed as per Tara's fit and comfort. Her skin is sensitive, and even slightly rough fabric could cause irritation.
"Ma'am, please come here." One of the designers' requests.
Hesitantly, Tara approaches the outfit robe.
"All of these are for you," the designer murmurs without looking up. "But please select one outfit from them so we can give it a final finish for you."
Tara nods, her fingers hovering from classy gown to elegant black diamond encrusted saree to a soft ivory dress.
Minutes pass?-she cannot pick any-still confused.
The designers stand there patiently.
Aayansh steps back in the room, his eyes falling on Tara-still standing there?-brows slightly drawn, unsure. The designers straighten instantly, tension thickening the air.
With casual indifference, he calls her to him. "Come here, amour."
She settles the shirt over her shoulder shyly.
Then walks to him, slow-hesitant, her eyes lowered because of the strangers' presence.
Aayansh's gaze stays on her face, unmoving, she comes close to him.
"Both of you-" He commands the designers, eyes still on Tara as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the couch. "Out."
Greeting, the designers bow slightly and slip out of the room right away.
Aayansh leans down slightly, because her height barely reaches his chest. His fingers move to her buttons, steady, undoing them without looking away from her face. He slides the shirt off her shoulders, dropping it aside on the floor.
For a moment, he simply looks at her body. Not hungrily, not softly. Just intense... as if watching her bare breathless ignites something feral he never bothers hiding.
He tilts in, breath brushing her ear and his lips graze her lobe "So fucking tempting." He whispers darkly.
Her breath hitches as his fingers tighten on her bare waist. "So fucking mine" He kisses the shell of her ear and pulls back.
Then, without breaking eye-contact, he drops onto the sofa. Spreading one arm over the backrest as he leans into it, legs slightly part, his posture screaming authority.
"Now-" He says, his lips curving evilly "Start trying them on."
His words spark something deeper in Tara. Her fingers curl unconsciously at her sides, biting her inner cheek as she murmurs shyly "Why are you staring like that?"
“Want me to do more things, Baby?” His smirk curves darker, noticing the effect he's having on her.
"I?-I don't know" She hisses, heat rising to her face as she looks away.
Giving up, she picks a wine backless gown and pulls it on. Aayansh's gaze drags over her, slow, consuming.
Next-needing something softer- something she can breathe in, she reaches for the ivory slip dress.
When finally she slips into a black bow-back satin gown, Aayansh rises and walks to her, unhurried, making her heart race in anticipation.
Reaching her, when he tilts closer to her face, her eyes shut as her first thought is he'd kiss her.
But his hand closes around her wrist, flipping her against his chest as he makes her face the grand mirror before them.
Staring into her eyes with depth through the mirror, he whispers "Gorgeous."
And kisses the shell of her ear.
In his cabin, Malang twirls with the stethoscope around his fingers, guilt shadowing his face, but that usual careless charm refusing to leave.
A soft knock.
One of the nurses steps in.
"Dr. Deewan... Ms. Aashika Oberoi wants to meet you."
Malang freezes.
For a whole second, his mind goes blank.
How the hell did Aashika reach him?
And why?
To kill him?
The stethoscope slips from his hand and lands on the desk with a dull thud.
He rakes a hand through his hair, fixes the mess in the table mirror, checks himself once-twice-like a man preparing for the love confession.
His heartbeat is chaos.
His face? Smooth. Always smooth.
Within minutes Aashika walks in, calm and composed.
Malang, though...He just stares.
Dazed.
Like someone who's just seen the ghost of the woman he can't forget.
She's in a grey leather jacket, fitted jeans, shoulder-length hair falling clean down her back.
"Haay" Malang melts watching her, but as Aashika's eyes shift to his, he corrects "I mean?-Hii, Ms. Oberoi?"
No extra drama.
Nothing.
She sits before him, her voice strangely soft, too soft for this damned man "I need your help, Dr. Deewan."
Malang's jaw tenses.
Help?
From him?
His face pales, just for a moment.
Then, that same smug grin curves his lips as he leans back, voice smooth "Well, I knew it." He drawls "In the end, you'd have to melt before my charm. And I don't believe in breaking girls' hearts."
Confidence drips from his posture, and tone "So I should just ask. Do you like me? OR-"
He leans in, trying to weave some romantic intensity between them. "DO YOU LIKE ME, Ms. Oberoi?
A few dead seconds.
His eyes widen the moment Aashika stands. Before he can even blink, she steps closer, pulls a gun from inside her jacket, plants one knee on his chair, towering over him.
Her hand fists his collar, yanking his face up as she thrusts the barrel into his mouth, the cold metal touching the back of his throat.
He stares up into her darkening eyes, "I-want-your-help, and you'll do it like a good doctor, understand?"
Malang goes still.
Stone-still.
He doesn't look scared, or amazed, just-Mesmerized.
His reaction fuels aashika's frustration.
She shoves him aside and heads off the cabin, dialing enzo as she commands "Find some other surgeon, Enzo. This man himself needs medical help."
??ˋ ? ?ˊ?
The armed men stationed here stand stiff, their heads already bowed, attentive.
The Black Bugatti halts at the edge of the private helipad.
Aayansh steps out in a Black, tailored three-piece suit. The first two buttons of his shirt undone, hair slightly tousled and his face carrying that usual cold calm.
He removes his black shades. His stare pinned to the jet-dark-waiting like it owns the sky. From inside the car, Tara's curious eyes follow his. Taking in the machine, realising this isn't a normal aircraft.
He gets her out. She's in a soft pink middie, her brown curls hair tumbling free over her shoulders, a subtle glow on her face making her more captivating.
Asher approaches immediately, head bowed, voice low and enigmatic. "The jet's ready, Boss. Everything is exactly as you ordered."
Aayansh doesn't look at him once.
"Back compartment?" He asks, gaze locked ahead.
"Ready," Asher responds instantly.
"Blackout glaze?"
"Already installed, Boss."
"And-" Aayansh casts a brief glance to Asher, that single icy look confirming the final, lethal addition.
Asher stiffens under his gaze, nodding quickly.
Aayansh doesn't react.
His hand closes around Tara's wrist, leading her toward the jet. She glances down at their hands before he leads her up the stairs, his dominance wordless.
The moment Tara steps inside, she freezes.
The jet's interior is dark and stunning... Black leather seats, soft golden lights running along the ceiling, and a quiet that feels almost too perfect and chilling. A crystal decanter sits on a matte-black counter... Nothing here looks normal.
The door shuts behind, sealing the world out.
Shrugging off my blazer, I watch her take in the cabin, curiosity and anticipation oozing in those big eyes of hers.
She's remembering. How I fucked the life out of her in the identical jet, punished her for hours the moment she thought she could run from me.
And now, she's wondering if I brought her here to do it again.
Adorable.
I would have, if she were in the right state.
She turns to me, brows pulling together "You brought me here... to punish me?"
I move closer, folding my shirt's sleeves to elbows and letting her instincts flare exactly as I intend. "What makes you think I'd punish you without a reason?"
"So you won't?" She blinks, relieved.
"I never said that."
She moves back, and a slow smirk tugs at my mouth.
"That means... you will?" She murmurs.
Little na?ve.
I don't answer.
Just take steps near her, my gaze assessing every tiny shift in her face as she keeps retreating, entirely unaware of the place she's backing herself into-Until her knee bumps the edge of the leather seat and she sits back onto it.
I'm already standing right in front of her.
Startled, she stares up at me.
I bend, close enough for my breath to brush her lips. My hand rising to her face, thumb dragging over the softness of her cheek as I whisper "Depends?-on your actions."
I dip closer, taste her lips, then settle her back onto the seat.
Minutes later, she's beside me, completely absorbed in the game she is playing on my iPad. My laptop's open, eyes on the screen, attention split perfectly between her muttered curses and the live location flashing in front of me.
Aashika's jet. Already touched down in Qatar.
And through this chaos, I want her safe. I never stopped her from doing anything-stupid choices or clever moves-because she has the right. Not from this day, but from the moment she lost the innocence she was never meant to.
She thinks she's risking her life to save me. Everyone thinks they're doing what they want. Perfect.
The game only has meaning when every pawn has the chance to move, to fall or rise.
I shut the screen, settling a cigar between my lips. A flash of the lighter, the flame kissing the tip and I take a slow, deliberate drag, letting the smoke haze around as I savor the burn.
My head tilts toward her, face perfectly still, cold. She's lost in her own world, far away from the brutalities of mine. Pure, untouched. Innocent.
And when I'm making her step into the war beside me, I exactly know how to protect her, and make her fierce enough to slit throats without lifting a hand.
Her delicacy is just for me.
To the world, she's the woman no one dares to lift eyes on, not just because they're aware she's my belonging, but they know down to their bones- How exactly they're supposed to bow before their Queen.
Her beautiful hands stained with blood, that's not what I need, but certainly want to see the crimson of victory on her skin... proof she's not merely carrying my name, but the one ruling with me.
I crush the used cigar in the ashtray.
Without a word, I snatch the iPad from her hands and toss it aside. Before she can react, my arm takes the hold of her waist as I pull her into my lap.
"What-" She murmurs, annoyed. "I was about to win."
Her sensitive chest pressing against mine, fingers gripping my shoulders as I drag her close until there's almost no distance between our faces.
"You're about to win" I correct her, my nose brushing hers, voice steady and cold "In the real game."
She blinks up at me, as if her brain can process anything right now besides the swings of her own mood, the effort almost too much for her delicate brain.
I settle her head back against my chest, leaning in to nuzzle the warm curve of her neck. She absentmindedly plays with my fingers, her voice a soft blur. "Aayansh... why are we going to Rome?"
My lips brush her collarbone as I whisper, "To end something" Another kiss trails lower. "And someone."
She shivers.
I smile.
Her fear tastes sweet.
Her heartbeats echo in my ears.
Slow. Soothing. Addictive.
Exactly the way I'm addicted to her, to every-fucking-thing she is.
And addictions should be possessed before they possess you.
Nothing can change the truth- she rules over my heart, but doesn't control it. And my mind? That place has never been safe for someone like her.
I detach just enough to see her.
Her eyes are now pinned to the ceiling, wide and stunned. I don't need to look to know what she's staring at.
"Doesn't-" She blurts out, still staring up "Doesn't that look like a real human?"
"You never know" I answer calmly, fingers snapping over her waist "If it's a real human."
Because it is.
Pinned to the ceiling, face concealed, every limb locked in cruel stillness. From below, he hangs like a dark sculpture, alive, motionless.
A human shape twisted into art.
And beneath that stillness, the Motherfucker's breathing. His death just isn't done with him yet.
I'M NOT DONE.
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