There are moments in life when the world doesn't shatter with sound.
It splinters in silence.
And Rivan Malhotra had mastered silence.
He'd worn it like a second skin since the age of eight.
The day his mother stopped looking at him like her son and started looking through him like a ghost.
The day his father's belt met skin for the first time and didn't stop until pain felt like home.
The day his older brother's body floated in their swimming pool while he stood on the edge, screaming for help that never came fast enough.
That was the day Rivan died.
The boy.
The innocent.
The good.
The man who rose from that grave wasn't born of light.
He was carved from the shadows his family buried him under.
And now, as he stared down at the birthday invitation that had no business reaching his hands, silence came again — not gentle, not calm, but cruel and absolute. Because on that cream card with golden borders was the name of the man who'd built his empire on blood, debt, and betrayal.
Arvind Mehra.
Ishita Mehra's father.
The man who destroyed his family's business.
The man whose lies drove Rivan's mother into madness and his father into violence.
The man who signed their ruin with a smile and watched a little boy beg for scraps in a house built on loss.
Rivan's jaw ticked.
His hands, cold and precise, folded the card with the kind of care one gave a body before burying it.
And then... he smiled.
Not the kind of smile you give a friend.
The kind you offer the executioner — just before pulling the blade yourself.
They called him a prince in the underworld now.
The heir to syndicates built in blood and silence.
A ghost who'd turned trauma into empire.
Rivan Malhotra, the man who never blinked, never bent, and never let a single piece move on the chessboard without his permission.
★
The world of the Mehra's was never a place for a man like Rivan Malhotra.
He didn't care about their opulence, their masquerades of power, or their celebrations. The wealth, the luxury — they meant nothing.
It was a game of smoke and mirrors.
Pretend smiles.
Fake gestures.
A place where every hand offered a deal, and every smile hid a dagger.
The Mehra family's mansion was grander than any of his expectations — marble floors that gleamed like glass, chandeliers sparkling above, and voices of laughter that rang in the air like a well-rehearsed symphony.
It was beautiful.
It was hollow.
It was everything he hated.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
The party.
The smiles.
The laughter.
He had no interest in these gatherings, not since his father had turned them into a game of dominance.
And yet, there he was — surrounded by laughter and glistening chandeliers, each step he took echoing too loudly in his ears.
These weren't his world.
He was here on business.
Always business.
Rivan Malhotra, the heir to one of the most ruthless empires in the country, had no time for celebrations. No need for the pretentious airs of the high society to whom he was a ghost, a shadow.
They only saw his name, not the monster who wore it.
But there was something about it that still caught his attention.
And it wasn't just the breathtaking grandeur of the estate.
It was her.
Ishita Mehra.
She stood at the center of the room, her smile soft but forced, and though she was surrounded by guests, it was clear her mind was elsewhere. Her golden-brown eyes held a faraway look, distant yet somehow entrancing.
She was a stark contrast to the plastic world of the party.
She was real, and in a room full of phoniness, it was that raw authenticity that caught Rivan off guard.
He'd seen the photos, done the surveillance
And he hadn't expected her like that.
He expected a Mehra — polished, cold, bred on privilege and ruthless legacy.
A spoiled daughter wrapped in silks and secrets, her life untouched by the blood her father had spilled.
And there she was — standing at the edge of power and opulence, untouched by both.
Not hiding, not posing.
Just... existing.
Quietly.
Like a breath he hadn't taken in years.
She had fire in her.
Not the kind that scorched.
The kind that smoldered slowly,
The kind that burned everything down when ignored too long.
That made her dangerous.
The girl he was going to marry to burn her father's empire to the ground.
She was nothing like he'd imagined.
Not fragile.
Not naive.
She wore sadness like perfume — subtle, clinging, invisible until you were close enough to feel it in your lungs.
Her eyes weren't soft.
They were wide.
Watchful. Haunted.
And that struck him harder than he liked.
Because Rivan had built his life on spotting weakness.
She didn't look weak.
She looked wounded.
And wounds?
He understood those too well.
★
He watched her before she even noticed him.
Leaned against a marble pillar, drink untouched, wearing a suit that cost more than most families made in a year — and yet, still feeling like the poor boy from a broken house, drowning in silence.
Ishita laughed at something someone said, the sound delicate, unsure — like she hadn't done it in a while.
Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her pale blue dress. Her posture was poised, but her eyes kept scanning the room, looking for someone who would never come.
She was laughing, the sound ringing through the air, and he didn't want to hear it.
He didn't.
But his eyes were drawn to her like the pull of gravity, helpless against the force that kept bringing him back to her.
When he stepped into the room, his gaze instinctively found her — standing at the center of the room, graceful and poised. A vision of elegance, her dress draped perfectly over her, a soft blue hue that made her appear as though she belonged in a painting.
But it wasn't her beauty that gripped him.
It was her presence.
A girl who was untouched, untarnished by the brutality of the world he knew, standing among the guests, surrounded by smiles and polite conversation, but the look in her eyes was anything but detached.
There was an unease there, a quiet sadness that Rivan had learned to spot like a predator spotting its prey.
It was the type of sadness that could break a person without anyone noticing.
She doesn't belong here.
The thought was sudden.
Invasive.
Rivan hated how true it felt.
This wasn't a place for girls like her — the ones with broken edges they tried to hide.
This was a place for monsters like him.
And monsters didn't fall for the light.
They crushed it.
He approached her like he approached everything — with purpose.
With calculation.
With the calm of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.
He wanted her father ruined.
He wanted Ishita's last name in his grip like a knife pressed against Arvind Mehra's throat.
He wanted to turn this girl into a weapon, marry her under the illusion of love, and then tear the Mehra's apart from the inside.
But as he stood in front of her — and she looked up, startled, curious, cautious — something shifted.
She didn't smile.
She didn't flirt.
She didn't look impressed.
She looked tired.
And Rivan didn't know what to do with that.
"Are you lost?" she asked, voice quiet but steady.
That surprised him.
People didn't usually speak to him like that — not in this city, not in this world.
They spoke with fear, with desperation, with greed.
But her?
She just looked... unimpressed.
"No," he said smoothly. "I came here for something. And I found it."
Her brow lifted, eyes narrowing slightly. "And what exactly did you find?"
He smiled — slow, deliberate, dangerous.
"You."
It was a performance.
A move on the board.
One she wasn't supposed to question.
But Ishita Mehra was already unraveling the plan without realizing it.
With her silence.
With her restraint.
With that flicker of something behind her eyes — distrust, grief, maybe even defiance — that told him she hadn't been untouched by pain.
That made her unpredictable.
And Rivan Malhotra hated surprises.
The rest of the evening was a blur.
By the time the night ended, he had one thing he hadn't walked in expecting.
Not control.
Not victory.
Curiosity.
She'd looked over her shoulder once before disappearing into the dark corridor — and in that glance, he saw everything he wasn't ready for.
Loneliness.
Hope.
Fire.
And in his chest, something cold and ancient stirred.
Rivan's fingers tightened around his glass of whiskey.
He had made a decision years ago: he would destroy everything that her family had built, every connection, every empire.
And Ishita, the innocent girl who had been born into it all, was going to be his means of doing so.
You're going to ruin her, a voice inside him whispered.
He didn't flinch.
"I know."
★
"I didn't expect you to come," Arvind's voice cut through his thoughts. The man was older, graying at the temples but still imposing, still an architect of the empire Rivan had come to destroy. Arvind smiled broadly as if they were old friends. "But we would be honored if you would join us."
Rivan's lips twitched into a cold smile. "Of course. I never turn down an invitation from a man of your stature."
But it was a lie.
He wasn't here for friendship.
He wasn't here for anything good.
He was here because of what she meant.
What her father meant.
The fragile empire built on debts and secrets.
This birthday was just a façade, a pretty little mask for the cracks in their world.
Ishita Mehra didn't know it yet, but she was already marked.
Not by accident.
Not by fate.
But by design.
Rivan hadn't just walked into her 18th birthday tonight—he had walked into her life with the precision of a blade aimed straight at the heart.
And now that he'd seen her—touched the edges of her innocence, tasted the calm before the chaos—there was no going back.
We will meet again :)
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