The music in the dream is deafening—too loud, too alive—pulsing through the walls, the floor, his very bones, as though it carries a heartbeat that is not his own. The club is drenched in crimson light, thick with heat and movement, bodies colliding in a restless sea of sweat and laughter. Glasses clink, voices blur into one another, and strangers brush past without consequence, as if nothing in the world could possibly go wrong within these walls.
And yet, something has.
He feels it before he understands it—a disturbance beneath the rhythm, a subtle fracture beneath the noise, like decay hidden beneath a polished surface. The music continues, relentless and mocking, but beneath it lies something hollow. Something wrong.
He moves through the crowd with urgency, shoving past shoulders and silhouettes, his breath uneven, his pulse erratic. No one notices him. No one stops. The world spins on, indifferent.
Then he sees it—The staircase.
It stands apart from the chaos, dimly lit and half-forgotten, as though it exists outside the revelry. A quiet place, untouched by the frenzy.
And at its base—A body.
His brother.
The sight is enough to hollow him out entirely.
He lies twisted against the cold marble steps, one arm bent at an unnatural angle, his face cast partially in shadow. Blood surrounds him—too much of it—dark and spreading, seeping into the fine cracks of the floor as though it has always belonged there.
Aaryan’s breath falters.
“No…” The word escapes him, fragile and disbelieving.
He stumbles forward, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. His hands tremble as he reaches out, turning the body over with a care that comes too late—
The knife is driven deep into his brother’s back, just beneath the shoulder blade. The handle glistens under the unsteady light, slick with blood. It is not a wound of impulse—it is deliberate. Precise. Violent.
Aaryan’s breath catches in his throat, refusing to complete itself. His fingers hover for a moment, trembling with hesitation, before instinct overtakes him and he reaches for the handle, desperate to undo what cannot be undone.
But something else draws his attention. Resting near the body, nearly concealed by shadow and blood—A bead.
Silver in its form, delicate in its design, yet unnervingly cold. And set within it, a tiny crescent moon.
For a moment, the world ceases, music dissolves and the crowd vanishes.
Everything narrows to that singular, suffocating detail.
Aaryan picks it up, his blood-streaked fingers curling tightly around it as his pulse begins to thunder in his ears. A sharp, unspoken understanding takes root within him.
This is no accident or a coincidence.
His breath grows ragged as panic and fury coil together within his chest, tightening with unbearable force. His gaze drifts back to his brother’s lifeless face—The eyes open.
—
Aaryan awakens with a violent start, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat as reality crashes down upon him.
Darkness greets him. Silence, complete and suffocating.
There is no music, no crowd, no blood staining his hands.
Only his room.
Only the harsh, uneven sound of his own breathing.
For a long moment, he does not move. His chest rises and falls too quickly, his body still caught in the lingering terror of the dream, as though it has not yet understood that it has escaped.
His fingers curl unconsciously, as if expecting resistance—steel, or something small and cold pressed into his palm.
But there is nothing.
Nothing but the faint tremor that betrays him.
He drags a hand down his face, his jaw tightening as he forces his breathing to steady, anchoring himself to the present. Yet the effort is futile.
The images remain like they always do.
The staircase, The blood, The silver charm marked by a crescent moon and his brother’s lifeless form.
And that final, impossible moment—Those eyes opening.
Aaryan closes his eyes briefly, exhaling in quiet frustration before leaning back against the headboard, his gaze settling into the unbroken dark.
Years have passed since that night.
Since they found him there, in that club, the truth buried beneath speculation and silence. The case had unraveled into nothing—left unresolved, unanswered.
Unfinished.
And yet, it lingers.
Not as a memory dulled by time—
But as something waiting and very much alive.
─── ⋆⋅🎀⋅⋆ ───
The soft yellow glow of Tara’s desk lamp spilled across scattered sheets of paper, formulas bleeding into one another in messy loops of ink. Her notebook was half-filled with crossed-out answers, frustrated scribbles, and tiny arrows pointing nowhere useful. The ceiling fan hummed lazily above her, doing little to ease the heaviness in the room—or in her head.
She stared at the equation in front of her for a solid ten seconds.
Nothing.
Not even a single coherent thought.
“Wow,” she muttered under her breath, twirling her pen before letting it drop onto the page. “Love that for me. Completely blank. Academic weapon.”
Her phone buzzed against the desk, vibrating just enough to pull her out of her spiralling thoughts. She glanced at the screen—Vihaan.
For a second, something in her chest loosened.
She picked up immediately, not even pretending to hesitate. “Oh, look who decided to remember I exist.”
A soft chuckle came from the other side. “Relax, drama queen. I called you two days ago.”
“Yeah, and I was busy,” she replied, leaning back into her chair, stretching her legs out as she tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear. “There’s a difference.”
“Right,” Vihaan said, amusement threading through his voice. “And now you’re available?”
“Barely. I’m getting cooked by math.”
“That bad?”
Tara let out a long sigh, dragging a hand through her hair. “You have no idea. I’ve been staring at the same question for, like, half an hour, and it’s staring back like it knows I’m stupid.”
He laughed properly this time. “You’re not stupid, Tara.”
“Mm, tell that to my exam papers,” she shot back, but there was a softness beneath it now. A quiet honesty slipping through the sarcasm. “I messed up. Like—badly. I walked out of that hall knowing I was done for.”
There was a brief pause on his end, the kind that wasn’t awkward—just careful.
“How bad?” he asked, gentler now.
She exhaled slowly, her eyes drifting back to the open notebook. “Psychology was a disaster. Like, absolute massacre. I don’t even think partial marks can save me at this point.” A small, humourless laugh escaped her. “I literally sat there halfway through thinking… yeah, this is where my academic comeback story dies.”
“Tara—”
“And the worst part?” she cut in, sitting up straighter now, her tone sharper. “It’s not even like I didn’t study. I did. I just—froze. My brain just… shut down.”
Silence again. But this time, it felt heavier.
Then Vihaan spoke, quieter. “That happens sometimes. Doesn’t mean it’s the end.”
“Easy for you to say, Mr. Genius,” she muttered, though there was no real bite to it. “How is the bootcamp going, by the way? Still surviving your little ‘wake up at 5 a.m. and suffer’ routine?”
“Oh, it’s worse,” he said dryly. “Way worse. They’ve upgraded from suffering to advanced suffering.”
Tara let out a small laugh, the tension easing just a little. “Serves you right. Character development.”
“Yeah, yeah. Meanwhile you’re out here failing math—great trade-off.”
“Shut up,” she groaned, throwing a pen across the table in mild frustration. “At least I’m suffering indoors with snacks.”
“Unfair advantage,” he said. “I’m out here fighting for my life.”
She smiled faintly, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the edge of her notebook. For a moment, things felt… normal. Light. Easy.
Then her gaze flickered back to the mess of equations.
And the weight returned.
“…Vihaan?” she said after a pause, her voice quieter now.
“Hmm?”
“What if I actually fail?”
There it was. He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was steady. “Then you deal with it.”
She frowned slightly. “Wow. So comforting.”
“I’m serious,” he continued. “You deal with it, and then you move on. One exam doesn’t decide everything, Tara. You’re not done just because one paper went bad.”
She leaned back again, staring up at the ceiling now, letting his words settle somewhere deep—even if she didn’t fully believe them.
“…I hate how reasonable you sound,” she murmured.
“I try.”
A small smile tugged at her lips, faint but real.
Outside, the campus had gone quiet, the night settling in gently around her dorm room. Inside, the chaos in her mind hadn’t disappeared—but it had softened, just enough to breathe through.
“…Okay,” she said finally, glancing back at her notebook and picking up her pen again. “Stay on call. If I fail this assignment too, I’m blaming you.”
“Obviously,” Vihaan replied. “I’ll take full responsibility for your academic downfall.”
“Good,” she said, a hint of her usual spark returning. “As you should.”
And for the first time that night, the numbers in front of her didn’t feel quite as suffocating.
A message arrived at 11:47 p.m., slipping into Tara’s phone like it had been waiting for the exact moment she’d be alone enough to feel it.
No name, no context—Just a location and a time.
Come alone. Black Halo Bar. 12:30.
For a few seconds, she didn’t move. The room felt heavier, like the air itself had thickened around her. The yellow glow of her desk lamp stretched across her scattered notes, but her attention had already detached from everything familiar. There was something about the message that didn’t feel random. It felt precise, Intentional, Like whoever sent it already knew she would read it—and more importantly, that she would come.
A sensible person would have ignored it.
Tara had never been that person.
She locked her phone and stood, the decision settling into her bones before she could even argue with it. Fear was there, yes, but it wasn’t loud or panicked. It was quiet and focused. The kind that sharpened her edges instead of dulling them.
she steps toward the closet slowly but certainly.
If someone wanted her to walk into the dark, she wouldn’t do it unprepared.
She pushed past rows of neatly hung clothes until her fingers reached the back, where things weren’t meant to be easily found. The leather roll came into her hands almost instinctively. When she unwrapped it, the knife caught the light—sleek, cold, unforgiving.
For a moment, she simply held it, her thumb grazing the handle, her eyes lifting to meet her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t look afraid. If anything, there was something steadier in her gaze now, something controlled.
“Just in case,” she said softly, though the words felt unnecessary.
The dress she chose was black, fitted enough to move with her but sharp enough to make a statement. It traced her body without effort, falling into place like it had always belonged there. She stepped into it, adjusting it with calm precision before securing the knife against her thigh. The strap tightened, the blade settling flush against her skin, hidden beneath the fabric.
Invisible yet accessible.
A secret advantage.
When she looked at herself again, everything about her felt deliberate—her hair falling just right, her makeup dark and defined, her expression unreadable. There was no hesitation left in her posture, no trace of doubt lingering in her movements.
Sneaking out of campus turned out to be easier than expected. The guards were inattentive, their routine predictable, and Tara moved through the shadows with quiet confidence. The night greeted her the moment she crossed the gates, cool air brushing against her skin, carrying with it the faint hum of a city that never really slept.
There was a Taxi outside, waiting exactly where the message said it would be.
Its engine was running, headlights dimmed, as if it had been there long before she arrived. That detail made her pause, just for a fraction of a second because this wasn’t a coincidence or carelessness.
Still, she didn’t turn back.
She walked toward the car, each step steady, her grip tightening briefly around her phone before she pulled the door open and slid into the back seat. The interior smelled faintly of something unfamiliar—too clean, too neutral. The driver didn’t look at her, didn’t ask questions, didn’t say anything.
He just started driving.
The city unfolded outside her window in streaks of dim light and shadow, buildings blurring into one another as her thoughts began to spiral beneath her composed exterior. Questions pressed against the back of her mind, sharp and insistent, but none of them had answers yet.
Who sent the message?
How did they know her?
Why tonight?
Her hand shifted slightly, almost unconsciously, brushing against her thigh where the knife rested beneath the fabric. The presence of it grounded her, a quiet reassurance that she wasn’t entirely stepping into this blind.
Tara leaned back against the seat, her gaze fixed ahead, her reflection faintly visible in the glass beside her. The deeper they drove into the city, the more it felt like she was crossing some invisible line—leaving behind something safe, something known, and stepping into something darker.
And yet, beneath the tension, beneath the unease, there was something else stirring inside her.
Danger.
A thrill she couldn’t quite deny.
Aaryan was outside the campus gates, half-hidden in the spill of shadows cast by a flickering streetlight, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. The night wrapped around him like a habit he couldn’t quit—quiet, restless, waiting.
The smoke curled lazily into the air as his gaze drifted toward the gates out of sheer instinct more than intention—and then he saw Tara.
For a second, his brain didn’t register it. It felt almost unreal, the way she moved—careful, deliberate, slipping past the guards like she had done this a hundred times before. But there was something different tonight. Something off.
She wasn’t just sneaking out.
She was going somewhere.
His posture straightened almost immediately, the cigarette pausing halfway to his lips as his eyes narrowed slightly, tracking her every step. The way she glanced around. The way her movements were controlled but not casual. This wasn’t rebellion.
This was purpose.
And he didn’t like it one bit.
A slow, dangerous tension crept into his jaw as he watched her step out onto the road—and then he saw the taxi.
Waiting.
Engine already running as if it had been expecting her.
Something cold settled in his chest.
“Who the hell…” he muttered under his breath, the words dissolving into the night.
Tara didn’t hesitate. She walked straight to the car, opened the door, and slipped inside like she belonged there.
That was enough.
The cigarette dropped to the ground, crushed under his shoe in one sharp movement as his mind snapped into place. Whatever this was, it wasn’t normal. And she had no business walking into it alone.
Not without him knowing.
Not without him there.
Aaryan moved quickly, his steps silent but urgent as he crossed the road toward his car. His grip on the handle tightened just slightly before he pulled the door open and slid into the driver’s seat, his eyes never leaving the taxi ahead.
The engine came to life with a low hum.
The taxi had already started moving.
Aaryan exhaled slowly, his gaze sharpening, every muscle in his body tightening with a kind of focus that bordered on obsession.
“Where are you going, Tara…” he murmured, more to himself than anything.
He waited just enough.
Just enough to not make it obvious.
And then he pulled out onto the road, keeping a careful distance as the taxi slipped through the quiet streets of the city. His headlights stayed low, his movements controlled, precise.
The city lights flickered across his face as he followed, his mind running through possibilities faster than he could process them. Was she meeting someone? Who? Why the secrecy? Why a taxi waiting like that?
Every question twisted into something darker.
Something dangerous.
His grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles paling as a familiar, volatile emotion began to rise beneath the surface.
Possessiveness.
It came surging into him darkly and dangerously. She shouldn’t be out here alone at this hour.
She shouldn’t be getting into cars sent by God knows who and she shouldn’t be doing anything without him knowing.
The thought came so naturally it didn’t even feel wrong.
Ahead, the taxi turned into a narrower street, the glow of neon lights beginning to bleed into the darkness, hinting at something less innocent waiting at the end of the road.
Aaryan followed without hesitation.
His eyes locked onto the car like it was the only thing that existed. Whatever this was… whoever had called her out like this… They were about to find out exactly who they were dealing with.
And Aaryan?
He wasn’t feeling patient tonight.
The taxi slowed to a stop in front of a place that didn’t look like it belonged on any map meant for ordinary people.
Black Halo Bar.
The name glowed in dim, blood-red neon above a matte black entrance, the light flickering just enough to feel intentional. The kind of place that didn’t advertise itself loudly because the right people already knew where to find it. Heavy bass leaked faintly through the walls, a slow, pulsing rhythm that felt more like a heartbeat than music.
Tara stepped out of the taxi, heels meeting the pavement with quiet certainty, even as something uneasy coiled tighter in her chest. The driver got out almost immediately, his movements efficient, detached.
“This way, ma’am,” he said, his tone polite but distant, as if he’d done this before. As if she wasn’t the first.
That thought didn’t help.
Inside, the air was thick—dim lights, shadows melting into one another, the scent of alcohol, smoke, and something darker lingering beneath it all. The bar itself stretched long and sleek, but that wasn’t where the driver led her.
He guided her deeper.
Past the noise. Past the crowd.
Into a more secluded section where the music dulled just enough to let conversations breathe—but not enough to feel safe.
The lounge area.
She saw a man who didn’t blend into the room. He owned it.
Veer Oberoi
He sat like a man who had never been told no in his life—leaned back into the couch, one arm stretched casually along the backrest, a lit cigar resting between his fingers. Smoke curled around him lazily, framing a face that was sharp, composed, and deeply unsettling in its calm. He was tall even while seated, his build heavy with muscle, the kind that wasn’t for show. Tattoos ran along his arms, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his shirt, dark ink against darker intent.
In his other hand, a glass of whiskey caught the low light, amber liquid swirling slowly as if time itself moved differently around him.
Two other men sat nearby, equally composed, equally silent, watching without seeming like they were watching.
But Veer—Veer looked straight at her.
And smiled.
“Tara,” he called, his voice smooth, deep, carrying effortlessly over the low music.
It wasn’t a question.
It was a confirmation.
Her steps slowed for just a fraction of a second before she forced herself forward, her posture straightening instinctively. Every instinct in her body told her to stay alert, to measure every move, every word.
Still, she walked toward him.
Still, she sat when he gestured to the seat across from him.
The couch dipped as she took a seat.
Up close, he was worse.
More intense, imposing and his presence filled the space in a way that made it hard to breathe normally. The cigar smoke lingered between them, and when he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze locked onto hers with a precision that felt almost invasive.
“Veer Oberoi,” he said, as if the name alone is something important.
The way he said it—it did.
Tara held his gaze, even as her fingers curled slightly against her lap, grounding herself. “You texted me.”
A faint smirk touched his lips, like he appreciated the lack of unnecessary politeness.
“I did.”
A pause stretched between them, thick and deliberate, before he tilted his head just slightly, studying her like she was something far more complex than she appeared.
“Let’s not waste time,” he said, his tone shifting—still calm, but sharper now. “What exactly is your relationship with Aaryan Rathore?”
His name hit harder than she expected.
Of course this was about him.
For a split second, her expression almost shifted—but she caught it, smoothing it out before it could betray anything real.
“He’s my professor,” she said evenly. “Psychology.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
But it wasn’t the truth either.
Veer didn’t respond immediately. Just watched her, really watched her. He watched her in the kind of silence that made you question your own heartbeat.
And then he chuckled quietly, unconvinced.
“Just your professor,” he repeated mockingly, swirling the whiskey in his glass before taking a slow sip, his eyes never leaving hers.
Tara’s jaw tightened slightly, irritation beginning to push past the nerves. “Why am I here?” she asked, her voice steadier now, edged with defiance. “Why are you interrogating me like this?”
That seemed to amuse him more than anything.
He leaned back again, stretching his arm along the couch, completely at ease while she sat there holding her ground by sheer will.
“Because,” he said slowly, almost casually, “you walked into something you don’t understand.”
The words settled heavier than they should have.
Tara frowned slightly. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Veer’s expression didn’t change.
But something in his eyes did—More serious.
“Aaryan Rathore,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to cut through the air between them, “is not just your professor.”
He continued, quieter—
“And you…” his gaze flickered over her, assessing, calculating, “…are a lot more involved than you think.”
Tara’s fingers instinctively pressed against her thigh, the hidden knife grounding her again, reminding her she wasn’t completely powerless in this situation.
“Stop speaking in riddles,” she said, her patience thinning. “If you have something to say, say it.”
For a moment, Veer just looked at her.
And then, finally—
He leaned forward.
Close enough for his presence to feel suffocating.
“You’re in danger, Tara,” he said, his voice no longer teasing, no longer amused—Just cold and certain. “And the only reason you’re sitting here alive and untouched… is because I decided you should be.”
The words didn’t feel like a warning.
They felt like a fact.
Her breath hitched slightly despite herself, her pulse quickening as the weight of the moment settled in.
“And why would you help me?” she asked, quieter now, more careful.
That sharp and knowing smirk returned.
“Because,” Veer said, lifting his glass again, the amber liquid catching the dim light as he took another slow sip, “I know exactly what Aaryan Rathore is capable of.”
A beat.
Then his eyes locked onto hers again.
“And I don’t like sharing my territory with men like him.”
He took one last slow drag of his cigar, studying her through the haze of smoke like he was measuring something far more valuable than words. Then, without breaking eye contact, he set the glass of whiskey down on the table beside him and rose to his full height.
Up close, he was even more imposing.
Tall enough to tower over her, broad enough to make the space feel smaller, his presence pressing in without him needing to touch her. The faint scent of smoke and oak clung to him as he stepped around the table, closing the distance with an ease that felt practiced… predatory, almost.
Tara didn’t move.
She held her ground, her chin lifting just slightly as he stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the weight of his gaze dragging slowly, deliberately over her.
“You’ve got a spine,” Veer said quietly, his voice carrying that same dangerous calm. “Most people don’t sit in front of me like that. Especially not when they don’t know what they’ve walked into.”
His eyes dipped briefly, taking her in, before returning to hers with something sharper now—something that wasn’t just curiosity anymore.
“Which makes you interesting.”
Tara’s expression didn’t change, but her pulse betrayed her, thudding just a little harder beneath the surface. She refused to let it show.
“Get to the point,” she said, her tone steady, almost bored. “You didn’t drag me here to compliment my personality.”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face.
“Straight to it,” he murmured, almost approving.
Then he leaned in just slightly—not enough to invade her space completely, but enough to make the air between them feel charged.
“I can make you powerful, Tara.”
The words were smooth, deliberate, laced with something far more suggestive than just ambition. His gaze didn’t waver, lingering on her like he was already imagining what that power would look like on her.
“You’re already walking a dangerous line,” he continued, quieter now, like it was just between them despite the others in the room. “With me… you wouldn’t just survive it.”
A pause.
“You’d own it.”
That was the moment Tara moved.
Slowly, deliberately, she stood up from the couch, closing the gap between them on her own terms this time. If he expected hesitation, fear, submission—he got none of it.
She stepped closer.
Close enough to look him straight in the eye without tilting her head.
Close enough to make it clear she wasn’t intimidated.
For a second, the room seemed to blur at the edges, the tension between them pulling tight like a wire ready to snap.
“And what makes you think,” Tara said softly, her voice low but edged with something dangerous, “that I need you to make me powerful?”
The question was a challenge.
Veer’s lips curved slowly, something darker slipping into his expression as he took her in again—this time with open interest.
There it is.
He liked that.
“You don’t need me,” he admitted, his voice dropping slightly, almost thoughtful. “But you’re not stupid enough to pretend you don’t see the difference between potential… and control.”
Tara’s gaze didn’t break.
A faint smile touched her lips now, subtle but sharp, like she was enjoying this more than she should.
“Control?” she echoed, tilting her head just slightly. “You mean the kind you think you have over people?”
That landed.
Not enough to provoke him—but enough to interest him further.
Veer let out a quiet chuckle, stepping just a fraction closer, the distance between them now almost nonexistent.
“Careful,” he murmured, his tone low, almost teasing. “That attitude gets people into trouble.”
Tara didn’t step back.
If anything, she leaned in just slightly, her voice dropping to match his.
“Good,” she said, her eyes holding his with quiet intensity. “I was getting bored of being safe.”
For a second, silence stretched between them.
Heavy.
Electric.
Veer’s gaze darkened, something more dangerous settling into it now—not irritation, not anger…
Approval.
“You’re bold,” he said, almost under his breath. “I like that.”
Tara’s smile deepened just enough to be noticed.
“I’m selective,” she replied smoothly. “I like that you think you can handle it.”
A slow grin spread across his face, sharp and unmistakably intrigued now.
“Oh, I don’t think I can handle it,” Veer said, his voice dipping lower, edged with something that felt like a promise rather than a threat.
“I know I can.”
Tara’s eyes flickered for just a second—not with doubt, not with fear—but with something far more dangerous.
“Then maybe,” she said, her tone light but loaded, “you should start proving it instead of talking about it.”
The air between them shifted again.
Veer let out a low breath, almost like a laugh, shaking his head slightly as he looked at her—really looked at her now, like he’d just discovered something he hadn’t expected to find.
“You’re either going to be the best decision I make,” he said quietly, “or the worst.”
Tara didn’t miss a beat.
Her gaze stayed locked on his, unwavering.
“Men like you don’t make decisions,” she replied smoothly. “You make mistakes… and call them strategy.”
For a moment, even the background noise seemed to disappear.
And then—Veer smiled.
Not amused or mocking, but genuinely impressed.
“Yeah,” he said softly, almost to himself. “You’re definitely not just his student.”
Veer's hand lifted slowly, deliberately, giving her more than enough time to pull away if she wanted to. But Tara didn’t move. She stood there, steady, her gaze locked onto his like she was daring him to try.
His fingers brushed against a loose strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear with surprising gentleness for someone built like a storm waiting to break. The contrast was unsettling—his rough, inked hand against the softness of her skin.
Then his touch lingered.
Trailing lightly along her jaw, down to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin as if testing how real she was.
Tara didn’t flinch.
She didn’t lean in either.
She just watched him.
Those eyes—calm, heavy, unreadable—held his like a quiet trap. Siren-like, pulling without asking, challenging without speaking. There was no shyness in her, no hesitation. Just that same dangerous stillness that made men underestimate her right before they lost control.
Veer exhaled slowly, something shifting in his expression as his gaze darkened just slightly.
“So Beautiful,” he said under his breath, the word slipping out like it wasn’t meant to be heard so easily. “I could stare at you all day.”
His thumb brushed her cheek once more, slower this time.
His hand lingered for a second longer, his body leaning in just slightly, the space between them thinning to almost nothing—
And then—Everything snapped.
A force slammed into Veer out of nowhere, sending him crashing sideways before he could even react.
The impact was sudden, violent, raw.
Aaryan.
His hand fisted into Veer’s collar before the man could fully regain his balance, dragging him forward and landing a punch that echoed sharper than the music around them. There was no warning, no words—just pure, unfiltered rage pouring out of him like something that had been building for far too long.
“You don’t touch her—” Aaryan’s voice came out growling, furious, breaking under the weight of it as another punch landed, harder this time.
Veer staggered back, but he wasn’t weak.
Not even close.
The shock wore off quickly, replaced by something just as dangerous. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, a faint trace of blood there now, and then his expression shifted—
Cold yet amused.
“Rathore,” he muttered, almost like he’d been expecting this moment eventually.
Aaryan lunged again, grabbing him, shoving him back against the table as glasses clattered and shattered around them. The two men collided with a force that sent the entire lounge into chaos, their movements fast, brutal, fueled by something far deeper than just anger.
Veer retaliated just as hard.
His fist connected with Aaryan’s jaw, snapping his head to the side, but Aaryan barely seemed to feel it. He came back harder, faster, gripping Veer by the front of his shirt and driving him back again.
Every hit carried something more—possession, fury, something unhinged and dangerous that had nothing to do with the room they were in and everything to do with Tara standing just a few feet away.
Chairs scraped. Glass broke. The music kept playing like nothing was wrong, but the tension in the air had shifted completely.
And then—Security moved in.
Fast. Efficient. Ruthless.
Two of Veer’s men grabbed Aaryan, pulling him back with force, while another stepped between them before the next hit could land. It took more than one to hold Aaryan back—his body still straining forward, his chest rising and falling heavily, eyes locked onto Veer like he wasn’t done.
Like he was nowhere near done.
“Let go of me,” he snapped, his voice low but shaking with restrained violence.
Veer, on the other hand, straightened slowly.
Calm.
Too calm.
He adjusted his shirt, rolling his shoulders like the fight had barely phased him, though the faint bruise forming along his jaw said otherwise. His gaze flickered briefly to Tara—
And then back to Aaryan.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
“Well,” he said, his voice steady despite everything, “that answers my question.”
Aaryan’s jaw tightened, his entire body still tense under the grip of the men holding him back, his eyes burning with something far darker than anger.
Possession.
Rage.
Something that had just been exposed without permission.
Veer chuckled softly, wiping the last trace of blood from his lip.
“Careful, Rathore,” he added, tilting his head slightly, his tone almost conversational despite the tension crackling between them. “You’re starting to make this… interesting.”
And through it all—Tara stood there.
Right at the center of a storm that had only just begun.
The second the grip on him loosened—even slightly—he tore himself free, his focus snapping straight back to her like nothing else in that room existed. In two long strides, he was in front of Tara, his hand wrapping around her wrist before she could even process it.
Tight and unyielding.
“Let’s go.”
It wasn’t a request.
Before she could respond, he was already dragging her with him, pulling her through the crowd, through the suffocating heat and noise of the bar. People turned, some startled, some curious, but no one stepped in. Something about the way he moved—sharp, furious, barely contained—kept them at a distance.
Tara stumbled once, her heels catching slightly against the floor, but his grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened, his fingers digging into her skin like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go.
Or worse—
like he was trying to remind her that she couldn’t.
The cold night air hit them the moment they pushed through the doors, the music cutting off abruptly behind them. Outside, everything felt quieter, emptier—but the tension followed them out like a shadow.
Aaryan didn’t stop until they were a few steps away from the entrance.
Then he turned.
Fast.
The sound of the slap cut through the silence, sharp and sudden.
Tara’s head snapped slightly to the side from the force of it, the sting blooming across her cheek almost instantly. For a second, everything stilled—the air, the sound, the moment itself hanging in place.
Aaryan’s chest was rising and falling heavily, his hand still half-raised, his entire body rigid with something far beyond anger.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his voice low but shaking with rage. “Sneaking out in the middle of the night? Getting into a car you don’t even know? Walking straight into a place like that—”
His words came fast, harsh, each one cutting sharper than the last.
“Do you have any idea where you were? Who you were with?”
His grip found her wrist again, not as sudden this time but just as firm, like he needed the contact to anchor himself.
“That man—” he scoffed, anger flaring again as he ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping right in front of her again. “Veer Oberoi is not someone you meet casually, Tara. You don’t sit across from him, you don’t let him touch you—”
His voice dropped at that, something darker slipping into it.
“You don’t let him anywhere near you.”
The image clearly hadn’t left his mind.
It burned.
His jaw clenched tightly, his eyes searching her face now—not soft, not gentle, but intense. Demanding. Like he was trying to read everything she wasn’t saying.
“What were you doing there?” he asked again, quieter this time but no less dangerous. “Answer me.”
The night felt heavier around them, the faint glow of the bar’s neon sign flickering behind him, casting shadows across his face that made him look even more unhinged, more unpredictable.
“I leave you alone for one night,” he continued, his tone edged with frustration and something almost… personal, “and you decide to walk straight into danger like you have nothing to lose?”
There it was again.
That line he kept crossing.
His grip tightened just slightly, not enough to hurt—but enough to remind her he wasn’t calm. Not even close.
“You don’t get to be careless like that,” he said, his voice low, controlled in a way that made it more dangerous. “Not when you’re already involved in things you don’t understand.”
A pause.
His eyes locked onto hers.
“And definitely not when it puts you in someone else’s hands.”
For a moment, Tara just stood there.
Silent.
His words hung between them, sharp and suffocating, the sting on her cheek still fresh, her wrist still caught in his grip. She had faced Veer without flinching, held her ground under a gaze that could break most people—but this?
This cracked something.
Her breath hitched before she could stop it.
Then another.
And suddenly, the control she had been holding onto all night just… slipped.
Tears welled up fast, blurring her vision, spilling over before she could turn away or hide it. It wasn’t graceful, it wasn’t quiet—it was messy, raw, pulled straight from a place she didn’t let anyone see.
“I didn’t—” her voice broke, the words catching in her throat as she shook her head slightly, trying to form something coherent and failing. “I didn’t know…”
Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her shoulders trembling despite herself, every emotion she had kept locked down crashing into the surface all at once—fear, confusion, anger, the weight of everything that had just happened.
For the first time that night—
She looked small.
Aaryan exhaled sharply, the anger still there, still burning—but shifting now, tangled with something else. Something quieter and heavier.
Frustration.
Concern he didn’t know how to express without turning it into control.
He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tightening as he looked away for a second, like he was trying to gather himself, trying to push the edge off whatever was still boiling inside him.
Then he looked back at her.
Really looked at her.
The tears. The way her breathing had gone uneven. The way she wasn’t fighting him anymore.
Aaryan let out a low sigh, the tension in his shoulders loosening as he stepped closer again—this time slower, more deliberate. His hand reached for her, not grabbing, not forcing—just… pulling her in.
Tara didn’t resist.
The moment his arms wrapped around her, something in her gave way completely.
She pressed into him, her hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as the tears came harder now, muffled against his chest. Her body shook with it, all the fear she hadn’t allowed herself to feel earlier finally catching up to her.
Aaryan’s hold tightened instinctively.
One arm around her back, the other coming up to her head, pressing her gently against him like he was trying to shield her from something that had already happened.
“Listen…” his voice dropped, softer now, rough at the edges. “Listen… it’s okay.”
It wasn’t, and they both knew it.
But he said it anyway.
His hand moved slowly through her hair, fingers brushing through it in a way that was almost careful, almost grounding. The same man who had been seconds away from tearing someone apart now held her like she might fall apart in his hands if he wasn’t steady enough.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, quieter this time, more to himself than anything. “You’re okay.”
Tara’s grip on him tightened, her face buried against him as she tried to steady her breathing, but the tears didn’t stop immediately. They came in waves, each one pulling something heavier out of her.
For a while, neither of them moved.
The city carried on around them—distant traffic, faint voices, the low thrum of life continuing like nothing had shifted.
But in that moment—Everything had.
Aaryan rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, his eyes closing briefly as he held her there, his expression tightening again—not with anger this time, but with something far more complicated.
Something darker.
Because even as he held her like this…
His mind hadn’t let go of what he had seen inside.
Veer’s hand on her.
Veer’s eyes on her.
And the way Tara hadn’t stepped back.
His grip tightened just slightly.
Not enough for her to notice.
But enough to remind himself—He wasn’t done with this.
Not even close.
For a few seconds, Tara let herself stay there.
Pressed against him, breathing uneven, her fingers still clutching his shirt like it was the only solid thing left. His warmth, his hold, the low murmur of his voice—it almost convinced her that she was safe.
Almost.
And then—Veer’s voice echoed in her head.
You’re in danger, Tara.
Her body went still, completely.
Aaryan felt it instantly—the way she stiffened in his arms, the way her grip shifted, not tighter, not looser… just different. His hand paused where it rested against her hair.
“Tara…?”
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
Her face was a mess—tear-streaked, lashes clumped together, her lips slightly parted as she tried to steady her breathing. But her eyes—Wide.
Something fragile had been replaced with something uncertain. Something questioning.
“Why…” her voice came out soft, trembling at the edges, “why did he say that?”
Aaryan’s expression flickered.
Just for a second.
“What?” he asked, though something in his tone had already sharpened.
Tara swallowed, her fingers loosening against his shirt as she held his gaze, forcing the words out despite the hesitation building inside her.
“Veer,” she said, quieter this time, like the name itself carried weight. “He said I’m in danger… because of you.”
A violent shift in Aaryan came instantly.
Whatever softness had been there—whatever restraint—snapped like it had never existed.
Aaryan’s hand shot up, gripping her jaw hard enough to force her face upward, his fingers pressing into her skin with no trace of gentleness left. The suddenness of it knocked the breath out of her, her eyes widening further as his face darkened right in front of her.
“Don’t,” he snarled, his voice low, sharp, laced with something dangerously unhinged, “take his name.”
His grip tightened.
Painfully.
His eyes burned into hers, all warmth gone, replaced with something cold, something furious, something that made the air around them feel too thin to breathe.
“You don’t get to stand here,” he continued, his words cutting through the space between them, “after everything you just did—and repeat his words to me like they mean something.”
Tara’s breath hitched, her hands instinctively coming up to his wrist, not pushing him away, just holding onto it, caught between fear and shock.
“Aaryan, I—”
“If you say his name again—” he cut her off, his voice dropping even lower, more dangerous, his grip tightening just enough to make her flinch, “I’ll do a lot more than just slap you.”
The threat didn’t feel empty.
It sat there, real and solid between them.
Tara’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out this time. Whatever she had been about to say dissolved completely, her throat tightening as her eyes searched his face—this version of him, not the one who had just been holding her minutes ago.
This one was different.
Unrecognisable.
And terrifyingly real.
Aaryan held her there for a second longer, his chest rising and falling, his anger still pulsing through him like something alive. Then, slowly, he let go—his hand dropping from her jaw, but his gaze staying locked onto hers.
“Stay out of things you don’t understand,” he said, quieter now, but no less intense. “And stop listening to people who don’t know what they’re talking about.”
His tone didn’t soften.
Not this time.
“Or you’ll end up exactly where he wants you.”
The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was heavy, charged, filled with everything that had just been said and everything that hadn’t. Tara’s breathing was still uneven, her cheek still stinging faintly, her thoughts tangled and loud in her head.
Aaryan didn’t give her time to sort through any of it.
His hand came to her waist suddenly, firm and unyielding, fingers pressing into her side as he pulled her toward him again—not gently this time, not protective.
Possessive.
“Enough,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her.
Before she could react, he was already moving, dragging her along with him toward the parking area. His grip didn’t loosen, his pace sharp and impatient, like he needed to get her out of there before something else could go wrong.
Or before he could.
Tara stumbled slightly trying to keep up, her heels clicking unevenly against the pavement, but he didn’t slow down. The distance to the car felt shorter than it should have, the night air colder now, biting against her skin as the adrenaline from everything that had just happened refused to settle.
He reached his car, yanked the door open, and shoved her inside the car roughly.
“Get in.”
Tara held his gaze for a second, something flickering in her eyes—hurt, anger, something deeper—but it didn’t last. Not under the weight of his stare. Not with everything still spinning inside her.
Aaryan shut the door harder than necessary before rounding the car and getting in himself. The engine roared to life almost instantly, the sound cutting through the quiet as he pulled out without another word.
The drive back was tense.
Silent.
The kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful—it pressed against them, filled with unsaid things, sharp edges, questions that neither of them dared to speak aloud right now.
Aaryan’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles pale, his jaw locked as his eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead. The city lights flickered across his face, briefly illuminating the storm that hadn’t settled inside him.
His mind wasn’t on the road.
It was replaying everything.
Veer’s hand on her.
Veer’s voice.
The way Tara had stood there, unafraid.
It twisted something ugly inside him.
Beside him, Tara sat still, her hands resting in her lap, fingers curled slightly as if holding onto something invisible. Her cheek still burned faintly, her jaw still aching where he had gripped her, but that wasn’t what lingered the most.
It was his words.
His threat.
The way he had looked at her like she had crossed a line she didn’t even know existed.
Her eyes drifted to him for a brief second, studying his profile in the dim light—the sharp tension in his face, the controlled anger still simmering beneath the surface.
The car sped through the empty roads, cutting through the silence like it was trying to outrun whatever had started back at that bar.
The car cut through the empty streets, engine humming low, the city slipping past in blurred streaks of light and shadow. Inside, the silence stretched thin—too thin—like it could snap with the smallest sound.
Tara didn’t make one.
Just quiet tears.
They slipped down her face without warning, without control, her gaze fixed somewhere ahead but not really seeing anything. Her breathing had evened out, but it wasn’t calm—it was controlled, like she was holding everything in with sheer force.
Her hands stayed folded in her lap, fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, gripping it just enough to ground herself.
She didn’t want him to notice.
But of course—He did.
Aaryan’s jaw tightened almost immediately, his grip on the steering wheel shifting as his eyes flickered toward her for a second before snapping back to the road.
The tears irritated him.
Not because they didn’t matter. But because he didn’t know what to do with them. Because they made everything messier than it already was.
He exhaled sharply, like he was trying to ignore it, trying to focus on the road, on anything else—but the silence only made it worse. The quiet crying, the way she didn’t say anything, didn’t fight back, didn’t react—It got under his skin.
“Stop it,” he muttered under his breath.
Tara didn’t respond.
Didn’t even look at him.
Another tear slipped down her cheek.
That was it.
Aaryan’s control snapped again, his head turning toward her, frustration flashing across his face.
“I said stop it,” he snapped, his voice sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Crying like this isn’t going to fix anything.”
Tara flinched slightly at the sudden harshness, her fingers tightening in her lap, but she still didn’t speak.
That only made it worse.
“What?” he continued, his tone edged with irritation, something raw and unfiltered slipping through. “Now you’re going to sit there and act like I’m the villain?”
His laugh was short, humourless.
“You sneak out in the middle of the night, walk straight into a place like that, let a man like him get close to you—and I’m supposed to what? Sit back and watch?”
His words came faster now, sharper, like he was trying to justify something even to himself.
“You have no idea what you’re doing, Tara. None. And then you stand there questioning me like—like you actually understand any of this.”
He shook his head slightly, exhaling through his nose, his grip tightening again on the wheel.
“And now this?” he added, glancing at her again, irritation still heavy in his voice. “The silent crying act?”
Tara’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something—but nothing came out. Her throat tightened again, her eyes dropping to her lap as she tried harder to stop the tears.
But they didn’t stop.
They just came quieter.
Aaryan looked at her for a second longer before turning his gaze back to the road, his expression hardening again, though something flickered beneath it—something he refused to acknowledge.
“Pull yourself together,” he said finally, his voice lower now, but still cold. “Because this isn’t the kind of world where you get to fall apart every time something scares you.”
The words hung between them.
The car slowed so abruptly that it took Tara a second to realize what was happening.
One moment they were slicing through the empty road, tension thick enough to choke on—And the next—Aaryan pulled over.
The tires scraped lightly against the pavement as the car came to a sudden halt in front of a small, dimly lit ice-cream parlour tucked between two closed shops. Its soft pastel lights glowed faintly against the darkness, almost out of place in the heavy, suffocating night they had just carried with them.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Tara blinked, her tears still clinging to her lashes, her mind struggling to catch up with the shift.
What…?
Aaryan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to shake something off. His grip on the steering wheel loosened slightly, then tightened again, like he couldn’t decide what to do with himself.
“What flavour do you like?”
His voice came out gruff, almost irritated.
Like the question itself annoyed him.
Tara just stared at him, completely thrown off.
“What?” she asked softly, her voice still uneven from crying.
Aaryan finally glanced at her, his expression still hard, still tense—but there was something off now. Something… conflicted.
“Ice cream,” he said, like it was obvious, though his tone lacked any real patience. “What flavour.”
The question hung there, absurd in its normalcy after everything that had just happened.
Tara frowned slightly, her brows knitting together as she tried to process it. Her cheek still stung. Her chest still felt tight. Her eyes still burned from crying.
And he was asking about ice cream.
“I… don’t—” she hesitated, confused, her voice quieter now. “Why?”
Aaryan clicked his tongue softly, irritation flickering again, though it didn’t feel as sharp this time.
“Just answer the goddamn question, Tara.”
There was something in the way he said it—not aggressive, not threatening… just impatient, like he didn’t have the words for whatever he was actually trying to do.
Tara swallowed, looking at him for a moment longer before answering, almost uncertainly—
“Chocolate.”
Aaryan nodded once, like that settled it.
“Stay here.”
And just like that, he pushed the door open and stepped out of the car, shutting it behind him a little too firmly.
Tara watched him through the window, still confused, still trying to piece together the sudden shift. He walked toward the parlour with that same rigid posture, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense—like the anger hadn’t gone anywhere, it had just… changed direction.
Inside the car, the silence returned.
Tara wiped at her cheek slowly, her fingers brushing away the last of her tears as she kept watching him through the glass, her mind still spinning.
Just minutes ago, he had been yelling at her. Threatening her. Looking at her like she had crossed some unforgivable line.
And now—Ice cream?
Her lips parted slightly, a faint, disbelieving breath escaping her.
She didn’t understand him.
Not even a little.
The passenger door opened with a dull thud.
Tara looked up instantly and froze.
Aaryan slid back into the driver’s seat like nothing had happened—but it had. It was written all over him. His lip was split, a thin line of blood still fresh against his skin, and his knuckles—scraped raw and bleeding.
For a second, Tara just stared, her confusion snapping into something else entirely.
Concern.
“What—” she leaned forward slightly, her brows pulling together, her voice still soft but urgent now, “what happened to you?”
Aaryan didn’t even look at her. He shut the door, tossed something onto her lap—a small cup of ice cream—and started the engine again like this was just another normal moment in his night.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered, his tone flat, dismissive.
Tara looked down.
Chocolate.
Her grip tightened slightly around the cup before her eyes flicked back to him, scanning his face again, the blood, the tension still sitting in his jaw.
“That’s not nothing,” she said, a little more firmly this time. “You’re bleeding—”
“I said it’s nothing,” he snapped, sharper now, irritation flaring again as he finally glanced at her.
But it didn’t shut her up.
Not this time.
Her gaze didn’t drop. If anything, it held steadier, softer—but stubborn.
“What did you do?” she asked quietly.
Aaryan exhaled harshly, looking away again, like the question itself was unnecessary. Like he didn’t want to answer it.
But she didn’t look away. Didn’t let it go.
The silence stretched for a few seconds before he finally spoke again, his voice lower now, edged with annoyance more than anger.
“They said it was sold out.”
Tara blinked, confused. “What?”
“The chocolate,” he said, gripping the steering wheel again, his knuckles tightening despite the fresh cuts. “The guy inside said they were out of it.”
A pause.
Then, almost like it irritated him to even explain—
“So I told him to check again.”
Tara’s breath caught slightly as she watched him, already knowing where this was going.
“And?” she asked, softer now.
Aaryan let out a humourless huff, shaking his head slightly.
“And he didn’t.”
Another pause.
His jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead like the memory itself annoyed him.
“So I made him.”
The words were simple.
Too simple.
Tara stared at him, her fingers tightening around the ice cream cup in her lap, her throat going slightly dry as she processed it.
“You… fought him?” she asked, almost disbelieving.
Aaryan finally glanced at her again, something sharp flickering in his eyes—not regret, not apology.
Just certainty.
“He had it in the back,” he said, like that justified everything. “He just didn’t want to go get it.”
Tara didn’t respond immediately.
Her gaze dropped slowly to the ice cream in her hands, the lid slightly fogged from the cold, her reflection faintly visible in it.
Chocolate.
Her favorite.
Her chest tightened, something unfamiliar and complicated twisting inside her.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly.
Aaryan scoffed lightly, looking away again.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I did.”
The car started moving again, the silence returning—but it wasn’t the same as before.
It wasn’t just heavy anymore.
It was confusing.
Because the same man who had just slapped her, threatened her, snapped at her for crying—Had also walked into a shop and started a fight…
Just to get her the one thing she had said she liked.
Tara swallowed slightly, her grip loosening just a little around the cup as she sat there, staring at it.
Trying—And failing—To understand him.
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