65| Black Night.
It's a massive estate in the Romanian outskirts, sealed off for Black night. Dark marble floors. Shadowed hallways. Gilded chandeliers... luxury steeped in menace.
And the most enticing yet terrifying part? This party hall isn't normal.
It's a curtained house of mirrors.
Like the night itself, nothing about the people is ordinary.
Women glide through the hallways in elegant gowns. Each guest's identity is partially hidden, but everyone knows everyone's power. All major mafia families. Syndicate heads. Dangerous figures gathered in one place.
Wine and champagne rise to their mouths, sipping with the grace of predators.
Everyone here is hungry for power.
Every glance, every handshake, every smile... a strategy.
Because this isn't a party.
-It's a chessboard.
After all... this is a gathering of traitors.
The night is elegant enough to make every death unforgettable.
At the centre stands a massive game clock?-marking the countdown.
The game is about to begin.
Amidst the shadowed hallways of power, a woman stands near the curtained mirrors.
Tall, onyx-black silk hugging her frame, high neckline, shoulder-length hair falling free.
A glass of wine rests in her hand, her glossy nails tapping lightly against the crystal.
But she doesn't drink, not when the night is meant for killing.
Her eyes trace every movement around her as effortlessly as breathing.
She's... waiting.
Yes, I'm waiting.
Because that's the only sane choice left to me.
One wrong move can cost everything.
I don't care about my own life, but Tara, she's with that imposter. They'll definitely bring her here to finish what they started.
And my brother?
If he's really in their captivity, he'll be here as well... forced to watch as they try to kill the Queen, Tara. And me. Right in front of him.
Ridiculous the plan is, I know.
But tonight, this isn't about plotting anymore, it's about generations of vengeance.
About the night my mother bled.
For the love and trust she showered on the fuckers of a family she had.
I don't care if I die after this.
What matters is that my hands are soaked in blood...
Hriday Singh Rajvansh.
Aaryan Oberoi.
Vidyut Dhanrajgir.
Their blood.
Then I'll die in peace.
The peace my mother never got.
Every one of those bastards will show up tonight.
My gaze drifts around. Some of my men are scattered among the waitstaff.
And that's when my eyes freeze on a familiar figure, cloaked in grey. Arsh Jindal. Tara's brother.
His presence here isn't unnatural. After all, he rules one of the largest mafia realms. But that's not why he's here. Not if he knows about Tara. Not if he knows what's planned for tonight.
The glass in his hand is still... but his calm eyes? They're holding a storm back.
So he's here for his sister.
And I'm here for my brother... and the woman he loves.
"You shouldn't be standing alone on nights like this, bellá." The voice breaks my focus, making me glance at the man a few steps off, eyes on me.
"Oh, I'll sit," I sneer, raising the glass. "If you're here to entertain me."
A low chuckle escapes him as he deliberately tips his glass, wine cascading over me. His eyes glint with a warning. "You don't fear death-" He slurs, "Do you?"
His hand already reaching for me.
Typical fucker.
My lips curve, gaze dropping to the wine-stained silk. Before he can touch me, I close my hand around his, making him flinch.
Slowly, I lean in.
"Maybe" My voice comes out like a sinful whisper "Death fears me."
His face hardens.
My nails sting into his skin just enough to go unnoticed before I shove his hand away.
Not bothering to spare a glance at his stunned expression, I move on... fully aware of what I've just done.
Carrying weapons were forbidden tonight, so I became one.
A few steps on, my gaze catches his staggering form, reflected through the wine glass in another's hand.
Within seconds, he collapses.
No one notices, assuming he's drunk.
The poison I delivered through my nails worked faster than I expected.
I turn my attention back to the party, waiting for the ones I came for.
That's why I stay aware of everything about Tara, without her knowledge. In a world ruled by predators, my princess is too delicate to be left unguarded.
My gaze roams the hall again. Nothing about this night is accidental. Especially the curtained mirrors... placed too carefully, hiding something more than the reflections.
I exhale, my blood is ice with the patience I'm holding, ever since I learned what was happening behind my back.
Aayansh's body double had been created to replace him in India. The Camorra's godfather, his own grandfather, is part of this conspiracy, betraying his own blood.
I don't know their past. I don't care to.
The only one that matters to me is Tara.
She's being pulled into a war she never consented to, and that's unforgivable.
I'm not here to be part of this game.
I'm here for one reason-to keep my princess safe.
I don't know where she is right now, but she will be here tonight.
Crowned as a queen.
And that makes her a target.
Every instinct I have is screaming that something deadly is planned.
The people.
The mirrors.
This hall.
.. it's built for betrayal.
The only reason I haven't torn this place apart yet. .. is the man she calls her husband.
A few hours back, as I was impulsively heading to Tara, I crossed paths with him. His words keep replaying in my head.
Maybe something's behind the curtains.
Still, one percent of me is on edge-
and with Tara, one percent is enough.
I have no time to master their twisted game.
The only thing clouding my mind is my sister. Her phone is switched off. Somehow, I traced their location. And now I'm chasing their car.
I was here for the Empire's Eve.
The truth changed the purpose of everything.
My eyes stay on the road. Phone pressed against my palm, I dial Aayansh's number, just to warn this imposter, if he is, before he does anything wrong.
The ring goes.
Once.
Twice.
The call connects.
I don't wait. "Why did you-"
"Hello, bro?" Tara's soft voice cuts in, and I pause mid-breath.
Not relief, just the fleeting peace of hearing her.
"Princess, where are you right now?" My voice comes out soft, but every syllable is edged with fire.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens like a vice.
A long silence.
Then, barely audible, she whispers, "I... I'm with Aayansh. We are-"
Her words falter. My chest clenches. Something is wrong.
"Hello, princess, you there?"
"Tara, listen to me," I snarl, every instinct screaming. "The man with you is not Aayansh."
Silence. Nothing.
I hiss her name again, but the line only gives me static.
Then? a click. The call drops.
My patience snaps, rage unsettling me in ways it never does. The silence on the line tells me everything I didn't want to know.
She didn't hang up.
He made her.
I toss the phone aside. My eyes lock on the road, my mind calculating as I floor the accelerator.
Whoever thought they could use my sister as bait just dug their own grave.
Time stretches as I don't ease off the pedal for a second. Adrenaline claws at my nerves, coiling through my muscles, the engine roaring beneath me.
The dim headlights blur the empty road ahead when suddenly-
My eyes freeze. Reflex takes over as I slam the car into a sideways drift, tires screeching against the asphalt, my vehicle skidding into a brutal halt.
My gaze stays forward. Unmoving.
There he is-leaning against the bonnet of his black Bugatti, head tilted, icy eyes locked on me.
Aayansh Oberoi.
Or maybe... his imposter.
My fingers close around the gun on the dashboard. I step out of the car and walk toward him, steady and unhurried.
I stop in front of him.
"So you knew I was behind you?"
His gaze drops to the gun, lips curling into something sinister. "Mere peechhe toh saari duniya hai, Brother-in-law," he says, lifting his eyes to meet mine. "Aage aaj tak koi nikal nahi paaya."
My jaw pulses at how calm-how untouched-he is.
"Where is Tara?"
He doesn't answer.
That same smirk stays carved into his lips.
This is Aayansh Oberoi.
Not in hell could someone imitate this man, let alone become him.
Still, I can't take any risk.
"So all this," I say calmly. "is your plan."
His smirk twists darker, savoring my tension. He straightens, hand sliding into his coat, then out. A cigar dangling between his fingers before he settles it between his lips.
He's testing my patience.
But-I don't want my sister mourning her husband at such a young age.
"You do know what you're doing is wrong." I step closer, heat in my stare.
His gaze doesn't waver, another drag from the cigar. "I never do anything 'right'."
I flare, jaw tightening. "You think dragging Tara into your games, between your enemies... is something sane?" I halt, the air between us thick enough to choke.
"I hold enough power to destroy you, and these little games of-"
"You hold power," He taps the cigar lightly against his palm, ash falls, his icy eyes returning to me. "And I'm the power. Remember that, Arsh Jindal."
"And about her-"
He steps to me, gaze lethal as it locks onto mine.
"She's not the fragile girl you once tried to protect from me." His voice drops, eyes darkening.
"She carries my empire."
I pause.
Only the weight of his words pressing down like iron.
Then-
A slow, wicked smile curls my mouth.
"Boss," Aariv cuts in, dragging me back to the present. Dressed in black, his gaze sweeps the hall like a loaded weapon.
"Something's off," he murmurs. "This isn't a normal mafia gathering. And princess..."
"She's safe" I say, my voice cold and final. "For now, let the night reveal itself."
The hall echoes with unspoken sins, each heavier than the chandeliers above.
And finally, the predators arrive: Aaryan Oberoi. Rithvik Oberoi. Vidyut Dhanrajgir. Every step of them is shadowed with an intention.
Aaryan Oberoi. Black suit. Hands in pockets. Eyes that miss nothing.
Arsh's gaze lingers on them, Aaryan Oberoi in particular. Words pass between the men, wickedness seeping from every smirk, every twitch. Eyes careful to avoid the crowd, Arsh edges closer, listening for the venom in their words.
Rithvik says something quietly, voice flat, his eyes on Aaryan.
"Hmm... you're speaking as if-" Aaryan cuts in, adjusting his cufflinks. "You want someone else to hear this, Rithvik?"
"By now," he adds coolly, "Aayansh would've put a bullet through her." A faint curve touches his lips. "He's my son. He doesn't ask questions when betrayal is involved."
Rithvik exhales, his gaze drifting away.
"Vidyut," Aaryan says darkly. "Don't even think of double?crossing me. Once my father?in?law is dead, the Camorra is mine."
Vidyut's face stays pale, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He gives a slow nod.
Arsh hears it, not clearly.
But the words 'forged pregnancy reports' linger in his mind.
Something vicious snaps inside him.
But he doesn't move, a more lethal instinct holding him still.
Minutes slips.
Music hums low, hypnotic.
Conversations falter, heads lowering.
The curtains part just enough for her reflection to surface.
And that's when she enters-
from between the curtained mirrors.
The underworld empress.
Tara Aayansh Oberoi.
Among predators, she isn't prey.
She's the reason they stop breathing for a second too long.
Her shoulders bare, draped in a tailored, deep obsidian gown, cinched at the waist and flaring at the hips. She wears net gloves to her elbows, her hair swept into a sleek side bun. Dark, smoky eyes. Every inch of her whispers menace.
Aaryan Oberoi goes pale the instant his eyes land on her. Rithvik freezes beside him, the confidence bleeding out of his expression.
Aariv's eyes widen as he sees her, frozen in disbelief. His sister... stepping into the room like a storm. And Arsh? He's nowhere in sight.
But the most shocking? She's alone.
The king isn't here. Aayansh isn't here.
And yet... the room bows to her presence.
Glasses pausing inches from lips.
Tara's face is unreadable, a mask worn carefully.
The air smells of wine, cologne, and polished wood.
-T A R A J I N D A L-
I step into the night not as a pawn, but as a queen of the underworld. Fear doesn't touch me. Only certainty.
My gaze sweeps the hall, unfamiliar faces carved in shadows. I know I'm surrounded by enemies.
And yet, not a single one dares to meet my eyes.
I can read the bewilderment dripping from their faces.
All this is creepy.
Yet, I don't flinch.
I feel like I've stepped straight into a dark thriller, unrealistic.
A pair of women approach me, shrouded regally in the night itself. They aren't ordinary. Their eyes are down, almost reverent, as one of them speaks.
"Grazie per la tua preziosa presenza, Regina. è un onore immenso averti qui stasera." (Thank you for your precious presence, Queen. The Black Night is incomplete without you)
I blink, not understanding the language she used.
Slowly, I nod in response.
One of them inclines her head, just enough to acknowledge what she sees. The other opens a small box in her gloved hands.
Inside rests the circlet.
Dark metal. Cold. Etched with symbols I don't recognize, but somehow understand.
For a moment, neither of them moves.
I realize they're waiting.
Not for permission, for acceptance.
I lift my chin.
That's all it takes.
They step closer.
One stands behind me, her presence steady, grounding. The other raises the circlet with both hands, careful, reverent.
As the metal settles against my head, a quiet weight sinks into me. Not heavy. Just... final.
The woman behind me adjusts it.
There's no softness in their gaze. Only respect.
They step back together.
They murmur in the same language as before.
I don't recognize the words.
My eyes search the room.
Aayansh isn't here.
Why?
The question flickers... then fades.
I trust him, with a blindness that should terrify me.
If he isn't here, then maybe this night requires him elsewhere.
I do not break. I do not bend. I can't.
From the heat of his hold to the frozen silence of this hell, what a cruel distance a few hours can be. Yet, my mind remains tethered to him, to that one moment-
Was it really a mistake?
(A/N: last chapter's cliffhanger)
"Here's the queen. Go ahead."
My gaze stays locked on Aayansh, not on those masked people, not on anything, just him.
He stands unfazed.
Disbelief coils tight in my chest.
My fists curl.
Heat flaring my eyes.
He's handing me over to these unknown predators?
I take a step away from him.
My eyes stay locked to his.
And watching me retreat, Aayansh's lips curve into a slow, devilish smirk.
Confusion knots in my stomach. What is he up to?
Then something in his gaze shifts, dangerous and deliberate.
I notice it, of course.
Those two men and a woman-they don't come near me.
But Aayansh wants me to go with them.
He's testing me, isn't he?
I know he won't let anything happen to me. Not even a scratch. He would never.
My gaze search his until I'm sure.
Then-
Without a word, I turn and move toward their car.
Just before sliding inside, I tilt my head ever so slightly... and wink at him.
Even though I can't watch his reaction.
It must be boring, dry like always.
Those masked assholes greet Aayansh in Italian before slipping into the car. But what caught my reaction is- they addressed him as 'Lucifer'.
Why?
I'm alone in the backseat.
Silence presses around me like a blade.
They start the car.
After that, they took me to a luxury maisonette.
I waited. Not confused, not afraid.
I knew the Black Night was coming, and I was its queen.
I expected him by my side. But he isn't.
Did he-
Did he really betray me?
Even imagining it tightens my chest, quickens my pulse, and ignites a storm inside me.
If it's true... tonight will be the last night of 'us'. "
While Tara drifts in her own daze, her presence drains the colour from many faces. Especially Aaryan Oberoi. Because somewhere, he understands one brutal truth, if Tara is alive, the knife is already at his throat.
And Aashika? Her heart screams to bridge the distance and reach Tara, to pull her sister-in-law into the safety of her own shadow.
But she remains rooted.
She cannot move.
It isn't just the fear of breaking cover before her vengeance is fed. It is the law of the Night. In this hall, the Queen is sacred.
Approaching her is a death sentence, written in the very air they breathe, which even the most powerful syndicate head can't dare to violate.
Except him. The King.
So she's forced to watch as the game plays out on a board where the first move means certain blood.
"Welcome, regína."
The voice breaks through the silent whispers.
The hall falls quiet, as if the night itself has been addressed.
From the staircase, a man emerges wrapped in charcoal greys, his silver hair swept back. Age has claimed his body, etching lines into his skin like cracked porcelain, but it hasn't touched his dominion.
He descends like a relic of a war that never truly ended.
This is Hriday Singh Rajvansh.
A heavy, sadistic calm radiates from him, drawing every eye in the room. But while his presence commands respect, it isn't the source of the sudden, suffocating chill in the air.
The crowd's breath doesn't hitch because of his arrival, it falters with someone else's presence.
As the light from the grand chandelier cuts through the gloom, it catches his tall figure.
"And-" A voice cuts in hriday's, chilling.
"The night knows its ruler."
The shadow detaches itself from the gloom, dressed in a deep obsidian black suit, hands tucked in the pockets, his face icy. He doesn't just walk; he colonizes the space around him. The air in the room doesn't just turn cold. It dies.
"Aayansh..." The whisper escapes Tara's lips the moment her eyes find him.
This is Aayansh Oberoi.
Is he?
His eyes? Predatory. Fixed directly on Hriday.
A slow, terrifyingly familiar smirk pulling at his lips.
Across the hall, Aashika stands frozen. Her nails, which had been digging into her palms since the moment Hriday appeared, drawing the very blood she seeks to spill, now loosen their grip. Her focus shifts.
She stares at the man in black, her breath hitching in her throat.
Is this the brother she's come to save?
Aaryan Oberoi, Rithvik, and Vidyut stand like statues, their faces drained of color. They knew the 'Black Night' demanded the King's presence. They had prepared.
But they weren't prepared for this.
Meanwhile-
Tara thought Aayansh would come to her, to hold her, to secure her.
But his gaze never finds her.
Not even a glance.
Her heart burns.
Her vision blurs in disbelief.
Hriday's smile mirrors Aayansh's, a haunting, familiar venom, before he observes the space around Tara, for the man who is supposed to be her wall. He finds nothing. She is a target in the light, unshielded and bare.
But the question is-
Does she need a shield?
Is she the one in danger, or the danger itself?
Hriday's gaze flickers to the massive game clock-seven minutes of life before it hits 12.00.
His eyes then rake across the hall, bypassing the visible puppets Aaryan, Rithvik, and Vidyut.
But stops at the one settled unerringly on a shadow tucked into the periphery.
Aashika.
When their eyes lock, the air between them turns into a razor's edge. There's no surprise in his stare, only a sickening, fatherly pride.
And a cold realisation settles in aashika-
She wasn't hiding in the shadows. Her grandfather had left them open for her.
Then-
Finally tearing his gaze away from the shadows, he anchors it on the man who stands unfazed. Aayansh. His eyes tracing hriday's moves not with fear, but something else-
The look on his face is like a man owning the devil's soul.
But-
The most dangerous lie is the one that looks exactly like the truth.
"Let's celebrate the night," Hriday announces, his eyes locked onto Aayansh's lethal stare, "...before it bleeds."
And with his words-
A vibration pulses through the dark marble floor.
Suddenly, the dark velvet curtains snap away.
They don't just open; they tear apart with violent synchronization, revealing the maze of mirrors behind them.
The hall doubles, triples, infinite, blinding everyone for a heartbeat, dizzying like a nightmare.
Then, the music starts, slow, hypnotic.
With their partners, the guests move in a ritualistic, predatory circle, their silhouettes blurring into a carousel of dark silk.
Tara stands still, trying to focus, searching for a familiar face-Aayansh-anyone-but the mirrors offer only fragments. Strangers. Distorted doubles. Her own reflections. Moving. Swirling. Smiling as they enjoy themselves.
The people around lost in the dizzying, rhythmic swirl of the dance.
She herself feels lost in countless shadows, their reflections, like thousands of ghosts dancing around her, but never close, never touching.
Her mind races; each reflection clawing at her with the thought of Aayansh's betrayal.
The air is heavy, charged with tension.
A wave of nausea rips through her, mirrors spinning, and fears colliding inside her chest.
"I hate..." The words die even before they can leave her lips, she recoils, trying to escape the ghosts in the form of reflections. "... I hate you, aay-"
She takes another step back-
But then-
Her blood chills as her body crashes into something hard, warm, and terrifyingly familiar. Before she can even gasp, a pair of muscular arms cages her waist, pulling her flush until her almost bare back crushes against his chest.
Her eyes drop to those arms, and freeze, they're sleeved in deep-obsidian black.
For a heartbeat, the mirrors, the dizzying whirl of reflections, spinning shadows, everything fades.
His scent floods her senses.
He leans closer until his mouth stills at her neck, his breath hot over her skin.
Her head tilts instinctively, feeling the heat of his lips at her collarbone, her hands settling over his on her stomach.
"Aah... yansh," the name slips from her lips, trembling, barely audible. "You-"
"Shh," His deep, intense voice cuts in, his mouth hovering at Tara's ear "It's been long breathing you."
Each word he breathes against her ear makes her skin erupt in goosebumps.
After a quiet moment-
He raises his gaze just enough for his eyes to lock on Tara's in one of the reflections above, amidst the thousands of spinning ghosts, their eyes find each other. His dark-blue, icy ones don't just stare, they pin her soul to his.
Then, without warning, the lights die into mid-darkness, swallowing the labyrinth of mirrors.
Looking deep into her eyes through the glass, he leans once again, whispering something against her skin-
His hand sliding from her bare shoulder to lock around her wrist, and in the next heartbeat, he spins her into the shadows.
The sudden absence of his warmth sends a jagged chill through her.
Tara's heart drops.
Her eyes dart through the void, searching, but he has vanished into the gloom.
The shadows aren't just distracting, they are hunting, and she stands at the epicentre of the storm.
Not with fear, but with a lethal alertness.
Her gaze sweeps across the moving reflections-
The faces.
Unknown.
Predatory.
-until it snags on a single silver frame- Aashika. Leaving her stunned.
The image is blurred, but the recognition hits Tara like a physical blow.
She isn't alone in this hell.
She doesn't move. She stands frozen, knowing that in this maze, any step could be a step into a blade.
Then, the silence is punctured.
The clock's ticking returns, no longer a faint heartbeat but a heavy, metallic thud that vibrates through the soles of her feet.