PROLOGUE #3
“I should be the one asking you that,” she fires back instantly. “What are you doing in Mumbai? And why haven’t you come home?”
I don’t answer because there’s something else I’m more bothered about.
“Where the hell are your guards?” I snap instead.
Right on cue, they burst through the back door, out of breath, and painfully late. My temper flares. I stride towards them in fury.
“You’re eleven seconds late,” I say coldly. “Anything could’ve happened to her in that time. Do you even understand the responsibility that comes with this job?”
They look at the ground like chastised children. Pathetic.
“Okay, okay, they’re here now, and I’m perfectly fine,” Meher steps between us, trying to play mediator.
“Don’t give me that ‘I’m fine’ shit. If they can’t do their jobs, I’ll put my own men on you.”
She blinks, startled. “You’re joking, right? You’d really put your guards on me?”
“Yes,” I answer flatly, “because yours clearly aren’t capable or reliable.”
A nervous laugh escapes her as she tries to ease the tension I have no intention of easing.
“Well, thanks, but no thanks. I already have Ayaan breathing down my neck and my brother Vishnu’s military-level security tracking my every move.
The last thing I need is you throwing more guards into the mix.
By the way, I’m here with Devika and Simran.
I saw your silhouette from inside and thought it was you, so I came out. ”
I ignore her explanation and give her guards one last look that promises consequences if they fail again.
“You shouldn’t take risks like this, Meher.”
“And you shouldn’t just disappear on us like this,” she shoots back. “Now, tell me. What are you doing in Mumbai?”
“Work.” One word. That’s all she gets.
“Work?” she echoes, her eyes narrowing. “And you didn’t think to inform Ayaan or Paapa? They’ll be furious.”
“I’ll handle them.”
“Fine. But right now, you’re coming home with me.”
Before I can reply, her gaze suddenly drops to my hand, and her eyes widen. Damn it. I forgot.
The sandal.
Her gaze locks on the sleek black Louboutin I’m still holding.
F*ck!
“Whose sandal is that?” she asks curiously. “Raghav Kundra… were you here with someone? A woman?”
I shut that thought down immediately. “Hold your horses. I’m not here with any woman. I told you I’m here for work.”
“Work, huh?” she challenges, her eyebrow arched. “And the sandal?”
“Unrelated,” I say dismissively, but the corner of my mouth betrays me with the ghost of a smirk.
“You’re a terrible liar,” she says, studying me with renewed interest. “Who is she?”
I know she won’t stop interrogating me so I change the subject.
“I’m flying back tonight. I’ve got a meeting at RK Estate tomorrow.”
“Tonight?” she exclaims, throwing her hands up in disbelief. “That’s not fair. Ayaan and Paapa will want to see you.”
“I’ll call them and explain.”
“Raghav, you can’t keep doing this.” Her frustration spills over, and at that very moment, my car rolls to the curb.
Perfect timing.
“You disappear for months, then suddenly show up without a word. And now you’re running off again?”
I choose to stay silent, but her gaze shifts again, and this time she sees the bruise on the side of my neck, the one from the knife earlier. Courtesy of the Vardhaan men.
“And… what happened to your neck?” She steps closer, concern softening her anger.
My hand goes to it instinctively, brushing the fresh cut as the sting flares again. “It’s nothing.”
“That’s not nothing,” she gasps, studying it. “It looks like a knife wound. Are you okay?”
“I said it’s nothing.”
Before she can argue further, I move towards my car.
“Raghav, wait. At least come inside and say hello to Devika and Simran.”
“Next time.”
I’m about to get in when I pause and glance back at her guards.
“Keep her safe. Don’t make me come back here to clean up your mess.”
They nod, cowering under my stare. I slide into the car without another word and instruct the driver to head straight for the airport. Meher’s questions may be behind me, but my mind is anything but quiet. I need to know about the woman the Vardhaans dragged away.
Pulling out my phone, I type a single message to the one man I trust the most. Haider.
‘Josh Club. Back alley. 10:20 p.m. Check the CCTV footage. I want every detail on the woman the Vardhaans took. Top priority.’
The reply is instant. ‘On it.’
Temporary relief surges through me. Whoever that woman was, she didn’t need saving.
Even when she surrendered, there was nothing weak about it.
She surrendered with command and authority.
As if the choice had been entirely hers.
That kind of attitude doesn’t come from nowhere.
No… A woman like her was definitely born into power.
Raised on a throne. Taught to rule. Which makes me all the more curious to know who she is.
I haven’t even reached the airport when my phone buzzes in my hand. It’s a message from Haider.
A file appears on the screen. Her entire profile.
The daughter of the late kingpin of the Vardhaan mafia group, Shamsher Vardhaan.
She’s Siya Vardhaan.
The mafia princess.
F*ck!