As children, we are taught in simple terms:
Heroes wear white. Villains wear black.
Good and evil are clear, clean, and separate. But the world is not.
What we were never told is that some of the kindest hearts beat inside feared men.
And some of the darkest crimes were committed in the name of righteousness, like sati in modern India.Ā
Pretty Please š¦
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The bar throbbed with neon and bass, but Saanvi Desai was the real storm. Furious with Kabir Chauhan, the Assistant Commissioner of Police who ruled her heart and her temper, she downed tequila like it was ammunition, swaying against strangers, her laughter sharp enough to cut. Every glance, every touch was aimed at one man-watching her from the shadows like a predator. Kabir's gaze never left her, jaw tight, control fraying. When a stranger's hand slid too low on her waist, he moved-cutting through the crowd, shoving the guy back with a growled, "Get your hands off her." "You don't own me, Kabir!" she snapped, heels wobbling as she fought his grip. The man puffed his chest. "Who the hell are you?" Kabir didn't look at him. He simply set his service pistol on the table. Clunk. The music stopped, the bar froze, and the stranger's bravado bled away. Saanvi's breath hitched under Kabir's dark, unblinking stare-a silent warning that the most dangerous thing in the room wasn't the gun. It was him. (. ā į“ ā.) Kabir Chauhan - Assistant Commissioner of Police Disciplined. Reserved. Calculated. A man who thrives on order, strategy, and the weight of responsibility. His life is a checklist of rules-and he never breaks them. Saanvi Desai - Surgeon Passionate. Fearless. Impulsive. A woman who trusts her instincts over logic, runs toward chaos instead of away, and believes some risks are worth taking.
"Stay right there, Liz," he commanded, his voice cold and controlled, slicing through the quiet empty room. I froze, my heart pounding, knowing resistance would cost me. But something inside me snapped. "I won't," I said, my voice trembling but defiant, barely loud enough to reach him. The words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone braver. He turned, his eyes darkening as he closed the distance between us. "What makes you think you get a choice?" His tone was venomous, and my fleeting courage crumbled, leaving me at the mercy of this monster. Before I could back away or beg, his hand cracked across my face, the sharp sting of the slap forcing me to stumble against the wall. His voice was a venomous hiss: "You are mine to break and mend, Liz. Don't make me prove it again." I'm Lucious Bane, and Liz Wilson is mine-her every step, her every thought, I shape. My control keeps her close, but her defiance stirs a darkness I can't tame, reminding me of my mother's whispering truths. But one thought drives me through the chaos, the only thing that keeps me grounded: CONTROL.
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