The night was still, but Vinay Raichand wasn't.

He stood in front of the giant glass window of his bedroom, shirtless, chest rising with shallow breaths, eyes fixed on the city that had bled for him. In one hand: a half-finished whiskey. In the other: an old silver locket.

Inside it-a photo of his dead wife.

A woman with soft eyes and a sad smile. The only softness he'd ever allowed into his world... and the last.

He remembered the gunshot.

The blood.

How he had held her lifeless body in his arms.

How his stepmother had set it all up-driven by greed, wanting to make her son Vinay's heir instead.

The bullet hadn't just taken his wife.

It had turned him into the beast Anaya now belonged to.

He didn't notice her enter the room, silent, in a black satin slip.

"Is that her?" Anaya's voice was soft, but laced with a sharp edge.

Vinay turned.

"She was nothing like you," he said. "Too soft. Too breakable."

"Do you still love her?"

Vinay walked toward her, slowly, like a storm about to burst. "Don't ask questions you don't want answers to."

But her eyes flared.

"Then stop touching me like I'm a replacement."

He growled, slamming the whiskey glass down, caging her against the wall.

"You think I touch you because of her?" His voice was raw. "I touch you because you make me forget her."

Anaya didn't back down. "Then prove it. Show me I'm not her shadow."

She grabbed his hand, pulled him toward the bathroom.

The shower scene:-

Steam filled the space. Water poured down like rain as Anaya stepped under it, wet silk clinging to every curve. She pulled the strap off one shoulder, then the other, eyes locked on him.

Vinay watched her, breath heavy, jaw clenched.

She reached for him, her hands trailing over his chest, down his abs, undoing his belt slowly.

"Let me," she whispered, voice dripping with challenge.

He let her.

Anaya pushed him into the marble wall, kissed his chest, his neck, her hands sliding over his soaked skin.

"You like pretending you're in control," she murmured, lips against his ear.

He grunted, jaw twitching.

Anaya kissed her way down, licking a water trail along his torso. Her fingers wrapped around his hard cock, stroking slowly, eyes blazing with confidence.

"You're trembling," she teased.

"Careful, jaan," Vinay warned, voice hoarse. "You're playing with a lion."

She smirked. "I'm not scared anymore."

She climbed him, wrapping her wet legs around his waist, and lowered herself onto him, gasping as he filled her.

She moved - slow, deep, rolling her hips with power.

Vinay let her ride him, chest rising, growl building.

"You wanted control," he rasped. "Take it."

But she barely had a minute of power before his hands gripped her thighs, slammed her back against the glass, and took over.

Hard, brutal thrusts.

Water splashing, moans echoing.

"You think you can ride me?" he growled. "You'll drown on my cock before I'm done with you."

She cried out, nails raking down his back, head thrown back in ecstasy.

He kissed her rough-tongue invading, lips bruising.

Her control shattered.

His dominance returned.

And she loved every second of it.

After the high faded...

Vinay held her in his arms under the warm spray, hand cradling her neck.

"I don't want you soft," he said. "I want you fierce."

"And if I leave?"

He kissed her temple. "Then I burn the world to bring you back."

The Raichand estate was a palace of shadows-white marble floors, gold accents, and a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

Anaya stepped through the grand entrance with her hand in Vinay's, heels clicking in time with her heartbeat. She'd been dressed in a backless red saree, with thin gold chains hanging down her spine-a look Vinay chose specifically to provoke.

She now knew: when he dressed her up, it was never fashion.

It was war paint.



They entered the drawing room.

Sitting like a queen on her velvet throne was Vinay's stepmother, Amrita Raichand.

Every inch of her oozed polished poison.

Next to her, in a tailored navy suit and a mocking smirk, was Rishaan-Vinay's younger half-brother. The one Amrita was grooming to take the Raichand empire.

Amrita looked at Anaya like she was a stain on silk. "So this is the dancer."

Anaya stiffened.

Vinay smiled lazily. "My dancer. And now she eats at our table, so keep your claws sheathed."

Amrita's expression never cracked. "Dancers don't last. They twirl, they entertain, then they fade."

Vinay stood still, but his voice was ice. "Careful, Amrita. I buried one woman I loved. I won't hesitate to burn another."

The silence was instant.

Anaya's heart thudded.

But it was Rishaan who smirked and said, "I wonder, bhai... are you obsessed with her, or are you just trying to forget the last one?"

Anaya flinched.

Vinay didn't.

He strode forward, grabbed Rishaan by the collar, and slammed him into the wall.

"You don't get to speak about her. Or her."

His fingers tightened. "You touch either of them with your words again, and I'll rip out your tongue and gift it to Mother."

---

Later that evening...

Anaya wandered the hallway alone, unsure if she'd ever fit into this world of wolves. But behind the Raichands' pretty smiles, she felt it.

Hate. Envy. Secrets.

Then she heard it-whispers behind a half-closed door.

"...He doesn't know the truth. If he finds out about what really happened to his wife-"

It was Amrita's voice.

Anaya's blood ran cold.

Another woman answered, a maid: "But if Anaya keeps digging-"

"She won't. She's just a body. And when she gets too close, we'll remove her."

Anaya backed away before they saw her.

Heart racing.

Mind spinning.

What truth?

What had they done to Vinay's wife?

And why were they afraid of her?

---

Back in the guest room, she barely sat down before Vinay walked in.

He looked at her, then frowned. "You're pale."

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

"You're a terrible liar."

He approached, placed both hands on her waist, and leaned down, whispering, "Was it Amrita? Did she say something?"

She hesitated... then said, "If I'm in danger because of your family-"

"You're not."

"But if I am?"

He cupped her jaw, possessive and rough. "Then they'll be dead by morning."

He kissed her then-hard, hungry, desperate. His tongue stole her breath, his hands claimed her again.

As he pulled her to the bed, she whispered, "I heard something. About your wife. About the truth..."

He stilled.

His eyes turned dangerous. Cold.

"Don't ask me about that," he said, voice like ash. "Not unless you want to know how deep the rot goes."

Anaya felt it then.

The secret.

The threat.

And the beginning of something bigger than just sex, power, or control.

Something deadly.

The next morning, Anaya moved through the Raichand estate like a shadow. The same maid who had whispered with Amrita was serving breakfast, pretending innocence.

Anaya grabbed her wrist-hard.

"We're going to talk," she hissed.

The maid's eyes widened. "Ma'am-"

"In private. Now."

---

In the servant's corridor...

Anaya pushed her against the wall. "What truth were you talking about last night?"

The maid trembled. "I-I don't know what you heard-"

"Don't play dumb. What happened to Vinay's wife?"

The maid looked away, lips trembling. "She didn't die in an accident. She was-she was murdered."

Anaya's chest tightened.

The maid's voice shook. "She found out Amrita was planning to forge Vinay's signature. Transfer illegal assets. She tried to warn him. But... they silenced her before she could."

"They?"

"Rishaan. On Amrita's orders."

Anaya staggered back.

"You can't tell Vinay," the maid said. "If he finds out, he'll kill them both. And he'll never come back from that."

---

That night...

Anaya sat in silence as Vinay came home. He looked tired. Bloody knuckles. Mafia meetings, maybe. Or punishment.

She said nothing.

Until he pulled her into his lap, his hands rough on her thighs.

"You're quiet," he murmured. "That's dangerous."

"I know what happened to your wife," she whispered.

His whole body froze.

"I heard the maid. She told me."

Vinay's hands dropped. His chest rose with slow, sharp breath.

"You shouldn't have asked."

"I had to."

His eyes met hers-broken, burning. "I can't love anyone, Anaya. Not again. Everyone I love dies."

She leaned in. "Then maybe stop loving people like it's war."

But before he could answer-a bullet shattered the window.

Anaya screamed.

Vinay dove forward, pulling her under him as glass exploded around them.

Another shot. Then two.

"Fuck," he growled. "They're trying to take you."

He rolled her under the bed. "Stay here. Don't move. If I die, run."

She grabbed his arm. "Don't you fucking dare."

But he was already gone.

---

Gunfire exploded in the hallway.

Vinay's men fought. Screams. Blood. Bodies.

By the time he returned, shirt ripped, bruised, holding a gun in one hand and dragging a bleeding man with the other, Anaya was sobbing.

"It was Rishaan," Vinay snarled, throwing the man down. "He sent them. For you."

"Why?"

"Because you know the truth."

Vinay looked feral. His knuckles cracked. His jaw bled.

"Where is he now?" Anaya asked.

"Escaped. But not for long."

---

Later that night...

Anaya was shaking as she showered. Vinay entered without a word, still bloody, shirtless, his eyes on fire.

"I could've lost you," he growled.

She turned to him, water running down her body.

"But you didn't."

He grabbed her, slammed her against the tiles, kissed her like it was life or death.

"You are mine," he said between kisses. "I'll kill them all."

"Show me I'm yours," she whispered.

He didn't hesitate.

Lifted her, impaled her on his cock in one brutal thrust. Her cry echoed off the walls.

He took her there-wet, slippery, feral.

Pounding into her like he had something to prove.

"You think I'm a monster?" he growled.

"I'm worse. And I'll burn the world if anyone touches you again."

She moaned, wrapping her legs tighter.

He bit her neck, left a bruise, then kissed it tenderly. A cruel mix of violence and love.

And when they came, together, screaming, she knew-

She wasn't afraid of the monster anymore.

She belonged to him now.

Wholly.

Completely.

Dangerously.

---

To be continued :-

You want to know what punishment feels like when you cross me, jaan?"

He came back holding a small bowl of ice.

You talk too much," he murmured