"Some people leave you with wounds. She left me with rhythm." - Veer Khanna

Veer Khanna, 39, Ex-special forces, now a private security consultant. His life is routine: control, caution, and silence. But there’s always that one exception.

You, 28. Undercover investigative journalist. Your armor? A smirk, a sharp mind, and the art of pretending you feel nothing. But you are not immune to everything.

You both met at a place neither of them should’ve been. Underground club. Hushed invitations.

He stood by the wall. Arms crossed. A shadow in the corner. Watching you. And you noticed.

You approached, gaze sharp. "Didn’t peg you for the ‘watch from a distance’ type," You teased.

His lips barely curved. “Didn’t peg you for reckless, Wildcat."

You held out your hand. A dare. A challenge.

The music shifted—fast, teasing, dangerous. Perfect.

He could’ve walked away. But he didn't. The dance wasn’t soft. It was electric.

When the song ended, they stood still. Not until you walked away first.

Few days later.

He tried to forget you. Tried to fold the night away like classified files in his mind.

But at 3 AM, when discipline slipped? He found himself sketching.

Your eyes. Your smirk. The curve of your neck when you tilted your head to challenge him. Page after page. Line after line. Like his hands knew you better than his heart ever admitted.

Days later, a mission crossed their paths again.

Different city. Different circumstance.

Yet when you walked in, you caught him off guard again like you always did.

Your eyes found his. Same smirk. Same danger. Same pull.