It was raining mercilessly that night—thunder cracking open the sky, lightning illuminating the dark corners of a city that never truly slept. Midnight hadn’t yet fallen, but the silence of the storm wrapped the world in a kind of dead calm. Not a soul moved on the empty streets, save for one house, where something colder than the rain brewed.

Inside, in the center of a dimly lit hall, a man sat casually on a velvet sofa—expressionless. His eyes were distant, and he looked more like a statue than someone alive. In contrast, at the far corner of the room, a girl sat curled up, her head buried between her knees, her long hair drenched and falling to either side like a curtain shielding her from the cruelty around her. Her brown eyes were red from too many tears, her nose flushed, and her milky white skin marred with the evidence of pain—scars both fresh and old. Soft sobs echoed through the hall, cutting through the silence like shattered glass.

"Teri maa toh chali gayi, aur tujhe yahaan chhod diya mere liye. Mar kyun nahi jaati tu?"

[“Your mother left me, and she left you behind as a burden for me. Why don’t you just die already?”]

Rita Ji snapped. Her voice—sharp, bitter—belonged to a woman in her early forties. Her tone could break bones, or worse, spirits.

"Ma, chhod do na. Iska toh roz ka hai," Reva’s stepbrother, Naman, added carelessly, not even lifting his eyes from his phone.

[“Ma, let it go… it’s the same every day.”]

"Nahi! Aaj main ise nahi chhodungi. Bahut ho gaya!" Rita’s voice cracked through the air like another bolt of lightning.

[“No! I won’t let it go today. This has gone too far!”]

Her words weren’t just cruel; they were final.

She moved closer to the sobbing girl. "Nikal ja is ghar se!" she yelled.

[“Get out of this house!”]

Reva stood up slowly, trembling as she walked over to the man on the sofa. "Papa… Papa, please… aisa mat kijiye," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper, fragile and broken.

[“Papa… Papa, please… don’t do this.”]

But the man—her father—didn’t even blink. He didn’t look at her. As though she didn’t exist.

Just then, another storm entered the room. This time from upstairs.

Nisha, Reva’s step-sister, walked down with a duffel bag and flung it at her feet. "Nikal ja yahaan se! Jeena haraam kar diya hai sabka. Koi kaam dhang se nahi karti," she spat, her voice soaked in contempt.

[“Get out of here! You’ve made everyone’s life a living hell. You can’t even do one thing properly!”]

Reva wiped her tears, bent down, picked up her bag, and without another word—left.

The sky wept for her as she walked into the night. Her steps were slow, defeated. Rain soaked her to the bone, but she didn’t care. Her cries melted into the storm, blending so well they became one. Her thin clothes clung to her trembling frame. Each drop felt like a slap from the heavens. A mile passed beneath her bruised feet before the scene cut to a darker world.

─𐙚

Elsewhere, in a place where the laws of the land never dared to breathe, a room sat cloaked in shadows. A dim bulb flickered overhead, swinging slightly as if anxious about what it was forced to witness. Two men were tied to steel chairs, their faces bloodied beyond recognition, clothes torn, eyes swollen shut.

The floor was painted in crimson.

And pacing the room like a god of death himself was a man.

One hand in his pocket. The other? Holding a gun with terrifying ease.

Vidhyut Rajvansh.

The name alone made hearts tremble. The Underworld King. A man wrapped in mystery and fear. Tall. Broad. Sharp as a knife and cold as a grave. His eyes were calm—too calm. That dangerous kind of calm that only comes before a storm.

He stopped walking, tilting his head slightly.

"What did you think? That you could cross me and I wouldn’t know?" he said, his voice like poisoned velvet—low, slow, lethal.

The two tied men whimpered. One tried to speak but coughed out blood instead.

Vidhyut smirked, unfazed.

"Bring Kaal."

Two guards nodded and vanished into the darkness.

Moments later, the room echoed with a deep, primal roar—a sound that made even the bravest men beg for death.

A black panther walked into the room, its eyes glinting like onyx daggers, its stride predatory and graceful. It walked straight toward Vidhyut and rubbed against his leg like an old friend returning from war.

Vidhyut placed his hand gently on Kaal’s head, and the beast stilled.

"It’s Kaal’s dinner time," he whispered.

The guards dragged the bloodied men away. Kaal followed, his claws tapping against the concrete floor like a countdown to death.

Vidhyut? He left without a word.

The devil never looked back at his chaos.

His car sliced through the rain-drenched streets like a black arrow. Music played low in the background, but his mind was elsewhere. Until—

Suddenly—a figure emerged in front of his headlights.

A girl.

His foot slammed the brake, tires screeching, and the car jolted to a halt.

The world froze.

And so did he.

There she stood.

Soaked.

Fragile.

Drenched in sorrow.

Her hands tried to shield her face from the blinding lights. Her long hair stuck to her skin like silk, and her trembling form looked like a fallen angel, broken by the world.

Vidhyut stepped out, his eyes refusing to blink.

What was this?

Who was this?

Reva’s knees buckled.

And before her body could hit the ground, he caught her.

A girl he didn’t know.

A stranger who looked like a walking poem.

A storm within a storm.

Her lips brushed against his palm by accident.

And he smiled.

Yes, Vidhyut Rajvansh—the man who hadn't smiled in years.

The devil had just met his softness.

His chaos had just collided with innocence.

And he wasn’t ready for what was coming.

Rain still danced upon the city like a silent storm trying to wash away sins of the night.

With his jaw clenched and his cold fingers tightening on the steering wheel, Vidhyut drove through the flooded roads, water splashing under his tyres like the chaos inside his head. But his mind? It wasn’t where it should be—it was with her.

The girl with rain-soaked lashes. The girl who dared to collapse in his arms, uninvited... but unforgettable.

his voice had sliced through the sterile silence of the hospital.

"Sourya!"

His tone held command, not desperation—but Sourya knew better.

A man in his late twenties appeared, dressed in scrubs but wearing sarcasm like a second skin. He looked between Vidhyut and the unconscious girl in his arms.

"Who’s this? Am I seeing it right? Vidhyut Rajvansh with a girl?"

["Kon hai ye? Kya main sahi dekh raha hoon? Vidhyut Rajvansh ladki ke saath?"]

Vidhyut didn’t even flinch—his glare said enough.

"Shut the fuck up and check what’s wrong with her. She fainted."

Sourya, the best surgeon in the city—and unfortunately for Vidhyut, his best friend—raised his brows in amusement but nodded.

"Alright, bring her to Room 302."

Vidhyut carried her like she weighed nothing. She did. In his arms, she felt like a fragile secret he didn’t want the world to touch.

He placed her gently on the hospital bed, and Sourya turned professional in an instant.

"Wait outside, I’ll take care of her now."

It was close to midnight. Thunder cracked the sky like a warning. Yet Vidhyut stood there... waiting. Hands in pockets, cold eyes locked on the floor.

"What the hell am I doing?" he muttered under his breath.

"Why do I feel this... ache?"

He hated this. Feelings weren’t allowed to exist in his world. So he did the only thing he knew—he walked away.

Out of the hospital. Into the storm. Away from her.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he gripped the wheel and sped off into the night. But no matter how fast he drove, she was still there—in his head, haunting like a sweet ghost.

Until—

Out of nowhere—a blinding light.

A truck.

He jerked the steering wheel with force, tires screaming against the wet road. The car skidded. His pulse hammered.

SCREEECH.

Skid marks painted the road like scars—only for another car to crash into his from behind.

CRASH.

Metal collided. Glass shattered.

Darkness swallowed everything.

Back at the Hospital...

A soft beep echoed in the room. Raindrops tapped the windows, trying to whisper secrets. And beneath white sheets, Reva stirred.

Her eyelids fluttered open—brown eyes dull, lashes wet with forgotten tears.

The cold room was unfamiliar.

She blinked, confused, her heart speeding. The cruel voices from her house echoed in her ears again—her stepmother’s bitter screams, Nisha’s cruelty, her father’s silence. Every wound, every rejection, every word—they all came back like poison.

A tear slid down her cheek.

The door opened softly, and a man walked in, warmth in his tone.

"You’re awake. How are you feeling now?"

Reva shifted back, cautious, her hands clutching the blanket.

"Who are you? How did I get here?"

["Aap kaun hai? Main yahan kaise aayi?"]

The man smiled, gentle yet professional.

"I’m Dr. Sourya Goenka, owner of this hospital. You fainted, so my friend brought you here."

["Main Dr. Sourya Goenka hoon, is hospital ka malik. Aap behosh ho gayi thi, to mere dost aapko yahan laye."]

Friend? Reva’s brows knitted, but she stayed silent.

"You’re safe now. Don’t worry."

His tone was honest, but the fear inside her didn’t disappear.

She looked down at her hands.

"I want to go."

["Mujhe jana h

Sourya frowned slightly.

"You’re too weak. You need rest."

["Aap abhi bahut kamzor ho. Aapko aaram ki zarurat hai."]

"It’s okay. Thank you, but I’ll leave."

["Theek hai. Shukriya, lekin main chalti hoon."]

She tried to stand—her legs trembling—

"Alright, alright. You can go... in the morning. Just rest tonight."

["Theek hai, theek hai. Aap subah ja sakti hai. Raat bhar aaram kijiye."]

Reva nodded weakly, the stubborn fire in her dimming.

As he turned to leave, Sourya noticed faint bruises on her arms. He didn’t ask—

He stepped outside and pulled out his phone.

No network.

He tried again.

Still no answer.

"Pick up, Vidhyut..."

He dialed again.

But Vidhyut Rajvansh... wasn’t answering.

──𐙚

In the heart of the storm, far from the city's chaos…

The rain poured relentlessly over the towering mansion, guarded like a fortress. Lightning cracked the sky, casting fleeting shadows across the sprawling estate of the Rajvansh family — a name whispered with reverence and fear in equal measure.

Inside, the hallway lights flickered softly as an elderly woman sat silently in her antique rocking chair. The gentle creak of the wood echoed through the marble-floored corridor. Draped in an elegant silk shawl, her eyes were fixed on something far beyond the present — lost in thought, in time.

Rajshree Rajvansh, the matriarch of the empire, held an aura that could silence a room with a glance. Her weathered hands rested calmly in her lap, but her heart… it was heavy.

Just then, the door creaked open.

“Ma, aap abhi tak soyi nahi?”

["Ma, you haven’t slept yet?"]

A soft voice broke the stillness. It was Divya Rajvansh, Vidhyut’s mother — graceful, composed, and carrying her own burden of silences.

She stepped forward gently, placing a warm hand on Rajshree’s shoulder. But Rajshree didn’t look up. Her voice came, low and firm, as if speaking from a place deeper than the room itself.

“Nahi Divya… humein accha nahi lag raha hai. Aisa lag raha hai… kuch galat ho raha hai.”

["No, Divya… I don’t feel right. It feels like… something is wrong."]

Divya’s smile faltered for a second, concern flickering in her eyes.

“Ma, aap chinta mat kijiye. Sab theek hai. Aaiye, ab so jaiye.”

["Ma, don’t worry. Everything is fine. Come, get some rest now."]

Rajshree finally looked at her — those wise eyes now clouded with a mother’s instinct.

But she said nothing more. Just nodded quietly.

Divya leaned down, switched off the lamp beside her, and slowly walked out of the room, pulling the heavy door shut behind her.

What neither of them noticed… was the faint shadow lingering just outside.

A tall man stood hidden in the corridor’s darkness, having overheard every word.

His jaw clenched. His expression unreadable.

His eyes flicked once toward the closed door — then down the hall.

And he disappeared into the night.

TO BE CONTINUED...