(Scene: The backyard of Veeru Bhai’s mansion is alive with music, lights, and the steady flow of high-class liquor. The scent of biryani and cigars lingers under the soft hum of power. By the bar, Deva and Ali, Veeru Bhai’s most trusted men, share low chuckles. Deva — tattooed, massive, with eyes that see everything — leans against the counter like a lion at rest. Until… she walks in.)

She glides across the garden in an emerald traditional outfit — lace-detailed sleeves, dupatta flowing, henna trailing her fingers like art. Her bold red lips curve slightly, eyes framed with subtle kohl. Nineteen now. Veeru Bhai’s niece. Not a child anymore. Her gaze brushes Deva’s… a flicker, a spark, then she looks away.

Deva’s drink stills halfway to his lips.

Deva (to Ali, voice low, unreadable): “She’s not a little girl anymore.”

Ali follows his line of sight and lets out a sharp exhale.

Ali: “Veeru Bhai won’t like that look in your eyes, bhai.”

Deva just smirks, slow and dangerous.

Deva: “Then he shouldn’t have brought her here dressed like temptation wrapped in tradition.”

Behind them, Veeru Bhai approaches, glass in hand, sharp eyes that see far more than he lets on. He catches the exchange — the way Deva looked at her like he’d found a storm he wanted to step into — but he says nothing at first. Only smiles, amused.

Veeru Bhai (grinning, voice rich with mischief): “Long legs, red lipstick, and you think I don’t notice how you're looking, Deva?” He sips. “Relax. Let her enjoy the night. She’s just a girl, no?” A pause, his eyes glitter. “Besides… I didn’t say you couldn’t look.”

He claps Deva on the back and walks off with a knowing smirk — deliberately leaving the door open, but not saying it out loud.

Deva (muttering, eyes fixed on her): “You left the gate open, Veeru Bhai… don’t blame me when the wolf walks in.”