The city of Mumbai never slept. Beneath its glittering skyline, dark secrets festered in the shadows. The underworld thrived in silence, ruled by the man they called Shaitan—Rudra Rathore.

In the dimly lit alleyways of Dharavi, a group of men in black suits dragged a trembling figure into an abandoned warehouse. Blood dripped from his forehead as he struggled against the grip of his captors.

A sharp click echoed through the air as Rudra Rathore stepped forward, his presence suffocating the room like a storm on the horizon. Dressed in a crisp black suit, his dark eyes held no mercy.

"Where is the shipment, Mahesh?" Rudra’s voice was calm, too calm—the kind that sent shivers down a man’s spine.

"I-I don’t know, sir! I swear, I didn’t—"

A single gunshot rang through the air. Not a kill shot—just enough to graze Mahesh’s ear, drawing a sharp cry of pain.

Rudra crouched before him, gripping his jaw. "I don’t tolerate liars."

Mahesh whimpered, nodding frantically. "It’s… it’s with Kabir Thakur’s men! They ambushed us—took everything!"

Rudra’s jaw tightened at the name. Kabir Thakur. His greatest rival. A man who wanted him dead.

He stood up, adjusting his cuffs as he turned to Ishaan Kapoor, his right-hand man. "Kill him."

Mahesh's eyes widened in horror. "No! Please! I told you the truth—"

The sound of a suppressed gunshot silenced his pleas.

Rudra sighed, wiping a speck of blood off his sleeve. A necessary lesson.

---

MEANWHILE – THE POLICE HEADQUARTERS

"Rudra Rathore."

The name alone made Aarohi Mehta’s blood boil.

The dim glow of her laptop illuminated the countless files stacked before her—evidence, crime reports, witness testimonies. Years of work, all leading to one man.

The untouchable devil of Mumbai.

She tapped her pen against the desk, her sharp brown eyes scanning the latest intel. A mafia deal had gone sideways in Dharavi tonight. Another dead body.

"One step ahead, as always," she muttered under her breath.

"Still obsessed with Rathore, huh?" a voice teased.

Aarohi turned to see Saanvi Dixit, her best friend and an investigative journalist, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk.

"I call it ‘doing my job,’" Aarohi replied dryly.

Saanvi walked in, glancing at the files. "Three years, Aarohi. You’ve been chasing this guy for three years, and he’s still out there, playing king of the underworld. You really think you can catch him?"

Aarohi’s grip tightened around her pen. She had to.

This wasn’t just a case. It was personal.

"My father was killed in a gang war. My mother still has nightmares of that night," Aarohi whispered. "And the man behind it? Rudra Rathore."

Saanvi sighed, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Just… be careful. He’s dangerous."

Aarohi’s gaze hardened. She didn’t fear danger. She hunted it.

---

THE FIRST COLLISION

Aarohi adjusted the strap of her concealed weapon as she stepped into the high-end club Velvet Noir, an elite lounge rumored to be Rudra Rathore’s den.

The music pulsed through the air, a hypnotic rhythm of power and seduction. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for the devil himself.

And then—she saw him.

Rudra Rathore.

He stood near the bar, sipping his whiskey with the ease of a man who owned the world. His presence was magnetic, dangerous. Women whispered his name in awe; men feared it in silence.

Their eyes met.

Aarohi felt an unexpected chill run down her spine. He was watching her, too.

She took a deep breath, tightening her grip on the hidden recorder in her coat. This was her chance.

She walked towards him. The hunter had entered the lion’s den.

---

TO BE CONTINUED…

The air inside Velvet Noir was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, whiskey, and the underlying tension that came with dangerous men in power. The soft hum of music blended with the low murmurs of the elite, but Aarohi Mehta’s focus was locked on only one man.

Rudra Rathore.

He leaned casually against the bar, the dim light casting sharp shadows across his chiseled features. He wasn’t dressed in the flashy arrogance of the usual crime lords—no gold chains, no exaggerated display of wealth. Just a simple black shirt with the top two buttons undone, a glass of whiskey resting between his fingers, and a presence that was commanding without effort.

His dark eyes flicked toward her, holding a silent challenge.

Aarohi kept her steps measured, confident. The recorder hidden in her coat pressed against her ribs—a reminder of her mission. She wasn’t just here for a drink. She was here to bring him down.

But as she approached, she realized something unsettling—he was expecting her.

---

A GAME OF POWER

"Detective Mehta," Rudra greeted, his voice a deep, slow drawl. He didn’t sound surprised. He didn’t even look amused. Just… intrigued.

Aarohi stiffened. He knew who she was.

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage," she replied smoothly, sliding onto the barstool beside him. "I wasn’t aware my reputation reached the underworld."

Rudra took a sip of his whiskey, eyes never leaving hers. "Oh, it does. After all, you’ve spent the last three years chasing my shadow. It would be rude if I didn’t at least remember your name."

Aarohi clenched her fists beneath the table. Cocky bastard.

"How thoughtful of you," she said, voice edged with sarcasm.

He smirked. "The question is, what brings Mumbai’s best detective to my club tonight? You’re either here to arrest me…" He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something more dangerous. "Or to play."

Her heart pounded, but she didn’t let it show. He was testing her.

So, she played along.

"Maybe I just wanted a drink," she said coolly, waving at the bartender. "Whiskey, neat."

Rudra’s smirk deepened. "Whiskey? Interesting choice."

"Why?" Aarohi arched a brow.

He leaned back, tapping his glass. "Because whiskey is like power. It burns at first, but once you get used to it, you start craving the fire."

Aarohi let out a soft chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "And you, Mr. Rathore? Do you crave the fire, or do you just like watching others burn?"

The amusement in his eyes darkened. "Careful, detective. Playing with fire might get you burned."

"I don’t burn that easily," she shot back.

Silence settled between them. Not awkward—but charged. A silent battle, both refusing to look away first.

But he wasn’t the only one who knew how to play mind games.

Aarohi pulled out her phone, pretending to check messages, but in reality, she pressed a button on the hidden recorder. She needed evidence.

And she needed him to talk.

---

THE FIRST MOVE

"You and I both know what you are, Rudra," Aarohi said, voice dropping to a whisper. "A man with too much blood on his hands to ever be clean."

Rudra’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was something more in his gaze now. Something calculating.

"That’s bold of you to assume, detective," he mused, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Have you ever seen me kill someone?"

"No," she admitted.

"Then you don’t have proof."

Her jaw tightened. He was right. He was too smart to leave behind evidence, and too powerful for anyone to testify against him.

"But you and I both know the truth," she said, tilting her head. "You don’t need proof to recognize the devil when he’s standing right in front of you."

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his eyes. Something unreadable.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

"Maybe," Rudra admitted, finishing his drink. "But tell me, Detective Mehta… if I’m the devil, why did you come to my world willingly?"

Aarohi’s breath hitched.

Because I need to destroy you.

Because this isn’t just about justice. This is personal.

But before she could respond, her phone buzzed.

A message from Saanvi.

"Get out. Now. It’s a setup."

Aarohi’s blood ran cold.

She looked up at Rudra—and realization hit her like a bullet.

He knew. He knew she was recording. He knew she was here to trap him.

And the worst part? He was still smiling.

---

TO BE CONTINUED…

Aarohi’s pulse pounded against her ribs as she read the message again.

"Get out. Now. It’s a setup."

Her fingers tightened around her phone. Every instinct screamed run. But there was one problem—Rudra Rathore was watching her.

His dark eyes flickered with amusement, but underneath that, something more dangerous—control.

He knew.

She forced herself to stay calm, slipping her phone back into her coat. Don’t react. Don’t show fear. She had faced criminals before, but this was different. Rudra wasn’t just another mafia boss.

He was the kind of predator who let his prey believe they had a chance before striking.

And right now, she was standing in his den.

"Something wrong, detective?" Rudra asked, his deep voice smooth, unshaken.

Aarohi forced a smirk. "Why would there be?"

His lips curled at her defiance, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he signaled to the bartender. "Another drink for the detective. She might need it."

Aarohi’s heart raced. What did he mean by that?

She had to get out. Now.

She glanced around the club, subtly scanning for threats. Who else was involved? The bouncers? The bartender? The guests? Anyone could be on Rudra’s payroll.

And then—she saw them.

Two men near the entrance. Unmistakably cops. But they weren’t from her team. Their stance was wrong, their expressions too neutral. They weren’t here to help her.

Shit.

This wasn’t just Rudra’s trap. Someone in the force had betrayed her.

---

A GAME OF CONTROL

She looked back at Rudra, who leaned against the bar, watching her like a king amused by his newest entertainment.

He was enjoying this.

Aarohi took a slow breath. Think. Stay ahead. If she panicked, she’d lose. She had to play along.

With an easy smile, she picked up the glass the bartender placed before her. "You seem very interested in my well-being, Mr. Rathore."

Rudra chuckled, swirling his whiskey. "Of course. A good host always makes sure his guest is… comfortable."

His voice dipped on that last word, sending a chill down her spine.

"You’re not my host," she said smoothly. "I came here on my own."

"Did you?" He tilted his head, his gaze sharp. "Are you sure this wasn’t exactly where you were meant to be?"

Aarohi’s breath hitched. Was he implying he planned this all along?

Did he know she’d come tonight? Had he let her get close just to show her how powerless she really was?

The thought sent rage boiling through her veins, but she swallowed it down. Not here. Not now.

Instead, she smirked, taking a slow sip of the whiskey. Two can play this game, Rudra.

"If this is a trap, you should have done better," she said casually. "I expected more from Mumbai’s so-called devil."

Rudra exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Bold words for someone sitting in the middle of my world with no backup."

Aarohi leaned in, just enough for her words to be meant only for him. "You think you own this city, but even the devil has limits. And one day, I will find yours."

For the first time, something dark flickered in his eyes. A warning.

He leaned in too, voice low and smooth as silk. "You already found it, detective."

Aarohi’s breath caught for just a second.

Before she could respond, Rudra leaned back and snapped his fingers.

The music stopped.

The conversations died.

All eyes in the club turned toward them.

Aarohi’s fingers curled into fists. What the hell was happening?

Then—a scream.

---

THE TRAP SPRINGS

The scream came from the other side of the club. A woman stumbled forward, blood seeping from a deep cut on her arm. People gasped, moving back in fear.

In the chaos, Aarohi saw a masked man slipping through the crowd, holding a knife.

Her instincts took over. Move.

She pushed away from the bar, reaching for the gun strapped to her waist—

Only to feel a firm grip close around her wrist.

Rudra.

His hold was unyielding, but not painful. His voice was a whisper in her ear.

"Don’t draw your weapon here, detective. You might not walk out alive."

Aarohi’s pulse slammed against her ribs.

She wrenched her wrist free and spun to face him. "Let me do my job, or get out of my way."

Rudra’s expression remained unreadable. But then—he stepped aside.

Permission? Or another test?

Aarohi didn’t have time to think. She charged forward, shoving through the panicked crowd. The masked man reached the back exit, slipping into the alleyway.

Aarohi ran.

She burst through the door, gun raised—

Only to find nothing.

The alley was empty.

She took a slow step forward, scanning the shadows. Where did he go?

A gust of wind rushed past her. A whisper of movement.

Too late—

A sharp pain exploded in her skull.

The world spun.

Her knees hit the ground.

Darkness closed in.

The last thing she heard was the faint, haunting sound of Rudra Rathore’s voice.

"I warned you, detective."

---

TO BE CONTINUED…