The morning light felt aggressive against my skin as I blinked awake. Every movement was a struggle; a dull, heavy soreness throbbed between my thighs, a constant reminder of how he had possessed me last night.

Ishaan hadn't just taken me—he had stretched the very life out of me, marking me until I felt like a different person.

I sat up, the silk sheets sliding off my bare skin. The bed beside me was cold. Empty.

Am I falling for him?

The thought hit me like a physical blow. I looked around the opulent, masculine room, my mind a mess of his growls and the way he licked my tears.

The answer was a terrifying, hollow silence. I had no fucking idea.

I dragged myself to the shower, let the hot water wash over the bruises, and got dressed. I chose a crop top and a pair of fitted jeans, my fingers trembling slightly as I did my hair. It was 9:10 AM. I was late for reality.

When I reached the dining area, the air shifted. Rahul, Priya, and Ishita were already seated, their breakfast plates half-full.

As soon as I stepped into the light, all three of them went silent. Their jaws literally dropped.

"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious, my hand going to my waist. "Is it the clothes again? Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" Priya gasped, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. "Ira, you look like a literal goddess. What the hell happened to you overnight? You’re... glowing."

"Forget the glow," Ishita added, her eyes wide with a mix of envy and shock. "Look at that waist. Ira, how is it that snatched? Priya and I are in the gym every single morning, counting every fucking calorie, and you just show up looking like a doll. What’s the secret?"

I flushed, thinking of Ishaan’s hands spanning that very waist just hour's ago. "I don't know... maybe because I just starve myself to death half the time?" I mumbled, trying to deflect.

"Eat!" Rahul shouted, pointing at the empty chair.

"Yeah, sit your 'goddess' ass down and eat this protein before we force-feed you," Priya added, pushing a plate toward me.

We finished breakfast in a blur of nervous energy and headed to the college.

The ride was twenty minutes of me staring out the window, my mind a broken record of him.

He hadn't woken me up. He hadn't left a note. And then it hit me—the absolute absurdity of our situation.

Dumb me. He doesn’t even have my number.

We walked into the Chemistry lab, sliding into our usual spots. I sat between Priya and Ishita, with Rahul next to Priya. The smell of sulfur and old lab benches filled the room.

"I hate this," Rahul groaned, staring at the periodic table like it was written in an alien language. "Chemistry is literally designed to make us feel stupid. Why are we here? Fuck our lives, honestly."

"I’m with you," Ishita sighed, leaning her head on the desk. "Moles, equations, valency... it’s all just a slow form of torture. I’d rather be anywhere else."

Priya nodded in agreement. "It’s the worst subject on the planet. Right, Ira?"

I looked at the beaker in front of me, a small smile playing on my lips. "Actually... I love it. The way everything reacts, the precision... it’s the only thing that makes sense sometimes."

The three of them stopped. They turned to look at me in pure, unadulterated disbelief.

"You love Chemistry?" Rahul asked, sounding genuinely offended. "Who are you and what have you done with our friend?"

"Nice start to the day," I muttered, opening my notebook. But as I wrote the date, my eyes kept darting to the door.

I knew Ishaan wasn't the Chemistry professor, but in this building, his presence was everywhere. And the day was just beginning.

_________________________________

The day had been a blur of formulas and whispered conversations, but by the time the tiffin bell rang, the walls of the college felt like they were closing in on me.

"Ira, don't you dare disappear again," Ishita warned, grabbing my arm as students flooded into the halls. "We’re going to the canteen. You’re sitting down, and you’re actually going to swallow some solid food today."

"I just... I need some air," I lied, forcing a small smile. "I’ll be back in ten minutes, I promise. Just save me a seat."

"Ten minutes, Ira! We’re counting!" Rahul called out as I slipped away into the crowd.

I didn't head for the canteen. I headed for the one place on campus where the air didn't feel like it was owned by someone else—the backyard.

It was a neglected patch of overgrown grass and ancient trees behind the old sports wing. No one came here. It was my sanctuary.

I slumped against the trunk of a massive oak tree, the rough bark biting into my back.

I pulled out my book, but my hands were shaking. I reached into my bag, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. I knew it was bad for me.

I knew the habit was a slow poison, but right now, the smoke was the only thing keeping the scream in my throat from escaping.

I was three pages deep into a chapter when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I frowned.

Nobody texts me except the three people currently waiting for me in the canteen.

I pulled it out. An unknown number.

My jaw tightened. A cold, sharp shiver raced down my spine, vibrating through my bones before I even opened the message.

Unknown: Enjoying the nicotine, Little Stranger? You should really be careful. Dry grass catches fire easily... and so do you.

Me: Who is this? How did you get my number? This isn't funny.

Unknown: Numbers are just digits, Little Stranger. I have things much more precious than your phone number. I have your schedule. Your secrets. Your pulse.

Me: Stop it. Whoever you are, leave me alone. I’m calling the police.

Unknown: The police? Don't be boring. They don't know you like I do. They don't know that you wake up at 6:42 AM and stare at the ceiling for exactly four minutes before you find the strength to move. They don't know that you skipped your breakfast today because your stomach is still in knots from last night.

Me: How do you... how are you doing this? Are you following me?

Unknown: I’m always with you. I know when you cry in the middle of the night, muffling the sound with your pillow so the walls don't hear you. I know the way you finger that pretty little pussy of yours when the novels get too graphic... I know how you run your clit, the frantic, messy way you use that vibrator because you’re so desperate to feel something that isn't pain.

My fingers were trembling so hard I almost dropped the phone. A sob broke from my throat.

Me: STOP. PLEASE. JUST STOP.

Unknown: I know the exact sound of your moan. It’s a soft, broken little ‘ah’ that makes me want to ruin you. I know that when you’re okay, you take 17 breaths a minute. But right now? Right now, you’re taking 22. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like a bird in a cage, Little Stranger.

Me: Where are you? How do you know about my breathing? How do you know everything?!

Unknown: Because I’ve studied you like a scripture. I know the salt-taste of your skin and the way your eyes roll back when you’re overwhelmed. I see you right now, Ira. Don’t cry. Wiping your eyes with those dirty hands will only make them redder.

I looked around wildly, my eyes darting to the empty windows of the sports wing, the thick bushes, the shadows. Nothing. No one.

Me: you are a monster. You’re a fucking psychotic madman.

Unknown: I’m your shadow, Little Stranger. And a shadow never leaves. Put the cigarette out. It’s disgusting. Go back to class. Your ten minutes are up.

A fresh wave of tears blurred my vision. I felt like I was being watched by a thousand invisible eyes.

My skin felt electric, crawling with the sensation of his words. I didn't think; I didn't breathe. I shoved my book and the half-smoked cigarette into my bag and bolted.

I practically ran toward the classroom, my lungs burning, my 22-breaths-a-minute turning into a frantic, jagged wheeze.

I burst through the doors and slid into my seat next to Ishita, my face pale and my eyes bloodshot.

"Ira? What happened?" she whispered, looking at my disheveled state. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I... I just ran," I choked out, staring at my phone as if it were a live grenade. "I didn't want to be late."

But as the professor started talking, I could still feel the phantom weight of that gaze on the back of my neck.

He knew.

He knew everything. And the worst part?

A dark, sick part of me was beginning to realize that the "Unknown"wasn't a stranger at all.

_________________________________

The air in the Biology lab was stagnant, heavy with the scent of formaldehyde and the suffocating weight of my own paranoia.

Every time the door creaked, I flinched. My skin was crawling, the phantom vibration of those text messages still echoing in my thighs.

17 breaths when you’re okay.

22 when you’re afraid.

"Ira, seriously," Priya whispered, leaning over the lab table. "You’ve been acting like a twitchy cat since tiffin. Did someone say something to you? Did those seniors have friends we don't know about?"

"No," I lied, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. "Nothing happened. I’m just... I’m overwhelmed. Everything from yesterday and this morning... it’s just a lot."

"We’re right here," Rahul said, his eyes darting to the door. "Nobody touches you today. Not on our watch."

Then, the sound of rhythmic, heavy footsteps began to echo in the hallway. My heart did a violent somersault. I knew that gait. It was a predator’s stride.

The door swung open, and Ishaan Khanna stepped inside.

He looked devastating—and dangerous. He was wearing a crisp white shirt that strained against his chest, formal black pants, and a black tie tucked under a grey waist-blazer.

His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle and veins that looked like they were pulsing with pure adrenaline.

But it was his face that made the room go cold. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw set in a line so rigid it looked like it might snap.

He was furious. A dark, tectonic rage was radiating off him, making the air in the room feel thin.

"Good afternoon, Sir," the class droned as we stood up.

"Sit down," he barked, not even looking at the room. He slammed his leather briefcase onto the podium. "Open page 94. The Reproduction chapter. Now."

I fumbled with my book, my fingers clumsy. As he turned to scan the room, our eyes collided. For a split second, the storm in his gaze broke.

His eyes softened, a flicker of that raw, obsessive heat from last night burning through the anger. His gaze didn't just meet mine; it traveled.

He looked at me from head to toe, his eyes lingering—almost hungrily—on my waist and the curve of my hips in these jeans.

I forgot how to breathe. I forgot I was even in a classroom. I remained standing, frozen under his predatory inspection, until Ishita reached out and yanked my arm, pulling me back into my seat.

"The reproductive system is a cycle of biological imperatives," Ishaan began, his voice a low, rough growl.

He paced the front of the room like a tiger in a cage, explaining the mechanics of life with a clinical coldness that made the subject feel incredibly intimate.

I couldn't focus. Every time I looked up, he was already staring at me, catching my gaze like a thief in the night.

He was hunting me with his eyes while he spoke of eggs and sperm and fertilization.

"Let's see who was actually paying attention," he snapped, stopping dead in his tracks. "Rahul."

Rahul jumped. "Yes, Sir?"

"What will happen if fertilization does not occur?"

Rahul swallowed hard. "The corpus luteum degenerates, Sir. Progesterone levels drop, and the uterine lining—the endometrium—sheds. That results in menstruation."

"Priya," Ishaan barked, moving his gaze. "How do hormones control the menstrual cycle?"

Priya cleared her throat. "The hypothalamus releases GnRH, which stimulates the pituitary to release FSH and LH. These hormones signal the ovaries to produce estrogen and progesterone, which regulate the buildup and shedding of the lining."

"Ishita. Explain fertilization and implantation."

"Fertilization happens in the fallopian tube when a sperm penetrates an egg," Ishita said quickly. "The resulting zygote travels to the uterus and embeds itself into the thickened endometrium. That’s implantation."

"Correct," Ishaan said, but his voice was devoid of praise.

He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto mine. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. "Stand up... Miss Mishra."

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird trying to break its wings. I stood up, my knees shaking so hard I had to grip the edge of the table.

"Differentiate between estrogen and progesterone," he commanded.

I stared at him. The words were in my brain somewhere—I was the class topper, for God’s sake—but looking at his bloodshot eyes and the way his shirt stretched over his shoulders, my mind went blank.

I felt the heat of last night, the memory of his fingers, the vibration of the Stranger's texts.

"I... I..." I stammered. I looked at the book, but the diagrams were just blurred lines.

"Well?" he roared, the sound echoing off the sterile walls. "It’s a simple question, Miss Mishra. Or is your mind too busy wandering elsewhere to focus on your studies?"

The class was dead silent. I could feel every eye on me. The embarrassment was a physical weight, crushing the air out of my lungs.

"I don't know, Sir," I whispered, looking down at my shoes.

The sound of his jaw clenching was audible. "You don't know?" he hissed, stepping closer to my row. "The topper of the class suddenly has 'no idea' about the basic hormonal functions of her own body? Where was your mind while I was teaching? Or perhaps your little 'private' sessions in the backyard?"

I flinched as if he’d slapped me. Tears started spilling from my eyes, hot and fast, dripping onto my textbook.

"Don't you dare cry in my classroom!" he roared, his voice thick with a psychotic, jealous edge. "Detention! One hour in my office immediately after this period. If you are even one minute late, I will double it. If you move from that chair before I tell you, I will make sure you regret it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir," I choked out through a sob.

"Sit down!"

I collapsed into my chair, my vision blurred by a curtain of tears.

Ishita reached out under the table, squeezing my palm tightly. "I'm so sorry, Ira," she whispered.

I just nodded, unable to speak. The rest of the class was a blur of agony. When the bell finally rang, Ishaan didn't say another word.

He didn't look at me, didn't check if I was okay. He just grabbed his bag and stormed out, leaving the air smelling of his expensive cologne and cold, unyielding rage.

I was terrified. Because I knew that one hour in his office wasn't about Biology. It was about the fact that he knew exactly why I was taking 22 breaths a minute.

_________________________________

The hallway felt like a vacuum, sucking the oxygen out of my lungs with every agonizing second that ticked by. Five minutes.

I was five minutes late. My legs felt like lead, and my heart was a frantic, dying bird beating against the cage of my ribs.

I stood before the dark mahogany door of his office, my hand hovering, trembling so violently I couldn't even form a fist to knock.

Before I could even touch the wood, the door swung inward with a violent jerk.

I jumped back, a strangled gasp escaping my throat, but I wasn't fast enough.

Ishaan’s hand shot out like a coil of steel, wrapping around my upper arm with a grip so harsh I felt the bone groan beneath the pressure. He hauled me inside, the sheer force of his movement dragging my feet off the floor.

CLACK.

The lock engaged. The sound was final. A death sentence.

The next thing I knew, the world tilted. He slammed me back against the door, the impact rattling my teeth. He didn't pull away.

He crowded into my space, his massive, heated frame pinning me flat against the wood. He was breathing like a wounded animal—heavy, jagged, and terrifying.

He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling the scent of my hair with a frantic, maniacal intensity that made my skin erupt in goosebumps.

I was paralyzed. I didn't know this man. This wasn't the professor, and it wasn't even the man who had held me last night. This was something ancient and predatory.

His palm slid up, wrapping around my throat. Not enough to choke me, but enough to make me gasp, my pulse thrumming frantically against his skin.

My face was burning, the heat of my tears mingling with the flush of sheer terror.

"Look at me," he roared, the sound vibrating through the door and into my spine.

I couldn't. I squeezed my eyes shut, my head shaking in a desperate 'no' as the sobs finally broke through.

"I said LOOK AT ME!"

His fingers dove into the hair at the back of my head, fist winding into the strands and yanking my head back until I had no choice but to face him.

I let out a broken cry, the pain sharp, but the look in his bloodshot eyes was worse. They were dark, swirling with a psychotic, unhinged jealousy.

"Open your fucking eyes, Ira! Open them and look at what you’re doing to me!"

I forced them open, my vision swimming in salt and blurred shapes. His face was inches from mine, his jaw pulsing.

"You were in the backyard," he hissed, his voice dropping to a terrifying, low vibration. "I watched the CCTV. I saw you sitting there, hiding like a thief. And then I saw you light it. That disgusting, filthy stick. You smoked again, didn't you? After I told you it was poison. After I told you that you are mine,and I don't want my property stained with that stench!"

"I... I'm sorry..." I choked out, the words barely audible over my own sobbing.

"And then you panicked," he continued, his grip on my hair tightening. "I saw you staring at your phone as if you’d seen a demon. You looked like you were ready to jump out of your skin. Your heart rate was probably through the roof, wasn't it? Where is it? Give me the phone."

"I... I left it," I stammered, the lie tasting like ash. "I left it in the classroom, Ishaan... I was in such a hurry... I forgot it..."

He loomed closer, his nose brushing mine. "You’re lying to me. I can smell the fear coming off you in waves. What did you see on that screen? Who was it? Did those bastards' friends find your number? TELL ME!"

"Nothing! I swear! I just... I saw the time and realized I was late for class! I was scared of you! That’s all!"

He stared into my soul for a long, agonizing minute, his chest heaving against mine.

Finally, he seemed to swallow the lie, but it didn't calm him. It only shifted the nature of his rage.

"Scared of me?" he whispered, a dark, twisted smirk ghosting his lips. "Good. You should be fucking terrified."

Before I could blink, he moved. He didn't let go of me; he simply ducked, throwing my body over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

I shrieked, my hands drumming against his back as he marched deeper into the suite, through the inner door that led to his private rest quarters.

He threw me onto the bed. The mattress was firm, but the force of the throw made me bounce.

I tried to scramble back, my heels digging into the duvet, but he was already hovering over me, his shadow swallowing me whole.

"Stop! Please, Ishaan, you're scaring me!" I wailed, my hands up to shield my face.

"Good," he growled, grabbing my ankles and dragging me back toward him until my legs were spread wide, pinned under his weight. "Fear is the only thing that keeps you focused. You’ve been a bad girl today, Ira. A very, very bad girl."

He leaned down, his face burying into my neck again, but this time there was no hesitation.

He bit me. Not a graze, but a deep, punishing bite that drew a sharp scream from my lungs.

"Stop! It hurts! You're hurting me!"

"You deserve the pain," he rasped against my skin, his tongue licking the blood he had just drawn. "You deserve to feel every ounce of the agony I felt watching you ignore me in class. Watching you sit there with your mind miles away while I was trying to teach you. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to fuck you right there on that classroom desk? In front of everyone?"

My breath hitched. His words were vulgar, raw, stripping away any shred of the 'Professor' persona.

"I sat there looking at your snatched waist, thinking about how my hands felt on it last night," he hissed, his hand sliding under my top to grip my side so hard his nails left marks. "I looked at your hips and I wanted to rip those jeans off you and show the whole class who you belong to. I wanted to pin you against the blackboard and drive my cock inside your virgin pussy until you screamed my name so loud the dean could hear it."

I was shaking, a mix of terror and a dark, sick heat spreading through my core.

He was a madman, a complete psychopath, and yet the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing in the universe worth destroying—was intoxicating.

"You make me lose my fucking mind, Ira," he whispered, his mouth moving to my ear. "You think you’re so innocent? I see the way you look at me. You’re a filthy little slut for my attention, aren't you? And tonight... tonight the real punishment begins. When I get you home, I’m going to make sure you can’t walk for a week. I’m going to ruin that pretty little asshole and make you beg me to stop, and I won't."

He continued to bite and suck at my neck, marking me with dark, angry hickeys that would turn purple by morning.

I begged and pleaded, my voice hoarse from crying, but he was deaf to it. He was lost in his own obsession, a narcissist who needed to see me broken to feel whole.

"You're so beautiful when you're terrified," he murmured, his fingers ghosting over my lips. "So perfect when you're under me. You’re my obsession, Ira. My sickness. And I’m never, ever going to let you get well."

He stayed there, hovering over me, his presence a suffocating, dominating force, making me realize that the detention was just the beginning.

The monster wasn't at the door anymore—he was in my bed, and he was never letting go.

_________________________________

The storm inside him didn’t just pass; it collapsed into a jagged, desperate ruin. One moment he was a predator claiming a kill, and the next, the tension snapped.

His grip on my hair loosened, and his face dropped into the crook of my shoulder, his breath coming in ragged, broken hitches.

He started kissing my face—not with the biting hunger of a madman, but with a frantic, pleading softness.

He kissed my forehead, my tear-stained eyelids, and the tip of my nose, his lips trembling against my skin.

"I’m sorry... God, Ira, I’m so sorry," he whispered, the words sounding wrecked, like they were being torn from a throat full of glass. "I lost it. I saw you in that backyard, looking so fragile and so far away from me, and I just... I snapped. Forgive me. Please, little bird, don't look at me with that fear. I can't breathe when you look at me like I’m a monster."

"Ishaan, stop... please, just stop," I sobbed, my hands trembling as I tried to push him back, but the guilt in his eyes was almost harder to handle than the rage. "It’s okay... just breathe... it’s okay."

"It’s not okay!" he roared softly, his forehead dropping against mine. "I touched you in anger. I marked you like an animal. I’m a narcissist, a psychotic bastard who doesn't deserve to even breathe your air, but please... don't hate me."

I couldn't help it. Despite the terror, despite the marks on my neck, seeing him this broken—this vulnerable—shattered the last of my defenses.

I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his massive head down to my chest.

He froze. His entire body went rigid, as if he couldn't process the fact that I was offering him comfort instead of a curse. I leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, feeling the stubble graze my lips.

"Stop, Ishaan," I whispered into his ear. "Just stop. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere."

He let out a sound that was half-sob, half-growl, and buried his face in my neck, kissing the very skin he had just bruised.

We stayed like that for a long time—a silent, twisted sanctuary in the middle of his office, the only sound the hum of the AC and the erratic rhythm of our merging heartbeats.

Eventually, he pulled back, his eyes still bloodshot but the madness replaced by a heavy, focused guilt.

He stood up without a word and walked into his private washroom. I heard the cabinet click open and the sound of running water.

He returned with a first-aid kit and a basin of cool water. He sat on the edge of the bed, hovering over me again, but this time his touch was feather-light.

He took a cotton swab dipped in antiseptic and pressed it against the deep bite mark on my neck.

"Aah!" I hissed, my body flinching involuntarily as the sting burnt through the raw skin. "Ishaan, it hurts..."

"I know... I know, baccha," he murmured, his jaw clenching in self-loathing. He blew softly on the wound, the cool air momentarily dulling the fire of the antiseptic. "I drew blood. I actually drew blood from you. I’m going to kill myself for this."

"Don't say that," I whispered, wincing again as he applied a soothing ointment.

"I have to mark you, Ira," he whispered, his eyes dark as he watched the medicine coat the bruise. "I want the world to see you and know you are mine, but I never wanted to see you cry because of me. Every time you hiss in pain, it feels like a knife in my gut. But I can't stop. I'm so obsessed with you that even your pain feels like a secret we share."

He finished dressing the wound, his fingers lingering on my skin, tracing the line of my throat with a reverence that felt almost holy.

He didn't look like a professor, and he didn't look like a king. He just looked like a man drowning in a love that was too big and too dark for his soul to carry.

_________________________________

The classroom was a hollow, echoing shell of silence by the time I stepped back inside.

My footsteps sounded like thunderclaps in the emptiness. I grabbed my phone from the desk, my fingers trembling so violently I almost dropped it.

I didn’t think; I just acted on pure, survivalist instinct. I opened the messages from the stranger and hit delete. One by one, every trace of that psychotic monitoring vanished.

I felt like a pathetic, disgusting thief—hiding secrets from a man who had already claimed every inch of my soul.

I hurried to the garage, the heavy scent of oil and gasoline hitting me first. But then, as I rounded the corner of the private parking bay, the air changed. It turned metallic. Heavy.

I froze.

My heart didn't just pound; it stopped.

There they were. The three kings of this dark world. Ishaan, Ishir, and Rudra. They stood in a semicircle, their silhouettes towering and jagged against the dim garage lights.

And on his knees in front of them was a man. He was stripped to his shorts, his skin a roadmap of bruises, welts, and deep, weeping cuts. It was brutal. It was primitive.

And then... the world turned red.

Ishaan didn't hesitate. He moved with a cold, surgical precision that was more terrifying than any blind rage. He had a blade in his hand.

He began to stab.

Not once. Not twice.

For twenty agonizing minutes, the only sound in that garage was the wet thud of steel hitting flesh and the choked, gurgling pleas of a dying man.

I couldn't breathe. The ground beneath me felt like it was liquefying, ready to swallow me whole. My body was shaking so hard I thought my bones might snap.

"Fuck!"

Ishir was the first to see me. He yelled, his voice cracking the heavy silence.

Instantly, Ishaan and Rudra snapped their heads toward me.

Ishaan’s face was splattered with blood—tiny crimson droplets that looked like freckles of death. His eyes were wide, glowing with a dark, primal adrenaline.

I saw the monster. Not the professor, not the lover. The monster.

I panicked. I took one step back, then another, my heels clicking frantically on the concrete.

And then, I ran. I bolted for the exit, my lungs screaming for air that wasn't tainted by the smell of blood.

"Ira! Stop!"

I didn't stop. I couldn't. But I was never going to outrun him. Within seconds, the air was knocked out of me as I was hoisted into the air. He threw me over his shoulder, his grip like iron.

"LET ME GO! LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU PSYCHOPATH!" I screamed, my fists drumming against his back, my tears hot and blurring my vision. "LEAVE ME! PLEASE!"

He didn't say a word. Not a single fucking word. His silence was the most terrifying part. He marched to his car, shoved me into the passenger seat, and locked the doors before I could even reach for the handle.

He climbed into the driver's seat, his movements calm, almost robotic. Behind us, I heard the engines of Ishir and Rudra’s cars roar to life, following us like a funeral procession.

I sat there, huddled against the door, staring at him in horrified disbelief. I wasn't just scared; I was traumatized. This was the man who had kissed my neck an hour ago. Now, he was covered in someone's life essence.

As we hit a red light, the car came to a smooth halt. The silence in the cabin was suffocating.

"You weren't supposed to see that," he whispered. His voice was soft, devoid of the roar he’d used in class. It was the voice of a man explaining a simple mistake.

I didn't look at him. I stared into the side mirror, watching the blurred lights of the city.

"Baby... look at me," he murmured, his blood-stained hand reaching out to touch my cheek. "Talk to me. Don't just sit there frozen. You're taking 25 breaths a minute now, Ira. Slow down."

"Don't touch me!" I shrieked, flinching away from his hand as if it were white-hot iron. "Stay the fuck away from me! You killed him! You sat there and stabbed him for twenty minutes! You're a monster! A disgusting, cold-blooded monster!"

"I showed him mercy," Ishaan said, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl. He didn't sound guilty. He sounded justified.

"Mercy?" I laughed hysterically, the sound bordering on a sob. "You call that mercy? You carved him up like meat!"

"Do you know why he was on his knees, Ira?" Ishaan asked, his eyes fixing on mine through the rearview mirror, dark and unyielding. "That 'man' you're crying for? He raped a fourteen-year-old girl. Several times. And then he murdered her and dumped her body like trash in a ravine. He was a piece of filth that didn't deserve a quick death."

My eyes snapped to his. My heart skipped a beat, the horror of his words fighting with the horror of what I’d seen. "What... what did you just say?"

He didn't answer. The light turned green, and he slammed his foot on the accelerator.

The twenty-minute drive to the penthouse was a blur. The moment the car screeched into the private garage, I didn't wait for him to open the door. I scrambled out, tripping over my own feet in my haste to get away.

"IRA! LISTEN TO ME! STOP RUNNING!" Ishaan yelled, his voice booming through the garage as he jumped out.

"STAY AWAY FROM ME!" I screamed back, not looking behind me. "JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"

I ran into the elevator, hitting the button for the penthouse. As the doors opened, I burst into the living room.

Ishita, Rahul, and Priya were on the couch, laughing at something on TV.

They froze, their expressions turning to pure shock as they saw my disheveled hair, my tear-streaked face, and the sheer terror in my eyes.

I didn't stop to explain. I sprinted up the stairs, my bag hitting the walls. I burst into the master bedroom, threw my bag on the bed, and ran straight for the bathroom.

I slammed the door and locked it, the click of the deadbolt the only thing that made me feel safe.

I stripped my clothes off with shaking hands, feeling like his scent was etched into my skin.

I stepped under the shower and turned the water on full blast—cold, biting water.

I sank to the floor of the shower, the water pelting my head, and finally let out the scream I’d been holding in.

I sobbed into my knees, the image of the blood and the blade burned into my eyelids, wondering how I could ever love a man whose hands were so stained with red, even if he claimed it was for justice.

_________________________________

The steam from the shower had turned the bathroom into a suffocating fog, but the cold water was still pelting my skin when the first knock echoed against the door.

It wasn't a normal knock; it was a heavy, desperate thud that made me scramble into the corner of the shower stall.

"Ira? Baccha, please... open the door," Ishaan’s voice was a wreck, muffled by the wood but vibrating with a raw, jagged edge. "I know what you saw. I know you’re terrified. Just let me in so I can explain. Don't do this to me. Don't lock me out."

"Leave me alone!" I screamed, my voice cracking as I pulled my knees to my chest. "Just go away, Ishaan! You’re a murderer! I saw what you did! I can still smell the blood! Please, just leave me!"

"I can't leave you!" he roared back, and I heard his forehead thud against the door. "I’ll never leave you! I’ll stay behind this door for a thousand years if I have to, but I am not moving until you look at me. Open it, Ira. Please. Don't make me imagine what you're thinking in there."

I didn't answer. I just sobbed into my hands, the image of the blade and the garage floor flashing behind my eyelids like a strobe light.

The silence that followed was even worse. It lasted only a minute before the first violent bang shook the frame.

BOOM.

I jumped, a shriek escaping my throat.

"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, IRA!" His voice was no longer begging; it was a terrifying, psychotic command. "I am losing my mind out here! If you don't unlock this door in the next ten seconds, I will kick it off its hinges! I don't care about the house, and I don't care about the noise! Open it!"

The sheer violence in his voice broke me. I scrambled out of the shower, my skin blue from the cold water, and threw on a white robe.

I wrapped a towel around my dripping hair with shaking hands. The banging stopped, but the sound of his heavy, frantic breathing on the other side of the door was like a physical weight.

I clicked the lock and pulled the door open.

Ishaan was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He looked up, his face pale, his eyes bloodshot and haunted.

He stood up instantly, his hand reaching out to touch my face, but I flinched back so hard I hit the doorframe.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I yelled, my voice trembling. "Don't you dare put those hands on me!"

He froze, his fingers inches from my skin, trembling. He slowly lowered them, a look of profound, agonizing pain crossing his features.

"Fine," he whispered. "I won't touch you. Just... sit. Please, Ira. Sit on the bed. Let me speak. If you want to leave after I'm done, we’ll talk about it, but just listen to me."

I walked over to the bed with leaden feet, sitting on the very edge, my legs still hanging off toward the floor.

I couldn't look at him. I stared at the carpet, my body shivering under the robe.

Suddenly, I felt a shift in the air. I looked down and my breath hitched.

Ishaan—the man who owned half of Mumbai, the man who terrified the most powerful people in the city—was on his knees on the floor in front of me.

"Ishaan, what are you doing?" I sobbed, trying to pull my feet back. "Don't sit on the floor. Get up. Please, don't do this."

He didn't move. Instead, he reached out and gently took my cold, bare feet in his large, warm palms. I shivered violently, but I didn't pull away this time.

"Listen to me," he whispered, his eyes looking up at me with a desperate, naked honesty. "You see me at the college and you see a professor. You see me in the news and you see a business tycoon. But that’s not who I am, Ira. My family... the Khanna's... our roots are in the dirt and the blood. I am a Mafia lead. I don't work for anyone. Ishir and Rudra... they follow me because I am the head of this empire."

I gasped, my hand going to my mouth.

"I have never touched an innocent person in my life," he continued, his grip on my feet tightening slightly, as if he were afraid I’d float away. "The man you saw today... he wasn't a victim. He was a monster who destroyed a child's life. I don't show mercy to rapists. I don't show mercy to bullies who prey on the weak. That is how I keep this city clean. That is how I keep you safe."

"Twenty times, Ishaan..." I whispered, the tears falling onto my lap. "You stabbed him twenty times."

"And I would do it a thousand times more if he had even looked at you the way he looked at that girl," he rasped, his voice breaking. "I am a selfish, psychotic bastard, Ira. I am a narcissist who thinks the world belongs to him. And unfortunately for you, you are the center of that world."

He leaned his forehead against my knees, his shoulders shaking. "I can’t let you go. Even if you hate me, even if you fear me, I am too weak to lose you. I am so obsessed with you that the thought of you being out there in this cruel, disgusting world without my protection makes me want to burn everything to the ground. If I have to, I will cage you in this penthouse forever. I will be your jailer and your lover, but I will never, ever let you leave."

The room was silent, save for my quiet sobbing. I looked down at the top of his head, at the man who was confessing to being a monster just so he wouldn't have to be a liar.

"Sit on the bed, Ishaan," I said softly, my voice finally steadying.

He obeyed instantly, sitting beside me like a man waiting for a death sentence. I turned to him, my green eyes searching his grey ones. "If you want me to stay... if you want us to be whatever this is... you have to be honest. No more hiding the blood. If you kill, I need to know why. I need to know everything."

"I promise," he vowed, his hand moving to cover mine. "Total honesty. My life is yours, Ira. My dark, filthy life is completely yours."

I let out a long, shaky breath and lay back on the bed, the exhaustion of the day finally taking hold.

"Lay with me," I whispered. "I’m tired of being afraid."

He lay down beside me, pulling me into his chest with a strength that felt like it would fuse our bones together.

He buried his face between my breasts, his nose brushing the soft fabric of my robe as he hugged me with a terrifying, possessive intensity.

I reached out, my fingers tracing the back of his neck and running through his thick hair, cherishing the man beneath the monster.

"Don't hate me, Ira," he whispered into my skin, his voice muffled and small. "Please... just don't hate me."

I let out a broken sob, my hand cupping the back of his head. "I don't hate you, Ishaan. I could never hate you. I just got so scared... everything was so red."

"I know, baby," he murmured, his breath warm against me. "I know. I'll wash it away. I'll make it better."

He pulled back slightly, looking at the clock on the bedside table. "My mother will be here by 6:00 PM. We have two hours until she arrives. Two hours of just us."

He leaned up and kissed the bridge of my nose, his eyes filled with a desperate, lingering guilt. "I’m so sorry for scaring you today. For everything."

"It’s okay," I whispered, pulling him back down. "Just stay here. Don't go back to the garage. Just stay with me."

"Always," he promised his grip tightening. "Always."

_________________________________

The apartment felt like it was holding its breath. After the violence of the garage and the raw confession in the bedroom, the silence was heavy.

I had scrubbed my skin until it was raw, trying to wash away the phantom scent of iron and copper.

I stepped into the walk-in closet, the rows of designer clothes Ishaan had bought for me feeling like a gilded cage.

I chose a sleek black jumpsuit, but then I reached for a thick, oversized woolen sweater. I knew it was nearly 30°C outside. I knew anyone seeing me would think I’d lost my mind.

But as I caught my reflection in the mirror, I saw them—the jagged, purple-black marks blooming across my neck and collarbone like a violent bouquet.

He hadn't just kissed me; he had claimed me with his teeth, marking his territory in a way that made my stomach flip with a mix of fear and heat.

I couldn't let his mother see the monster he became behind closed doors.

By 5:50 PM, I was sitting on the velvet sofa. Ishaan sat beside me, the scent of his expensive cigar smoke swirling around us.

He hadn't looked at me since he’d emerged from the shower, his expression unreadable, a wall of granite. Ishita sat across from us, her eyes red-rimmed, picking at her nails.

Then, the elevator chimed. The echo of footsteps on the marble floor made my heart stutter.

Rudra and Ishir walked in first, their faces schooled into masks of respect. And then, I saw her.

Devyani Khanna.

She moved with a grace that made the very air seem to bow to her. She had the same piercing, storm-grey eyes as Ishaan, the same sharp, aristocratic bone structure.

Ishaan was her mirror image, but while he was the storm, she was the calm after the wreckage.

My palms began to sweat, the fabric of my jumpsuit dampening under my grip.

"Stop panicking," Ishaan whispered, his voice a low vibration that only I could hear.

He reached out and grabbed my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles with a possessive, grounding pressure. "She’s here for you. Not for me."

I couldn't reply. My throat was tight. As she approached, I moved on instinct—the way I had been taught years ago before the world went dark.

I stood up and reached for her feet in a traditional mark of respect.

But before I could touch them, she caught my arms and pulled me upward into a warm, lavender-scented embrace.

I froze, my arms hanging uselessly at my sides. It had been so long since a mother’s warmth had touched me.

"Shouldn't you be hugging me back, beta?" she whispered against my ear, her voice like silk.

A chorus of chuckles erupted from the men in the room. My face burned as I slowly wrapped my arms around her, burying my face in her shoulder for a fleeting second.

When we sat, I found myself sandwiched between the two most powerful Khanna's.

Ishaan’s hand never left mine; his grip was firm, as if he were telling his mother that I was his prize, his heart, and he wasn't letting go.

"Ira Mishra," Devyani said, her eyes searching mine with a terrifyingly sharp intelligence. "My son has told me very little, which usually means he’s terrified of losing what he’s found. Tell me about yourself. What does a girl like you love? What do you hate?"

"I... I love Chemistry, Aunty," I said, my voice small. "I love old books and the smell of rain. I hate... I hate noise. And lies."

Ishaan’s grip tightened.

"Can you cook?" she asked with a playful tilt of her head.

"Yes, Aunty. I can manage most Indian dishes."

"Good. Perhaps you can teach Ishaan. He can burn water," she teased.

Then, the air shifted as she asked the question I dreaded. "And your parents, Ira? Where are they?"

The silence that followed was heavy. I looked at my lap, the memories rushing back like a flood. "When I was ten... we went for a drive. It was raining. There was an accident. They... they didn't make it. I survived because I was in the back seat, buckled in. Sometimes I wonder why I was the one who got to stay."

Devyani’s expression softened into something profoundly maternal. "And after that?"

"My father's family took me in for a few years," I whispered, my voice trembling. "But they were bitter. They called me a manhoos—a bad omen. They said I brought the death with me. So, I left. I went to an orphanage. I studied on scholarships, worked every hour I could. Three years ago, I found out my father had a small flat in Bandra that was cleared of legal issues. I’ve been living there since. I study during the week, and on weekends, I work in a cafe to keep things running."

I felt a wetness on my hand. I looked up and saw Devyani crying. She reached out and pulled me into her side, hugging me with a fierce, protective strength.

"Oh, baby... you went through hell alone," she sobbed. "You are not a bad omen. You are a miracle. To survive all that and still have eyes as clear as yours... you are a blessing, not a curse."

Ishita was sobbing openly now, and even Ishir and Rudra looked away, their jaws tight.

"You are breathtakingly beautiful, Ira," Devyani said, wiping her eyes and looking at me with a proud smile. "But tell me... how did a girl like you end up liking my ugly, grumpy son?"

I bit my lip, trying to suppress a laugh. Ishir and Rudra didn't even try—they roared with laughter.

"Ugly?" Ishaan growled, though there was a smirk playing on his lips as he flicked ash from his cigar. "Ma, women drool over me. They literally die just to breathe the same air I walk through. 'Ugly' is a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

"And yet, no one ever caught your heart, did they?" Devyani shot back, her eyes twinkling. "You spent thirty years acting like a stone, and now look at you. You’re holding her hand like she’s the last oxygen tank on earth."

"She’s a goddess," Ishir teased, leaning forward. "Bhai didn't stand a chance. The moment she walked into his life, he was done for. He’s been a whipped puppy ever since."

"A puppy with very sharp teeth," Rudra added, his eyes momentarily flashing with the memory of the garage.

Ishaan’s gaze turned to me then. It wasn't the gaze of a professor or a Mafia lord. It was the gaze of a man who was utterly, hopelessly possessed.

"She is breathtaking," Ishaan whispered, his voice thick with a raw, honest heat that made the room go silent. "She’s more than I deserve. I’m a man of shadows, Ma. I’m a monster in most people’s stories. But she... she’s an angel who somehow got stuck in my web. And now that I have her, I’m never letting her go back to the light."

I felt the warmth of his words seep into my skin, warring with the cold reality of who he was.

Sitting there, held between the mother I had lost and the man who had claimed me, I felt a strange, terrifying sense of peace. For the first time in ten years, I wasn't just a survivor.

I was his.

_________________________________

The air in the living room had been warm—filled with the fragile peace of a family meeting—but the atmosphere shifted the second Ishita’s eyes narrowed on me.

She had been watching me pull at the collar of my heavy woolen sweater for the last ten minutes, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Ira," Ishita said, her voice cutting through the laughter of the men. "I’ve known you for two years. We’ve sat through lectures where the AC was at 16°C and you were still fanning yourself. You loathe the heat. You practically wilt in the summer. So why on earth are you wearing a thick woolen sweater in the middle of April?"

I froze. The warmth of Devyani’s hand on mine suddenly felt like a spotlight.

My heart began to drum a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I... I was just feeling a little cold, Ishita," I stammered, my voice sounding thin and unconvincing even to my own ears. "Maybe I’m coming down with something. A fever, perhaps."

"A fever?" Ishir chimed in, leaning forward with a skeptical look. "Baby, you have beads of sweat rolling down your forehead. The AC is blasting at full power and you look like you’re sitting in a sauna. That doesn't make sense."

"Yeah," Rudra added, his gaze sharp and observant. "You’re practically vibrating, Ira. If you’re sick, we need to call a doctor, not let you sit there in wool."

I looked at Ishaan. His jaw was so tight I thought it might shatter. He didn't look at me; he stared straight ahead, his fingers gripping his cigar so hard it snapped in half.

He knew.

He knew exactly what was hidden under the high collar of that sweater.

"Ira, beta," Devyani said, her voice soft but commanding. "Take it off. You’re going to dehydrate yourself. You’re flushed."

"No, really, Aunty, I’m fine," I insisted, my voice rising an octave in panic. "I just... I like the comfort of it. Please, it's okay."

"It’s not okay," Ishita said, standing up. "You’re lying. You’re a terrible liar, Ira. I’ve seen that look before. If you don't take it off right now, I’m going to pull it off myself. You’re hiding something."

"Ishita, sit down," I begged, tears starting to prick at the corners of my eyes.

The room fell into a suffocating silence. The tension was a living thing, coiling around us. Then, Ishaan’s voice broke the quiet—cold, flat, and absolute.

"Open it, Ira."

I looked at him in total disbelief. My mouth hung open as I searched his face for a sign of a joke, but there was nothing but granite.

He wanted the truth out. He wanted to be judged. Or perhaps his guilt was so heavy he couldn't bear to hide it anymore.

With trembling hands, I reached for the hem of the sweater. Every eye in the room was a weight.

I slowly pulled it over my head, my hair tumbling down in a messy wave.

The room froze to death.

The silence wasn't just quiet; it was a vacuum. Devyani reached out, her fingers trembling as she pulled my hair away from my neck. I heard her breath hitch—a jagged, horrified sound.

There they were. Deep purple, blue, and angry red marks. The bite marks were clear—the jagged impressions of teeth where he had broken the skin, now covered in a thin layer of ointment but still raw and violent.

It looked like I had been attacked by a wild animal.

"Oh my God," Ishita whispered, her face going ghostly pale.

She didn't wait. She turned and ran upstairs, her footsteps pounding on the stairs.

A minute later, she was back, breathless, clutching a first-aid box. She handed it to Devyani with shaking hands.

"Ira... who did this?" Rudra roared, standing up so fast his chair flipped over. His eyes were wild, his hand going instinctively to the back of his waistband. "Who touched you? Tell me his name, and I swear to God he won't live to see the sunset. Did someone at the college do this?"

"No one touched me!" I cried, the sobs finally breaking through as Devyani began to dab a fresh antiseptic on the marks. "It’s not what it looks like! I... I fell. I bumped into something."

"You bumped into a set of teeth?" Ishir hissed, his voice trembling with a protective rage. "Ira, look at us. We are your family now. Whoever did this to you is a dead man. Was it those boys from the garage? Did we miss one?"

"No! Please, stop!" I begged, shielding my neck with my hands. "It’s nothing, I swear!"

"I did it."

The words were quiet, but they carried the weight of a mountain.

Ishaan stood up. He stood in the center of the room, his hands fisted at his sides, his head bowed. "I did it. I lost control in the office today. I was the one who marked her like that."

The silence returned, but this time it was lethal.

Devyani stood up slowly. She looked at her son—her pride, the head of her empire—and for the first time, I saw a mother’s heart break.

"Ishaan?" she whispered, her voice trembling with a disappointment so profound it was worse than any scream. "I raised you to be a protector. I raised you to be a man who stands between the world and the innocent. And this is how you treat her? This is how you cherish the girl who has already been through hell?"

"Ma—"

"DON'T 'MA' ME!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the penthouse. "Look at her skin, Ishaan! Look at what you’ve done to her! She’s fragile, she’s precious, and you treated her like a piece of meat! I am ashamed. I am utterly ashamed to call you my son right now."

Ishaan didn't defend himself. He didn't roar back. He just stood there, taking her words like physical blows.

"Aunty, please!" I sobbed, grabbing Devyani’s hand. "It’s not his fault! I triggered him! I was being stubborn, I wasn't listening... I made him lose his mind! Please, don't be angry with him."

Devyani turned to me, her eyes stern but filled with pity. "Don't you dare take his side, Ira. There is no excuse for this. No matter what you did, he is a man twice your size. He is supposed to be your sanctuary, not your tormentor. He deserves a biting for this—literally."

She turned back to Ishaan, her gaze like ice. "You are a monster when you let that darkness take over, Ishaan. You think you’re so powerful? You think you’re a king? A king doesn't bruise his queen. A king doesn't leave marks of shame on the woman he claims to love."

Ishir and Rudra sat back down, their expressions grim. They were his brothers, but even they couldn't look him in the eye. The disappointment in the room was suffocating.

"I’m sorry, Ma," Ishaan whispered, his voice so low I could barely hear it. It was the sound of a man completely defeated by his own actions. "I know I’m wrong. I know I don't deserve her."

"You’re right, you don't," Devyani snapped. She sat back down beside me, taking the cotton swab from Ishita and gently cleaning the marks again. "Listen to me, Ishaan. I am telling you this once. If I ever—ever—see her with a mark like this again, if I ever see her hiding from the world because of your lack of control, I will disown you. I will take her with me, and you will never see her face again. Do you understand me?"

Ishaan looked at me then—a long, agonizing look filled with a possessive, haunted love. "I understand, Ma."

"Ira," Ishita whispered, leaning over to hug me. "Don't let him do that again. You have us now. You don't have to bear his darkness alone."

"I'm okay," I whispered back, leaning into Devyani’s warmth. "I just... I don't want everyone to be unhappy."

"We aren't unhappy with you, jaan," Devyani said, kissing my temple. "We are just teaching a big, stupid man how to handle a diamond. He’s used to coal and blood, but he needs to learn that you are different."

The evening continued, but the air had changed. Ishaan stayed at a distance, his eyes never leaving me, his presence a dark, silent shadow of guilt.

He had been humbled by the only woman he feared, and for the first time, I saw the true weight of the crown he wore.

It wasn't made of gold; it was made of the responsibility to be better than the monster he was born to be.

_________________________________