Prologue

Mumbai never truly slept.

It simply changed masks.

From the terrace of the Mehra estate, the city looked almost innocent — rain misting the skyline, neon lights breathing faintly in the haze.

But innocence had no place here. Not among the monsters who ruled from behind champagne glasses and velvet smiles.

Sanya Verma tightened her grip on the glass in her hand, feeling the crystal bite into her skin.

The estate throbbed with life behind her: music, laughter, and the quiet scraping of deals being carved into flesh.

She had been here two months. Two months of playing the perfect guest, the perfect illusion.

Smile when spoken to. Dance when asked. Lie when necessary.

And now... now the mission was close to completion.

One final move, and the Mehra empire would crumble.

At least, that's what she had been promised.

The door to the terrace opened with a soft click. She didn't turn. She knew his footsteps too well now — the slow, deliberate stride that spoke of power learned, not inherited.

Aarav Mehra.

He moved to stand beside her, close enough that she caught the faint scent of him — something sharp, clean, and utterly wrong for a man born into blood and betrayal.

"You don't drink," he said softly, almost musing.

Sanya smiled without warmth, eyes fixed on the broken city below. "You watch too closely."

Aarav chuckled — low, dangerous. "When you're surrounded by knives, you learn to count the sharpest ones."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and crackling.

Somewhere deep in the estate, the grandfather clock began its slow, mournful toll. Midnight.

The beginning of endings.

"You know," Aarav said, voice like a knife sliding into velvet, "I used to think loyalty was everything."

"And now?"

He shrugged. "Now I know it’s just another lie people tell to sleep better."

Sanya turned to face him then, really looking at him for the first time in days. The storm framed him, rain haloing the sharp planes of his face, the dark slant of his eyes.

Dangerous. Beautiful. Condemned.

For one brief, reckless moment, she let herself wonder — who was he really?

The heir to a criminal empire?

Or something more complicated... more tragic?

"You think you know me," she said.

"I don't," Aarav murmured, stepping closer. "But I want to."

Sanya's breath caught.

No.

Feelings were a liability. Empathy was a death sentence.

The agency had been clear: Infiltrate. Deceive. Destroy.

Aarav Mehra was the enemy.

Except...

Except nothing about this felt like war anymore. It felt like standing on the edge of a blade, knowing the fall would kill her, but not caring.

"If you stay here much longer," Aarav said roughly, his hand brushing her wrist, "you'll have to choose a side."

She stared up at him, heart pounding. "Who says I haven't already?"

Something flickered across his face — pain, anger, something worse.

But it was gone before she could name it.

"I trust you, Sanya," he said quietly. "That might be the last mistake I ever make."

And before she could speak — before she could tell him he shouldn’t, that he couldn’t — he was gone, swallowed by the golden lights and dangerous promises of the Mehra estate.

The rain finally broke over the terrace, cold and punishing, soaking her through.

Sanya stayed rooted to the spot, trembling — not from the chill, but from something deeper.

A crack splitting open inside her.

She was running out of time.

Soon the agency would expect results.

Soon blood would stain the walls of this empire — her hands slick with it.

And when the truth surfaced... when the real enemy revealed itself...

Who would be left standing?

Not Aarav.

Not her.

Maybe no one at all.

Because in the end, she hadn’t been sent here to destroy the Mehra empire.

She had been sent here to destroy the one man trying to save it.

🥀"In a world built on lies, sometimes the greatest betrayal... is believing the wrong enemy."