His Deewangi– The Mob Lord's Bride When Power Walks In

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Yasmin's Pov:-

By the time I reach the apartment, my body is drained. The building is old, broken, and stinks of damp walls and rotting wood.

But with the money I have, this is the only roof I can afford. And honestly? It’s fine. A roof is still better than the sky.

Yasmin

I lock my door immediately. Always. I don’t take risks anymore**

Too many times those men in the building have tried barging into my room at night.

Too many times I’ve felt their filthy hands brush against me when I walked past them.

Their smirks, their shameless eyes—they don’t even hide it.

They act like there’s no fear of God, no shame left in them.

Yasmin

I grab my towel and head for the bathroom**

The bathrooms here are a joke—walls not even reaching the ceiling, locks that can break with one kick.

But it’s all I have. So I pray silently every time I step inside.

Just let me get through this without anything happening tonight.

The water is cold as it runs over me. I never bathe without clothes. Never. I refuse to let those lecherous eyes see me bare.

Because I know—I feel—their stares even here. Holes in the wall. Shadows above the short partitions. Their f**cking audacity.

Yasmin

I come out, my body wrapped in a towel over my soaked clothes, dripping, when I see them**

Two men. Standing there. Proud. Smirking. Their eyes crawling all over me like they own the right.

Something burns inside me. Since the day I gained sense, I’ve known one truth..I hate men.

Not all, maybe, but enough to believe their sickness is endless.

Their world doesn’t think with its brain—it thinks with its dick.

Their eyes strip more than hands ever could.

I glare at them, my jaw tight, my fists itching to smash into their smug faces.

Yasmin

“Move,” **I say coldly.

They don’t flinch. Just grin wider. But they step aside anyway, like they’re mocking me for even daring to speak.

I walk past them, heart pounding, every step heavy with disgust, and slam the door of my room shut. I lock it.

I double-check it. Then I finally exhale.

Do you think I should’ve slapped them? Broken their teeth? God knows I wanted to. I wanted to ruin them. But here’s the truth: men like them don’t come alone.

They come in groups. And if I fight back here, in this place, surrounded by their kind, they’ll do worse.

So I swallow it. Tonight again.

But not forever.

One day, I’ll earn enough. Move out. Get away from these rotting walls and the eyes that hunt me every second.

One day, I’ll breathe without fear.

One day.

The Mad Eagle~

The grand chandelier swayed lightly above the wide hall, shadows dancing against the cracked marble walls.

A haze of smoke curled through the air—expensive cigars mixed with the bitter tang of gunpowder.

The sound of laughter, cards slapping against tables, glasses clinking—men drowning themselves in luxury, power, and sin.

But the moment the double doors opened, silence crawled in.

Altair Iskander Khan walked through.

Every step echoed like thunder, his Italian leather boots sinking against the rug dyed in Persian red.

Dressed in an obsidian-black tailored suit, his broad shoulders carried a presence that could suffocate the air.

His storm-grey eyes scanned the room once, sharp and cold, and instantly every man lowered his gaze.

Because when the Mad Eagle entered, no one dared to breathe wrong.

They called him ruthless. Calculative. Dangerous. But above all—they called him insane.

The man who could slit your throat and then calmly sip coffee over your corpse.

Behind him followed Rafael Azaar. His shadow. His right hand. A man of few words, always calm, always unreadable.

But when he did speak… his words could slice sharper than any blade.

He was loyalty personified, the brother Altair chose for himself.

Altair strode to the massive carved wooden chair at the head of the hall—the throne of his world.

He sat, leaning back casually, one hand resting against his jaw as if the empire before him was nothing but a chessboard.

Rafael, as always, stood by his side. Hands in his pockets. Expression blank.

Rafael Azaar/ML Right Hand/

Then, with a straight face, he said** ..“Broo… if you keep killing people every time you’re bored, soon there’ll be no one left to do business with.”

Altair’s lips twitched. The men sitting around froze, unsure if they should laugh or run.

But Rafael didn’t flinch.

That was Rafael—untouchable, unshakable, even against the madness of the eagle.

Altair Iskander /ML/

Altair finally chuckled darkly, his voice deep and low** “You sound like my old tutor, Rafael. Careful. I shot him.”

Rafael Azaar/ML Right Hand/

Rafael sighed, unimpressed** “Yes. Which is why you failed math.” 😑

The room stilled. Eyes darted, waiting for blood.

Altair tilted his head, his stormy gaze cutting through Rafael… and then he smirked.

Altair Iskander /ML/

A dangerous, twisted smirk**

This was why he kept Rafael close. Because Rafael was the only man who dared roast the Mad Eagle and live to see another sunrise.

Altair Iskander /ML/

Altair leaned forward, his rings glinting under the chandelier** “So, what’s new? You don’t come here to remind me of my academic failures.”

Rafael finally spoke the words that would set the board for the next game.

Rafael Azaar/ML Right Hand/

“There’s a new deal, … in Chandigarh.”

Altair’s fingers drummed against the armrest. His eyes narrowed, storm swirling in their depths.

Altair Iskander /ML/

“Chandigarh…” **He tasted the name like poison and power, rolling it over his tongue.

Altair Iskander /ML/

Then, slowly, a wicked grin curved his lips** “Interesting.”

The Mad Eagle had found his next hunt.

***

Author

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