Author's POV:

In the basement, three men were tied to iron chairs, their hands bound, their eyes blindfolded.
The air smelled of rust, dust... and fear.

The heavy metal door screeched open.
All three flinched at the sound.
One of them began thrashing violently, his voice rising in anger and panic.

"Yaa! Who the fuck are you, huh?! Untie me, motherfuckers! You'll regret this!"

The footsteps stopped right in front of him.
A low chuckle echoed through the room—calm, amused... deadly.

The blindfold slid off.

"Hm," the man in front of him tilted his head, "hot blood, I see."

The captive squinted, recognition flashing in his eyes.
Then arrogance took over.

"Oh, you're that fucker? Hah. Did that slut send you? Aish— I would've fucked her if yo—"

His words never finished.

Because Dev didn't allow them to.

In one swift motion, Dev pulled a knife from his pocket and drove it straight into the man's neck.
Again.
And again.
And again.

The room filled with the wet, sickening sound of steel piercing flesh.

Blood sprayed across Dev's face, dripping down his jaw, staining his shirt.
The body jerked violently before collapsing against the ropes, lifeless.

Dev exhaled slowly, wiped his face with his hand, smearing the blood even more.
A calm expression settled over him—too calm for what he had just done.

He turned toward the remaining two men.
Both were trembling so hard their chairs rattled.

Dev smirked—cold, cruel, almost entertained.

"Such a shame," he said softly, crouching down to their eye level.
"You touched my Gulab with these filthy hands..."

He picked up the second man's chin between his fingers, voice dropping to a chilling whisper.

"Now tell me—"
his grip tightened,
"should I cut those hands first... or your tongue?"

The man whimpered, tears streaming.
Dev's smile widened.

"Don't be shy," he murmured, licking a streak of blood from his thumb,
"tonight... I have all the time in the world."

He stood straight, rolling the knife in his hand.

"Let's begin."

The second man, shaking uncontrollably, still managed to gather a thread of courage.

"W-Who... who the hell are you, huh?" he stammered, voice cracking.

Dev stopped mid-step.

Silence filled the basement.

He slowly turned his head, his blood-slicked face illuminated under the dim light.
A cold smile crawled onto his lips — the kind that didn't reach his eyes.

He walked toward the man with the calmness of a predator who already knew the kill belonged to him.

He crouched in front of the trembling man, gripping his jaw so hard the bones cracked.

"Who am I?" Dev whispered.

He leaned in until their noses almost touched.

"I'm the man you should have prayed to never meet."

His fingers dug deeper into the man's skin.

"I'm the nightmare that comes... after the last scream leaves your throat."

The man whimpered, but Dev didn't stop.

His voice dropped even lower—dangerous, emotionless, lethal.

"I'm the one who decides how long you live..."
He raised the knife.
"...and how painfully you die."

He released his jaw with a snap, stood up slowly, and wiped the knife on the man's shirt.

Then he whispered:

"And tonight... I'm the name even your God won't save you from."

His smile vanished as quickly as it came.

He grabbed the second man by the hair and dragged him across the floor, ignoring his screams. The man kicked, writhed, begged — but Dev didn't even blink.

With one swift, precise motion, he ended him.

No hesitation.
No emotion.
Just... silence.

Dev straightened slowly, breathing steady, like he hadn't just taken a life.

Then he turned to the third man — the last one.

The man was sobbing, shaking so hard the chair rattled beneath him.

"P-please... please don't kill me," he cried. "I-I didn't do anything. I'll never touch anyone again. Please—"

Dev walked toward him with slow, deliberate steps.

He crouched down, tilting his head like he was studying something fragile.

"But you did," Dev said softly. "You touched what's mine."

The man froze.

Dev's fingers wrapped around his chin, forcing him to look up.

"And worse..." Dev whispered, his voice darkening,
"...you looked at her."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, cold metal tool — simple, sharp, purposeful.

The man's breathing turned into screams.

Dev leaned close, his tone low and merciless.

"I don't like when anyone looks at my Gulab."

The man shook violently, tears streaming. "No—please—don't—"

Dev smiled faintly.

"And you dared to touch her."

The screams that followed echoed off the basement walls. Dev didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Didn't pause.

When it was over, he stood up, wiping his hands on the dead man's shirt with calm precision, as if he had simply finished a routine task.

He walked toward the exit, stopping only once to look over his shoulder at the bodies.

His voice was soft. Almost gentle.

"No one touches what's mine."

Then he closed the basement door behind him.

AUTHOR'S POV

As the basement door creaked open, the metallic scent of blood drifted out before Dev did.

His men — dressed in black, standing like shadows — straightened the moment they saw him. Silence fell instantly. Not one dared to breathe loudly.

Dev stepped out, the faint crimson stains on his hands the only sign of what had happened inside.

Without looking at anyone in particular, he held out his hand.

One of his right-hand men hurried forward, placing a fresh white handkerchief into Dev's palm.

Dev wiped his fingers slowly, each stroke precise... almost elegant.

"Bodies settle kar do," he said quietly.

No anger. No rush.
Just a calm command that promised consequences if ignored.

"Y–Yes, sir."

He didn't wait.

Without another glance at the basement, Dev walked up the narrow staircase, his footsteps steady... controlled... lethal.

Because Dev Singhania was not a man who lost control.
He was the man who decided who lived, who suffered, and who disappeared.

The world knew him as the owner of the country's biggest luxury hotel chain — charming, polished, untouchable.

A billionaire with a smile that made headlines and a business empire others could only dream of.

But that was just the mask.

Behind it was someone far more dangerous.

Someone whose name made politicians lower their tone.

Someone whose shadow alone made enemies run.

Someone who didn't tolerate disrespect — especially towards...

Her

DEV'S POV:

I entered my room, loosened my collar, and slouched down on the sofa. The silence greeted me like an old friend. I poured myself a drink — slow, unhurried — letting the burn sit on my tongue.

And then...
as always...
my mind went back to her.

To the very first time I ever saw gulab.

Not a dramatic moment.
No spotlight.
No music.

Just an ordinary afternoon.

She was standing outside a bookshop, hair tied in a messy ponytail, strands falling on her cheeks as she argued with the shopkeeper over five rupees.

Five rupees.

I stood across the road, watching, amused.

Her eyes were sharp but soft, like she was angry at the world yet still naïve enough to believe it would listen to her.

She wore a simple kurti, nothing extraordinary — but the way she carried herself...

confident, stubborn, unaware of her own charm...

Something about her told me she wasn't like the people who orbit around me.

She wasn't pretending.

She wasn't impressed by anyone.

She wasn't one of them.

And that was enough.

Enough for me to pause.

Enough for me to watch.

Enough for me to want.

I didn't approach her that day.

But I didn't forget her either.

I never forget the things I want.

A week later, her name appeared in one of my project lists...a small café owner struggling with funds but full of potential.

Coincidence?
No.
Not entirely.

I told Arman, "Pick this one. I like the location."

A lie.

What I liked was the owner.

Her.

The café deal fell into her lap like fate, but it was my hand placing it there.

Then came the first day of tasting.

She walked in, nervous but pretending not to be.

When she bumped into me at the entrance, her shoulder hit my chest, and her eyes snapped up to mine — big, startled, irritated.

She didn't even say sorry.

Just scoffed and walked away, muttering under her breath.

No girl has ever looked at me like that.
Most either blush, flirt, or freeze.

But she?

She dismissed me like I was nobody.

I should've been offended.

Instead, I felt something in me... shift.

Like she had knocked something loose.

And then... today.

Today she stood there, fire in her eyes,

Fearless.

Soft-hearted.

Infuriatingly brave.

Everything about her reminded me why I noticed her in the first place.

Why I manipulated circumstances.

Why I kept her within arm's reach...

without ever letting her see my hand.

I leaned back on the sofa, glass in hand, a slow smile forming on my lips.

She thinks everything in her life is happening naturally...

the café deal,

the contract,

our encounters,

our proximity.

But fate didn't bring her closer to me.

I did.

Piece by piece.

Step by step.

Quietly.

Patiently.

I chose her café.

I made sure she would bump into me.

I placed myself in her orbit.

And today... I removed the obstacles that dared to touch what isn't theirs.

She doesn't know it yet.

But she has been mine from the moment I saw her outside that bookshop —

arguing over five rupees with fire in her eyes and innocence in her voice.

A fire I wanted to protect.

An innocence I wanted to own.

A girl I wanted to call...

my Gulab.

And I always get what I want.