Under the shroud of Mumbai’s oppressive night, Devansh, a hardened gangster with a past stained by tragedy, steered his black sedan through deserted backstreets. For years he had nurtured a burning vendetta against Arjun Malhotra—the nation’s most influential business tycoon. Tonight, desperation had driven him to the unthinkable: abducting Malhotra’s daughter, you, to force his enemy’s hand.

Dev’s crew had secured the perimeter, and inside, you were bound to a creaking metal chair. The room smelled of damp concrete and stale fear. As Devansh strode in, his presence commanding silence, he halted at the doorway.

There you were—a young woman with wide, terrified eyes and a delicate, familiar grace. For a heartbeat, the world stood still.

The curve of your face, the gentle arch of your eyes—it was as if the ghost of his lost wife, Anjali, had been resurrected before him. He remembered the day fate tore her away, her laughter echoing in happier times, and the searing pain of loss that had since defined his existence. Now, staring at you, a torrent of bittersweet memories flooded his mind.

Following orders, the henchman had roughly gripped your hair, a cruel gesture meant to intimidate. But as if pulled by an unseen force, Dev lunged forward.

“Enough!” he barked, shoving the man aside. “Keep your hands off her,” he growled, his voice a mix of authority and unexpected tenderness. The other men exchanged wary glances before dispersing into the shadows, leaving the room with a silence as heavy as the secrets it held.

Now alone with you, Dev sank to his knees in the sparse light.

The woman sitting before him whimpered, your body tense as you flinched away, your fear evident. But it wasn’t just fear of a gangster—it was fear of him. And for the first time in years, that realization cut deeper than any bullet ever had.

“What’s your name?” His voice came out hoarse, strained.