💀 Samrat Veer Rathore

Underworld Title: The King of Ashes

Secret Name: “RAVEN”

Symbol: A silver raven clutching a crown

Mafia Identity: Ruthless overlord, silent manipulator, master of psychological warfare. Never seen killing, but corpses always follow.

Public Persona: Calm, distant, strategic billionaire.

True Self: Possessive, dangerously manipulative, protective only over what he calls his. Doesn’t believe in mercy. If he wants you, the world burns until he has you.

Quote:

“I don’t share. Not the throne. Not the blood. Not her.”

🥀 Aarya Saanvi Thakur

Underworld Title: The Queen of Thorns

Secret Name: “NYX” (Greek goddess of the night)

Symbol: A black rose with thorns dripping gold

Mafia Identity: Known for leaving her enemies poisoned or destroyed from the inside. Emotionally unpredictable, wildly intelligent, masks insanity under beauty and grace.

Public Persona: Elegant CEO, social icon, rumored philanthropist.

True Self: Obsessive, territorial, dangerous when emotionally triggered. Deeply distrusts love—but when she loves, it’s feral.

Quote:

“If you touch what’s mine, I won’t kill you. I’ll ruin you so you beg for death.”

|| Their Relationship Dynamic ||

This isn't just enemies-to-lovers. It’s “I’d kill for you, but I’ll also break you if you lie to me.”

Samrat is the cold, calculated psychological dominator, but Aarya knows how to slice through his control like no one else.

Aarya is unpredictable, wild and emotionally manipulative, but Samrat knows her every weak point—and protects them like they’re his own.

They are each other’s obsession—and addiction.

|| A Teaser Dialogue of Their Dark Possessive Vibe ||

Setting: After a violent confrontation. Blood on their hands. Alone in a candlelit room.

Aarya (coldly):

"You think killing for me means anything? You're still a monster, Samrat."

Samrat (stepping close, voice dark):

"I never denied being one."

(pauses, tilts her chin up)

"But I’m your monster. And I’d slit the world’s throat just to keep your name on my lips."

Aarya (chest rising, whispering):

"You want possession, not love."

Samrat (leans in):

"Love is a myth. But possession? That’s real. And make no mistake, Aarya—you're mine."

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘋𝘢𝘺 — 𝘈𝘨𝘦 𝘔𝘓 𝟥𝟢 𝘺𝘳 & 𝘍𝘓 𝟤𝟧 𝘺𝘳

The auction hall reeked of old money and fresh blood. Velvet curtains muffled the sounds of the outside world, trapping the scent of whiskey, cigars, and something darker — fear.

Samrat Veer Rathore leaned back in his chair, dark eyes fixed on the woman across the room.

Not woman —𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗮𝗹.

Aarya Saanvi Thakur.

The Queen of Thorns herself.

Elegant black dress, golden heels, a cold smile that had slit more throats than any blade.

He hadn’t seen her in ten years.

Not since they’d walked away from their last deal, both with blood on their hands and the city in flames.

And yet here she was, bidding against him for a priceless artifact, as if she didn’t know he was the king now.

His fingers drummed lazily on the armrest.

“Let her win,” he murmured to his second-in-command.

“I want to see what she does with it.”

The final gavel slammed.

Aarya rose, the softest smile curling on her lips, turning straight toward him.

Not a glance — a challenge.

He stood.

Chairs scraped.

The room fell silent.

In three strides, he crossed to her.

She didn’t flinch.

“Miss Thakur,” he said smoothly, voice like a blade sheathed in velvet.

"Funny how fate works, isn’t it?”

Her lips curved.

“Samrat. I didn’t realize you still existed outside your shadow games.”

For a beat, they stood in silence, the tension between them like a drawn wire.

Then Samrat’s phone buzzed.

A message.

From his old family lawyer.

He glanced at it.

His eyes went still.

THE CONTRACT WAS ACTIVATED. THE BLOOD MARRIAGE IS VALID.

SHE WAS PROMISED TO YOU AT BIRTH.

His pulse pounded.

His gaze shot back to her — those sharp eyes, the lift of her chin, the way her fingers tapped lightly against her clutch.

She had no idea.

“Aarya,” he murmured, voice dropping, dangerous now.

“You’re mine.”

Her brow arched.

“Excuse me?”

He stepped closer, caging her against the wall, one hand resting casually near her face, the other gripping her jaw just enough to tilt it up.

“You were promised to me, Aarya. Since birth. Sealed by our parents. Activated the moment you turned twenty-five.”

Her breath hitched.

He felt it — the tiny tremor, the fury rising like a storm.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” she whispered, eyes flashing.

“No,” he agreed softly.

“But you will.”

Without warning, he kissed her.

Not soft. Not tender.

A bruising, punishing kiss that tasted like blood and ruin.

Aarya’s nails dug into his chest — not pulling him closer, but ready to strike.

But when she kissed him back, teeth scraping, he knew:

This wasn’t love.

This was war.

***So, my dear readers are you ready to for this journey with our Samrat and Aarya let's start it***.....

...DISCLAIMER...

I'm sorry for deleting my work but I will make sure this one my readers enjoy,I do not own any of the photos or songs, they belong to their rightful owners. And its just a fictional story, Enjoy yourselves.

...THANK YOU...

The underground auction pulsed with tension, a palpable hum beneath the opulent facade. Crystal chandeliers, heavy with centuries of dust and illicit glamour, flickered erratically, casting dancing shadows on masked faces. Diamonds, sharp and cold, glinted on manicured wrists, each sparkle a silent testament to stolen fortunes and dangerous desires. Every whisper, every rustle of silk, was soaked in danger, a hushed prelude to the dark dealings about to unfold. The air itself felt thick, a heady mix of expensive perfume, stale cigar smoke, and the faint metallic tang of anticipation.

Aarya Thakur stepped into the room, her presence a ripple through the stagnant air. Her heels, sharp as daggers, clicked a staccato rhythm on the polished marble, each step a declaration. A black silk gown, the color of midnight and secrets, hugged her frame like sin, its clean lines belying the storm within. Her dark eyes, fathomless pools of intelligence and resolve, swept the crowd — predators, all of them, circling their prey in the dim light. She was the only queen here, and they knew it, their collective awareness a silent acknowledgment of her power.

But then her gaze froze, a sudden, stark halt to her calculated survey.

Across the room, amidst the swirling figures, a man turned his head with an almost predatory slowness. Tall, broad-shouldered, he was dressed in sharp black, a stark contrast to the muted tones of the room, yet he blended in perfectly with its inherent darkness. A smirk, slow and deliberate, curved his lips — lips she knew too well, lips that had once promised devotion and delivered betrayal.

Samrat Rathore.

She felt her pulse stutter, a frantic bird caught in a cage. Her meticulously constructed composure threatened to crack. What was he doing here? The question screamed in her mind, a discordant note in the silent symphony of the auction hall. His presence was an unexpected variable, a dangerous anomaly in a night she had intended to control.

Aarya’s jaw tightened.

She hadn’t seen him in fifteen years — not since the night her parents died in a fiery wreck and his family disappeared from her world.

He should’ve been dead.

Instead, here he was, alive, older, colder.

Their eyes locked.

Samrat lifted his glass lazily, smirking.

“Aarya.”

Her heart punched against her ribs.

“Stay away from me, Samrat.”

He walked forward, slow, deliberate, like a predator circling prey.

“Oh, but you misunderstand, princess. I’m not here to chase you.”

He leaned in, his voice a dark whisper against her ear.

“I’m here to claim you.”

Aarya’s fists clenched.

“Dream on.”

But before she could step away, a cold hand clamped around her wrist.

She spun — one of the council elders, face pale, lips thin.

“Miss Thakur. A word.”

Aarya yanked free, but Samrat’s hand landed on her waist, steady, firm.

“Careful, darling,” he murmured.

“They don’t like when you disobey.”

Her blood ran cold.

.....................

...****************...

...Flashback — Age 5...

...****************...

Her mother’s hands shaking as she tied a tiny red thread bracelet around Aarya’s wrist.

“This will keep you safe, my love.”

Her father’s last words before he left the house:

“Remember, baby — you were born promised. Never forget.”

......................

...****************...

...🌒 Back to Present...

...****************...

Aarya yanked away from Samrat, shoving him back.

“You’re nothing to me.”

But Samrat’s eyes glittered, a dangerous fire beneath.

“That’s where you’re wrong, princess.”

He stepped closer, his breath warm against her skin.

“We were promised to each other since the day you were born. A blood oath. Signed, sealed, and delivered.”

Aarya’s voice cracked.

“No…”

He held up a small, crumpled document — yellowed, blood-stamped, deadly.

“Happy birthday, wife.”

Her knees almost buckled.

The council elder’s voice sliced through the tension.

“Miss Thakur, it’s legal. You’re bound.”

Aarya’s fists shook.

Her lips curled into a snarl.

“I’d rather burn in hell.”

Samrat’s grin sharpened.

“Good thing I own the fires.”

He grabbed her arm, yanking her against him, his mouth crushing down on hers — hard, brutal, claiming.

She bit his lip, tasting blood, but he only groaned darkly, holding her tighter.

“This isn’t love, Samrat,” she hissed when they broke apart.

“It’s war.”

He smiled.

“Good. I like my women bloody.”

...TO BE CONTINUE...

......................

...****************...

...☠ DISCLAIMER ☠...

...****************...

...This is a work of fiction....

...It’s dark. It’s violent. It’s cruel....

...It will break you, twist you, and leave you raw....

...Fall for the characters?...

...That’s your mistake....

...They don’t care....

...They will burn you, betray you, destroy you —...

...and they’re not even real....

...The blood, the heartbreak, the madness?...

...It’s all just ink and words....

...But it will scar if you let it....

...If you can’t handle brutality, crime, or the blackest parts of the human soul —...

...walk away now....

...This story takes no prisoners....

...You’ve been warned....

...LIKE...

...COMMENT...

...SUBSCRIBE...

...VOTE AND GIFT...

...FOLLOW FOR MORE...

The black Rolls-Royce purred through the night like a predator stalking the streets.

Aarya sat in the back, wrists bound, lips bloodied, fury in her eyes.

Samrat lounged across from her, legs spread, shirt open at the collar, watching her like a wolf watches a bleeding doe.

“You kidnapped me,” she hissed.

“You fucking bastard—”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

 “You act like you didn’t try to kill me three times this week, Aarya.”

“I’m just… leveling the field.”

She spat at his feet.

 “You’re insane.”

Samrat smirked, reaching out, grabbing her chin between his fingers.

His grip was gentle, almost tender — except for the cold steel beneath.

 “Oh, darling…”

His voice dropped to a dark whisper.

“You have no idea how insane I am.”

......................

...****************...

      FLASHBACK — Age 10 (Samrat)

...****************...

The opulent silence of the manor was a shroud, thick and suffocating, broken only by the frantic drumming of five-year-old Samrat's heart. Blood bloomed like a grotesque flower on his tiny white shirt, a stain he didn't understand, yet it seared into his memory. His mother, her normally vibrant face ashen, lay crumpled by the cold fireplace, her eyes wide open in death, staring at a horror only she had witnessed.

Then, a rasping cough, and his father, clutching his own bleeding side, beckoned him closer. With a final, shuddering breath, a whisper escaped his lips, barely audible above the ringing in Samrat's ears: "You were promised. You must claim her." The words, cryptic and heavy with a destiny he couldn't grasp, became a chilling echo in the sudden, absolute quiet that followed, leaving Samrat utterly alone in a world forever altered.

......................

...****************...

Back to Present

...****************...

The car stopped.

Aarya was yanked out, her heels scraping against marble as Samrat’s men dragged her inside a towering estate.

The doors slammed shut behind her — and she realized the walls weren’t just stone.

They were lined with velvet.

A cage disguised as a palace.

...----------------...

In the master bedroom, Samrat loosened his tie, watching her with those cold, dark eyes.

“You’ll sleep here.”

Aarya crossed her arms.

“I’m not your prisoner.”

He smirked, stepping closer until she could feel his breath on her lips.

“No, darling. You’re my wife.”

She slapped him — hard, sharp, satisfying.

For a moment, he stood perfectly still, blood rising on his cheek.

Then, slow as death, he turned back to her, a dark grin twisting his mouth.

“Good.”

“I like you better when you fight.”

......................

...****************...

...☠ DISCLAIMER ☠...

...****************...

...This is a work of fiction....

...It’s dark. It’s violent. It’s cruel....

It will break you, twist you, and leave you raw.

...Fall for the characters?...

...That’s your mistake....

...They don’t care....

...They will burn you, betray you, destroy you —...

...and they’re not even real....

...The blood, the heartbreak, the madness?...

...It’s all just ink and words....

...But it will scar if you let it....

...If you can’t handle brutality, crime, or the blackest parts of the human soul —...

...walk away now....

...This story takes no prisoners....

...You’ve been warned....

...LIKE...

...COMMENT...

...SUBSCRIBE...

...VOTE AND GIFT...

...FOLLOW FOR MORE ...