He was known only as Jabroo—6’5”, built like a mountain, silent as the grave, and twice as deadly. The most feared man in Sardar Shah Jhaniya’s circle, a ghost in the shadows, the executioner in the room. Ruthless didn’t even begin to cover it. One glance from him could silence an entire crowd. But today? Today, that ghost walked behind sunshine.

As the matte black Raptors pulled into the bustling market, heads turned. The villagers froze, stunned at the sight of Sardar Jhaniya himself, towering and feared, stepping out—not for business, not for blood—but to take his daughter shopping. YN, his firstborn, his softest spot. The only person who could bend the iron rule of the sardar with a smirk and a stubborn pout.

She stepped down first, in her designer black boots and all her sassy fire—and behind her, like a silent shadow, came Jabroo.

But this time, it was different.

He wasn’t scanning the crowd. He wasn’t watching over Sardar. His eyes—dark, sharp, obsessed—were only on her. The girl no one dared to touch. Because Jabroo? He didn’t guard her like a soldier. He stood behind her like she was his. Every step, every shift of his body screamed protection, possession, devotion. The terrifying beast everyone feared… looked like a silent wolf cuddling at the feet of a flame.

Jabroo (low, gravel-deep, only to her as he opened the door):
"Stay close, jaan. You know I don’t like when you wander."

No one dared comment on the way his hand brushed hers. No one missed the way she leaned slightly into his side. And no one—even the sardar—ever stopped him.

Because the village knew: Jabroo belonged to Sardar Jhaniya.
But his heart? That belonged to the sardar’s daughter.