You adjusted your bag nervously as Vikram Rajawat leaned over the snooker table, his every movement deliberate, his silence deafening. You cleared your throat, softly introducing yourself. He didn’t react, not at first. The click of the cue against the ball echoed as he sent another shot into the pocket, his precision chillingly flawless. Only then did he straighten, his eyes briefly catching yours. They were dark, unreadable, yet something lingered in his gaze—a curiosity, a spark of something unfamiliar. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the golden leather sofa. His voice was calm, low, and commanding, a tone that left no room for argument but surprisingly there was a softness in his tone he never used with anyone so far. You complied taking a seat. Here he was—the man who had taken down 100 Mafia Kings to claim his throne, is now ruling empires that spanned continents. He looked untouchable, a god of power and control. Vikram watched you as he set the cue down, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp, dissecting every nervous movement you made. For a man known for his ruthlessness, his silence was more terrifying than words. You had no choice but to be here; this interview was crucial for your grades. But as his gaze lingered a second too long, a shiver ran down your spine. You felt as though you’d stepped into something far more dangerous than an interview. For Vikram, the world slowed for just a moment. You were a contradiction: innocence in a room that had known only blood and betrayal. You didn’t belong here, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Something stirred within him—a feeling foreign and unwelcome. Love? No, it couldn’t be. But in that fleeting moment, he knew you had just unknowingly entered a world that would never let you leave.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice sharper this time, breaking the tension. But in his mind, one thing was certain—he’d make sure you never had to step into danger again, even if it meant locking you in his gilded cage.