THEY SAY EVERYONE CARRIES A DARK SECRET IN THEIR HEARTS. SOME SECRETS CAN RUIN A PERSON. JUST LIKE THAT, SHE WAS CARRYING A SECRET IN HER HEART. WAS IT HER PAST, MAYBE, BUT SHE HAD SEALED IT COMPLETELY.

The meeting room felt colder than stone. Silence weighed heavy, pressing on every chest.

An employee, her face pale and breath shallow, finished her presentation and sank into her chair. Her anxious gaze clung to one figure at the head of the table — the man whose approval everyone feared to seek, yet couldn’t help but crave.

Reyaansh Singhania.

Owner of Astra Enterprises Ltd. The name itself made people shiver.

His grey eyes, cold as a winter storm, watched her unblinking. Fingers drummed slowly, dangerously, on the mahogany table.

“That’s it?” His voice was calm, so calm it chilled the blood.

“Y-yes…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think,” he asked, every syllable as sharp as broken glass, “this presentation met my expectations?”

“M-may… maybe,” she faltered.

With a crash, his palm slammed against the table. The sound cracked through the silence like a gunshot.

“I don’t pay you to waste my time with nonsense like this!” he barked, eyes flashing like lightning. “If you can’t even stand confidently before me, what makes you think you can stand before the world?”

Her shoulders quivered. No one dared to look up.

“I dismiss this meeting,” Reyaansh declared, voice dropping to a lethal calm. “By tomorrow afternoon, I need a new presentation. If you can’t deliver — pack your things, take your pay, and leave.”

A shiver ran through the room. Chairs scraped hurriedly; footsteps rushed to the exit.

None could meet his eyes — those eyes that seemed to strip away courage, layer by layer, until only fear remained.

For Reyaansh Singhania wasn’t just a CEO. In whispered corners of the city, his name walked alongside words like mafia, power, and death. His glare could snatch the breath from your lungs. His anger could crush an empire.

Left alone, Reyaansh stood, broad shoulders tense. He ran a hand through his dark hair, the muscles in his jaw tight with frustration.

Walking to the window, he stared down at the city — towers of glass gleaming under the dying sun, cars crawling like restless ants.

Tall, sharp-featured, his presence commanded every space he entered. The cold steel of his grey eyes made hearts stutter. To the world, he was a Greek god sculpted in shadows — impossibly handsome, yet untouchable.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He exhaled, softening just enough to answer.

“Hello, Mom,” he said, lowering his voice.

“Hello, my baby,” Aparna’s gentle voice floated through. “Rough day?”

“How did you know?” he asked, a hint of vulnerability slipping through.

“I’m your mother, Reyaansh. Thirty years old or three, I know your voice better than you do. Nine months in my womb, remember?” she teased softly.

A faint smile touched his lips. “That’s why you’re the best, Mom.”

“Well, did you see your doctor after your last panic attack?”

“I’m fine,” she reassured, “I met my psychologist today. She’s very sweet.”

“Mom, you have to take care of yourself. Your health gets worse whenever you’re home alone.”

“I know, beta,” she sighed. “If you want me to recover quickly… why don’t you marry my psychologist? She’s young, beautiful, and kind.”

“Mom!” he protested, half laughing. “She’s probably sixty!”

Aparna chuckled. “I’m not talking about Dr. Kishori. She handed my case to someone else. A young woman — perfect for you.”

“Stop matchmaking, Mom. You know I’ll never marry.”

“Hm… yes, yes,” she relented gently. “Anyway, don’t forget — your aunt and uncle arrive tonight. Please come home early.”

“I know. I’ll be there soon,” Reyaansh promised softly.

“Good. See you at home, beta.”

Ending the call, his mask of coldness slipped back in place. His love for his mother was the only light left in him — the single bond holding him to this family.

He pressed the intercom button. “Devansh! Where the hell are you?”

His PA stumbled in, breathless. “S-sorry, sir! Got caught up in—”

“Your only priority is me,” Reyaansh snapped. “I want every detail of the new deal on my desk. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“I’m leaving now. Stay and send the email,” Reyaansh ordered, picking up his coat.

As Reyaansh strode out, Devansh sighed dramatically. “This man… will work me to death. Even a dog gets a walk.”

Sliding into the back seat of his black Mercedes, Reyaansh unlocked his iPad, eyes scanning files.

“To home,” he instructed the driver curtly.

The convoy pulled out — his car flanked by two others, black-tinted windows hiding armed men inside.

Minutes passed. His eyes were still on the screen when something pricked at his senses.

The road outside the window looked unfamiliar. The city skyline had shifted, replaced by narrow, broken lanes.

His gaze snapped up. “Where the hell are you taking me?” he demanded, his voice sharp as a blade.

From the front seat came a voice — soft, feminine, and dripping with poison.

“This is the right way, Mr. Singhania,” she purred. “It just leads… to your death.”

One breath, one step, one heartbeat away from ending life — but destiny had something else written for her.

“What the hell?!” Reyaansh roared.

The woman in the driver’s seat didn’t flinch. Her face was veiled by a black mask and a low hoodie; only her eyes burned like dying embers in the night. His pulse quickened. He reached for his phone, then the iPad — both screens stared back at him, dead and useless. Hacked.

He scanned the road. The escort cars were gone. It was just them now: predator and prey, trapped in a moving coffin of glass and steel.

Snarling, Reyaansh pulled out his gun and aimed it square at her temple. “Stop the damn car before I paint the seat with your brains,” he growled.

She chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “Oh, darling… do you really think your threats work on me?”

He squeezed the trigger. Click. Nothing. His blood froze — the gun was empty. That never happened. Never.

“What’s wrong? No bullets?” she taunted, laughter dancing on her tongue. “Poor king without his crown.”

Rage surged through him. He lunged, one hand clamping around her throat, trying to crush the life out of her. But she was faster — a silver flash in her hand, and a needle bit into his neck.

Within seconds, fire flooded his veins. His muscles turned to stone. He slumped back, paralyzed — eyes open, mind awake, but body betrayed.

“Aww, baby… feeling tired?” Her voice was teasing silk. “Rest for a while. I promise, after this, I won’t let you rest at all.”

She turned the car off the highway, driving into the dark embrace of an abandoned warehouse. As she opened the door, a man emerged from the shadows — Specter, sharp-eyed and restless. Together, they dragged Reyaansh inside. His gaze followed them, helpless, chained by the drug coursing through him.

“Zahr, kill him quickly,” Specter urged, glancing around as if shadows themselves had teeth.

“Relax, Specter,” she purred. “You think I’d waste a masterpiece like this so easily? Let me admire him a bit longer.”

“Don’t tell me you like him.”

She chuckled, a sound like broken glass. “Maybe… or maybe not.”

Specter frowned but stepped back. Reyaansh, though frozen, could feel her presence close — her gloved fingers brushed against his jaw, tilting his face up. “Such a pretty face…” she whispered, her thumb grazing his lip. “Fascinating. I almost wish I could kiss you before ending you.”

His grey eyes, stormy and cold, stared into hers — as if trying to read the secrets hidden behind her mask.

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Zahr,” she whispered. “Petal kissed by poison… here to end your dance early.”

Far above them, hidden in shadows, another man watched through a cracked window. His voice was low as he spoke into a phone, “Boss, she has him… but she hasn’t killed him yet.”

“Wait until she finishes him,” the boss ordered, his tone ice. “Then end her too. No loose ends.”

“Yes, boss. I—”

“Baby, where are you?” someone called in the distance. “Call me when both are dead.”

Back below, Zahr’s senses pricked. Someone else was here. Gun drawn, she moved through the darkness — and found him.

“Oh, so you were the rat,” she hissed, pressing her pistol to his chest.

“Dammit, you found me fast,” he sneered. “Why didn’t you finish him? I made it easy for you.”

“I do my work my way. Don’t you dare give me orders.”

But the man smirked and snapped his fingers. More shadows moved; steel flashed. Reyaansh watched helplessly as a knife stabbed into his side. Agony exploded, blood soaking his shirt.

Zahr’s eyes blazed. With feral grace, she turned and fought — a dance of death under cold light. Bodies dropped, steel clashed, and at last, only Specter and Zahr remained standing.

“What happened here?” Specter panted, gaze wild.

“Ask him,” she said, nodding at the last traitor, bound and bleeding.

Zahr dropped beside Reyaansh. His breathing was ragged, his vision blurred. “You stubborn man…” she murmured. With a swift motion, she zipped off her hoodie, pressing it to his wound to stop the bleeding. Her bare shoulders glistened under the dim light, a tattoo on her back hidden from all eyes.

“Specter, I’m taking him to a hospital,” she ordered.

“Hospital? You’re supposed to kill him, Zahr.”

“The contract ended the moment they attacked us. You know the rules.”

Specter hesitated. “What if he tracks us back?”

“He won’t. He’s seen nothing… only pain.”

Despite his weight, she hauled him up, her breath coming in soft gasps. She laid him gently in the car, brushing blood-slick hair from his forehead.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “This time, I’m leading you back to life… and nothing will happen to you.”

Before the darkness took him, Reyaansh’s blurred gaze fell on a mark inked across her back — an obsidian eye, staring back at him.

"Some hearts hide whole worlds behind locked doors, and even shadows bow before their secrets."

Reyaansh lay still on the hospital bed, white sheets stained faintly with the memory of blood. Machines beeped their steady lullaby around him, and doctors moved like quiet shadows, weaving life back into his broken body. His face, so often carved from stone, now looked fragile in sleep—yet even in this forced surrender, power seemed to hum under his bruised skin.

Outside the room, Kabir Malhotra paced restlessly. Tall as an old oak, built like a fortress, dark brown hair falling across his olive-toned forehead—yet tonight, even he looked haunted. His sharp gaze locked on every doctor, every nurse passing by, as though daring danger itself to approach.

Finally, the doctor emerged, mask pulled down, relief softening his features.

“Mr. Malhotra, Mr. Singhania is out of danger,” he said gently. “He needs rest and some more tests, but he’s stable.”

Kabir let out a breath, shoulders dropping an inch. “Thank you, doctor,” he murmured, voice low with relief—but his eyes never lost their steel.

Moments later, Kabir’s men approached, broad-shouldered, dressed in shadows and purpose.

“Sir… about the kidnapping,” one began, voice tight with dread. “The tracker in Mr. Singhania’s clothes, his phone, and his iPad—they were all hacked. And… there was a traitor among our own. He lured the guards away… and removed the bullets from Mr. Singhania’s gun.”

Kabir’s jaw clenched, rage burning cold in his veins. “Impossible,” he hissed. “No one touches Reyaansh’s gun. And hacking our systems? That’s no common criminal; that’s a phantom who knows how to dance in the dark. Whoever it is—they’re clever. And dangerous.”

“And the person who brought Reyaansh to the hospital?”

“We still don’t know, sir,” the man admitted, shame in every word. “They vanished before we could see their face. But they seemed to know he’d be found quickly.”

“And the traitor?” Kabir’s voice was ice.

“He’s… been dealt with, sir,” the man answered, head bowed.

Kabir nodded slowly. “Good. Increase security everywhere. Triple it if you must. And bring me a file on every single guard—every cleaner, every driver, every soul who walks these halls. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they echoed, scattering like crows at dawn.

Just then, Kabir’s phone vibrated, screen lighting up with a softer name: Aparna Aunty.

“Hello, aunty,” he said, voice instantly gentler.

“Hellooo, Kabir,” came her warm, familiar voice. “Is Reyaansh with you? He’s not answering his phone. His uncle and aunt are here, and he hasn’t come home.”

Kabir swallowed, the lie rising bitter in his throat. “Aunty… he had to leave suddenly. Russia—urgent factory work. He’ll be back in a week,” he managed.

“What? And he didn’t even tell me?”

“It came up suddenly, aunty. He didn’t want to worry you,” Kabir soothed.

“This boy… when he returns, I’ll pull his ears tightly,” Aparna scolded, half in worry, half in love.

Kabir forced a small chuckle. “Yes, aunty.”

He ended the call, guilt gnawing at him. If only she knew how close death had stalked her son tonight…

---

Far from the sterile white halls, under softer lights, Aparna paced in worry.

“This boy… always work, always distant,” she murmured.

A familiar arm wrapped around her waist. “After all, he’s my son,” Vikram teased, warmth in his voice.

“Vikram, stop,” she scolded lightly. “Your son went to Russia and didn’t even call me.”

“Maybe it was urgent,” Vikram offered gently.

“I just hope he’s safe,” she whispered, voice raw.

“He will be,” Vikram promised.

“When will he stop running from everyone?”

“Soon,” Vikram murmured.

“Maybe only his wife can slow him down,” Aparna sighed.

Vikram chuckled. “Wife? I doubt there’s anyone made for a heart like his.”

Aparna glared and lightly slapped his arm. “God has made someone for him. You’ll see.”

---

Elsewhere, under the same sky but a different world, a window clicked open. A pair of delicate heels landed softly on the floor. Slowly, a girl slipped inside—pale skin kissed by moonlight, long black hair cascading like silk, dressed in traditional attire, anklets whispering secrets to the night. Her eyes—large, doe-like, impossibly deep—made her look like an angel born from shadows.

She tiptoed forward, breath held… until—

“Ouch! Maa, it hurts!” she yelped as someone pulled her ear.

“Oh, really? It hurts, Meher?” Maya’s voice was sharp, but her worry was deeper.

“Maya Maa, please leave me!” Meher whined.

Maya released her ear with a jerk. “It’s past 10, Meher! Where were you?”

“I was out with friends! I didn’t even want to go!” Meher pouted, rubbing her ear. “And those timings are for people who belong to this orphanage, Ma’am… I don’t belong here anymore.”

“You still have to respect the rules,” Maya scolded softly.

Meher threw her arms around Maya in a quick hug. “Goodnight, Maya Ma’am!” she chirped, dashing off before more scolding could follow.

Maya sighed, her gaze softening. This girl… will she ever truly take care of herself?

From the age of five, Meher had grown in this orphanage’s walls. And while she might not belong here by paper anymore… in Maya’s heart, she always would.