Prologue

Scene 1

3 years ago

The sky was blanketed with heavy, dark clouds, as though it was hiding a secret. The wind howled across the beach, whipping up sand that stung against the skin. Rain fell in torrents, pounding down like it wanted to wash away the sorrow hanging in the air. The ocean raged with restless waves, crashing furiously against the shore, echoing the pain of the world itself.

And there she stood—Kashvi Agnihotri.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t care about the storm raging around her. Her red Anarkali suit clung to her body, drenched completely, the fabric sticking to her like a second skin. Her braid had loosened in the rain, a few damp strands curling against her tear-streaked face.

Closing her red, swollen eyes, she exhaled a heavy sigh. Then, without thinking, she spread her arms wide and began to dance. Each step was filled with pain that words could never express. Her anklets jingled faintly, their sound blending with the rhythm of the storm. For Kashvi, dance had always been her healing—a way to ease wounds too deep to name. But tonight, it wasn’t enough. The betrayal still cut deep. Tears slipped down her cheeks, mixing with the rain as she spun in circles, asking silently, “God, have You written only pain in my destiny? Am I truly so unworthy of happiness?”

Her movements grew more intense, the storm around her becoming a partner in her anguish. She was fragile and strong all at once, a wild storm wrapped in human form.

Far away, Dharv Raichand was returning from the warehouse, his hands still stained with the ruthlessness of the night. For a man like him, death had no weight—he killed, he conquered, and he moved on. But something stopped him in his tracks.

The sound of anklets.

At first faint, then clearer with each step he took. His chest tightened, his heartbeat grew unsteady—louder, faster, as if it would break free from his ribcage. For reasons unknown, fear struck him. A fear that if he ignored this sound, he would lose something precious.

He quickened his pace. Then he saw her.

A lone woman, drenched in rain, dancing on the shore as if she belonged to the storm itself. Her movements were graceful yet broken, beautiful yet filled with agony. Dharv had faced death countless times without flinching, but in that moment, he was helpless. Spellbound.

For the first time, the Dharv Raichand—a man who laughed at the very idea of love—felt his heart surrender. At first sight, to a woman he didn’t even know.

His hand pressed against his chest as though trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart. A smile tugged at his lips, rare and strange for him.

“What magic have you cast on me, little wolf?” he whispered.

But the spell broke when his gaze fell to her feet. They were bleeding, leaving faint red marks in the wet sand. Her tear-stained face, though partly hidden by the rain, struck something sharp inside him. Anger surged. Whoever had hurt her—whoever had dared to break her spirit—would pay with their life.

He took a step forward, ready to see her face, when a gunshot cracked through the storm. The sound echoed across the empty beach. Dharv spun around, scanning the shadows. By the time he turned back—she was gone.

Like a ghost, she had vanished.

Frantic, he ran toward the spot where she had been dancing, searching the shoreline. Then he saw her—just a glimpse of her retreating figure, disappearing into the night. He moved to follow, but something on the ground caught his eye.

An anklet.

Kneeling down, Dharv picked it up carefully. Blood and sand clung to its delicate silver. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he rubbed it clean against his shirt before pressing it to his lips. A strange warmth filled his chest.

Sliding the anklet into his pocket, he straightened and walked back toward his men, a dangerous smile curling on his face.

“You’re mine, little wolf...” he muttered softly, the storm still raging around him. “...And I’ll find you soon.”

____

Scene 2

The Velvet Syndicate — Italy

He stood in the dim light like a shadow given shape, draped in a tailored black suit that seemed to drink in the room’s weak glow. His black shirt was unbuttoned just enough to hint at a cold, measured confidence beneath; the tie at his throat matched the suit in its strict, uncompromising neatness. Every movement was exact, economical—predatory, as if he waited for the perfect instant to strike. His gaze was a hard, piercing blade that cut clean through the hotel corridor, and the air around him felt heavier simply because he was there.

Each step he took toward the hotel room carried that same quiet menace. His eyes scanned the halls, taking in details without a flicker of surprise. He was there to take care of business—clients, deals, decisions. He did what needed to be done with a face like a stone mask. When he finished, cool and composed, he turned to leave.

Then he collided with her.

She was a broken shape—drugged, sweating, trembling. Her hands shook, stained with blood; hiding her face behind a piece of cloth ,her breath came in small, jagged gasps. For a moment he only saw the ruined edges of her: torn clothes, beads of perspiration glinting on pale skin, the small, terrified tremor in her body. Something in him stirred—an echo of the day he first felt that strange pull.

She lifted her head slowly and their eyes met.

Her gaze sank into him and, as if by some quiet spell, she was pulled under. Those blue ocean eyes held her—calm and storm at once—capturing every fragment of her attention. There was a tender, fierce something in them that mirrored back at her; with a sudden, terrible clarity, the same loss and longing inside himself. Neither of them wanted to break that lock of vision. It felt sacred, fragile—the most serene thing either had seen—and both stood rooted, wanting only to remain lost in it forever.

She tried to say sorry. The word escaped as a thin, broken whisper; her voice cracked with effort, each breath a small battle. He reached up without thinking, wiped the rain of tears from her cheek with his thumb, and cupped her face as if she might shatter otherwise—because in that flash she was everything he had ever wanted.

She shoved him away and fled, tearing past him and staining his shirt with blood. Did it matter? He barely noticed the ruin. Dharv stood frozen, glued in place. He had never been moved by a woman before—not like this. Not ever. Yet now, for the second time in his life, he felt alarmingly alive.

He had wanted, in that instant, to gather her into his arms. To cover the torn fabric clinging to her skin, to see her face clearly, to wipe away every tear, to hide her from a world that had hurt her. He imagined holding her as if she were a fragile doll—protecting, sheltering, refusing to let any harm near her.

He turned, expecting to follow, to chase the retreating silhouette—but the corridor was suddenly empty. An emptiness opened inside him the way an inhale becomes a missing breath. It was as if she had taken the air from his lungs, and he was left with a chest of stone again.

A fierce, scorching surge rose in him—an urge to burn the whole world for daring to hurt her. But even as that rage flared, a thousand questions collided in his mind. Why did he want to incinerate everything for a woman he didn’t know? Why did the sight of her wound him so deeply, again? Had they met before somewhere in a life he couldn’t remember? Was this really love at first sight—or simply a strange, stupid, stubborn feeling he couldn’t name? 🤔

He stood there, the corridor swallowing sound, his shirt damp with another person’s blood, his heart suddenly tied to a woman who had vanished as quickly as she had appeared. The questions echoed in the silence, fierce and unanswered—yet beneath them all, a single, blunt certainty hummed: he would find her.

_________

Scene 3

“She’s alive and living her life happily... what should we do... should we kill her?”

The man’s words came out sharp, soaked in hatred. He was in his forties—Mr. Shivam Chauhan—his voice low and dangerous.

“She has no right to live... she should be dead by this time but it’s your fault... why you let her go!!” he hissed, each syllable heavy with accusation.

Mr. Chauhan’s face changed. Fury ripped through him. “Don’t you dare speak a word about her... she’s our own blood... she’s our daughter!” He lunged forward and gripped Shivam’s neck in a sudden, terrifying motion, choking him as if that would squeeze the words from him.

.......

Shivam’s cry was small and frantic. “I’m really sorry, I don’t know about it... please leave me...” he begged, voice breaking. The plea sounded thin against the hard walls of the room.

Mr. Chauhan loosened his grip at last. Shivam coughed and gasped, each breath painful as he tried to draw air into his lungs again. The two men remained there, breathing hard, talking in the closed space, convinced they were alone.

They did not know someone else was listening.

A boy had slipped out before he could be seen—feet careful, heart loud. He ran away as soon as the door closed, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. Outside, breathless and shaking, he pieced together the fragments he had heard. The words looped in his head until they formed a single terrible shape.

“They mean... th-they mean I’ve a sister and she’s alive,” he whispered to himself, voice barely a breath. Questions crowded him all at once: Where is she? Why didn’t anyone tell me? Who is she? The discovery felt like both a wound and a key—painful, and also opening a door to something he’d never known.

With those questions knotting his chest, he left—walking away with a bundle of doubts and a fierce, new resolve growing inside him.

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These are the few scenes i wanted to unfold before starting the story...hope you guys will support me in my journey.

Please follow me on Insta and Wattpad.

Ending with love 💕,

Gunjan 💞 ✨