FEISHA POV:

I could turn away, Naira caught my hand. “Feisha, come here! I want you to meet someone.”

“No, yaar—” I tried to resist.

Too late.

Naira dragged me to him like fate dragging two pawns into the center of a chessboard.

“Meet Aviraaj Kapoor,” she beamed. “Abhimaan’s childhood friend.”

Aviraaj Kapoor.

Something about the name tickled the back of my memory, but I couldn't place it.

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at me like he already knew me.

“Kapoor,” I said softly.

His lips twitched. “And you must be Feisha.”

That voice.

That calm, commanding, quietly dangerous tone—it wasn’t the kind of voice you forget.

“Feisha Ahuja, my best friend , she is an introvert and quiet,” Naira teased. “Until she bakes. Then she won’t shut up.”

“I like quiet,” he said, eyes still on me. “It’s usually hiding something more interesting.”

I looked at him, trying to understand the layers behind his smirk. “Maybe you just don’t listen hard enough.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Or maybe you’re not used to being looked at like this.”

My breath caught.

Who did this guy think he was?

Before I could respond, someone called Naira away, leaving us… alone.

Silence stretched between us.

Not awkward. Dangerous.

He finally asked, “You always wear silver rings? Or does this one mean something?”

I glanced down at the antique silver ring I wore on my index finger—engraved with an old crest I never paid attention to.

“It’s my grandmother’s. Just… a family thing,” I said.

He nodded, but his gaze lingered.

“I don’t usually come to these events,” I admitted before I could stop myself.

“Then I’m lucky,” he said.

I looked up sharply. “Why?”

“Because tonight,” he leaned slightly closer, “you did.”

AVIRAAJ'S POV 

She had no idea who I was.

And yet, she looked at me like she could read parts of me no one else dared to touch.

Feisha Ahuja.

I didn’t register the last name right away. It sounded familiar—like a name I’d heard across conference tables and through filtered rage—but I didn’t connect her to those Ahujas.

Not yet.

Because when I looked at her, I wasn’t thinking about revenge, power, or control.

I was thinking about how someone could look that soft in a world so damn sharp.

She wasn’t the kind of girl who belonged in this mess of empires built on threats and blood money. She was the type who baked cupcakes, scribbled in journals, probably cried during sad movies.

She was untouched.

Unarmed.

And yet, somehow, I felt disarmed.

One look, and she tilted something in me I didn’t like being touched.

I watched her fingers play with the old ring she wore—silver, traditional, engraved. She had no idea that kind of detail meant something in my world. That every crest had a name. Every name had blood behind it.

But she was innocent. Blissfully unaware.

And God help me—I wanted to keep her that way.

FEISHA POV:

Aviraaj Kapoor.

His name echoed in my chest like it was meant to mean something more.

He was too confident.

Too smooth.

Too... calculated.

And yet—I couldn’t ignore it.

The way my pulse reacted.

The way I wanted to hear him say my name again.

I stared up at the stars, clutching the railing of the balcony.

He’s just a guy, I told myself.

Right?