Abhishree Rathore

⚖️ Criminal Defense Lawyer | 25 | Silent Storm in Black Sarees

💄 Sharp mind. Sharper tongue.

💀 Trained in Russian law to protect her mafia bloodline

👠 Walks like a queen. Thinks like a weapon.

🖋 Became a lawyer so no one could ever drag her family to court. Not even fate.

> “I don’t serve justice—I silence it, before it speaks against mine.”

Ekansh Rajvanshi

She stood there in that black saree, arguing like a goddess of justice… and all I could think was—how poetic it would be to make her scream my name instead of the law ''.

💣 Mafia King | 32 | India's Untouchable Underworld

🖤 Wears suits like armor. Breaks necks without blinking.

🚬 Silent. Strategic. Sinful.

🧨 Fell in love at first sight… now he’s rewriting her fate, case by case.

🔒 Owns cities, deals, deaths—but wants only one woman. Her.

“She defends criminals. I create them. Match made in hell, isn’t it?”

✒️ 🦋 AARADHYA RATHORE

“I stitch wounds while watching the world bleed secrets.”

🩺 Neurosurgeon | 23 | Soft hands, steel heart

🌸 Calm, kind, dangerously observant

📚 The only one who can silence Abhishree mid-rage

👁 Sees through people. Hides her own scars under her lab coat.

💉 Doesn’t believe in violence—but can handle a scalpel like a threat.

> “They kill. I heal. And I still sleep better than all of them.”

✒️ 🔥 ARYAN RAJVANSHI

“He says nothing, but when he smiles—someone disappears.”

🧨 Mafia Strategist | 28 | Ekansh’s Younger Brother

🎯 Cold, cocky, and annoyingly perfect

🃏 Trained in diplomacy, fluent in violence

🍷 Flirts for distraction, not connection

💀 “The silent executor”—Ekansh makes the calls, Aryan gets the job done

> “I don’t fight with fists. I negotiate with consequences.”

✒️ 🌹 ADVIKA RAJVANSHI

“She’s not the good girl. She just plays the role better than anyone else.”

🎓 Political Science Student | 20 | Social media’s sweetheart

👠 Pretty. Polished. Poisonous when crossed

🎭 Family’s legal heiress if Ekansh ever lets go (he won’t)

🖤 Loves chaos but smiles like innocence

💌 Secretly ships Abhishree with Ekansh—but on her terms.

> “Call me naive again. I’ll ruin your career with a tweet.”

✒️ 💎 ZARA OBEROI

“I don’t need a lawyer. I have one for a best friend.”

💼 Corporate Lawyer | 25 | Abhishree’s partner-in-crime (legally and otherwise)

🥂 Lives for luxury, loyalty, and late-night plotting

📚 Knows every loophole in the book—and how to sell them in stilettos

🖤 The friend who drags Abhishree into trouble, then drags her out of it

💋 Has an enemies-to-frenemies tension with Aryan Rajvanshi (and pretends she doesn’t enjoy it)

> “We don’t just break rules, darling—we rewrite them in gold ink.”

Abhishree Rathore – Criminal defense lawyer who became one to protect her mafia family.

Ekansh Rajvanshi – India’s most feared mafia king… and hopelessly obsessed with Abhishree.

Aaradhya Rathore – Abhishree’s younger sister, a brilliant neurosurgeon with a quiet steel core.

Aryan Rajvanshi – Ekansh’s younger brother, the cold and calculating mafia strategist.

Advika Rajvanshi – Ekansh’s little sister, social media sweetheart with a poisonous smile.

Zara Oberoi – Abhishree’s glamorous best friend, corporate lawyer, and chaos co-pilot.

Raghav Rathore – Abhishree’s father, a powerful lawyer with dangerous allies.

Kabir Rathore – Abhishree’s uncle, an ex-CBI officer with deep mafia connections.

Abhishree’s POV

India didn’t greet you gently.

It wrapped around you like silk in the heat, heavy with spice and perfume, voices and footsteps blending into a constant, restless hum.

Five years in Russia had trained me to walk through snowstorms without flinching, to let icy winds sharpen my resolve. But this—this was different. This was home, and home didn’t whisper; it roared.

The chauffeur met me at the terminal, my name printed neatly on a placard. My luggage disappeared into the trunk with practiced efficiency. I slipped into the cool leather backseat, watching the city blur past—neon signs, markets spilling into the streets, the familiar chaos I’d once thought I’d escaped.

We didn’t go home. We went straight to the Oberoi Grand, its chandeliers blazing in the night like a crown for the city’s elite. The Rathores didn’t miss parties like this—not when politics and business were politely dressed in champagne flutes and designer gowns.

Inside, the air was heavy with perfume and ambition. Laughter rose and fell in waves, masking the low, guarded tones of conversations that mattered. My father stood near the center, his suit flawless, my uncle at his side with that easy smile that could disarm anyone. My younger sister Aaradhya was with them, radiant in emerald silk, already in the middle of a conversation with a doctor I vaguely recognized.

I made my way over, exchanging polite greetings, answering questions about Russia that no one really cared to hear the answers to. My father’s arm settled briefly around my shoulders before he turned to introduce me to a man standing just beside him.

“Abhishree, this is Ekansh Rajvanshi—my business partner.”

I had heard the name before. You couldn’t avoid it if you lived in our world. Rajvanshi meant money, power, and influence that seeped into every corner of the city.

He was taller than I expected, dressed in a black three-piece suit that fit too perfectly to be anything off-the-rack. His hair was neatly combed back, his gaze sharp but unreadable. There was nothing warm in it, nothing inviting—just calculation and composure.

I shook his hand. Firm grip, cool skin. Professional.

“A pleasure, Mr. Rajvanshi,” I said, my tone steady.

He inclined his head, a polite acknowledgment, and that was it. No lingering stares, no unnecessary pleasantries. My father was already turning back to another guest, and so was I.

The night stretched ahead—music, conversation, the quiet machinery of alliances turning in the background. I didn’t come here to make friends, and certainly not to read too much into introductions.

Ekansh Rajvanshi was just another piece on the board.

And I had no intention of playing his game.

Zara Oberoi slid in next to me like she owned the place, eyes sparkling with mischief. One look between us and we both knew we were thinking the same thing—this party was painfully boring.

“Welcome back, drama queen,” she whispered. “Promise me you won’t flip a table tonight.”

I grinned. “No table-flipping. But I might throw a chair.”

She choked back a laugh. “Make sure it’s not at the dessert table. Priorities, babe.”

I sipped my drink. “If the food’s bad, I’m setting the chef on fire.”

Zara nodded seriously. “That’s the Abhishree I missed.”