The night air was dense. Heavy. As if it carried warnings meant for those who dared challenge fate.
Janhavi stood by her apartment window, her trembling fingers tracing the edge of her trishul pendant. She hadn't told anyone. Not even her house staff. She hadn't breathed a word about the message.
Because saying it aloud meant giving him power again.
Aarav.
The name alone made her stomach churn.
He wasn't just an ex. He was a predator dressed in trust.
And now he was back—marking his territory, daring her to fall apart again.
But she wouldn't. Not this time.
She had built an empire. She had walked over men like him in courtrooms and back alleys. She had blood on her hands, prayers on her lips, and Shiva in her breath.
She would not be weak again.
---
Across the city, Agastya stared at the confidential file lying on his desk. His top security analyst had delivered it an hour ago.
Janhavi Jha.
On paper: lawyer, fierce, undefeated, highly ethical.
But the background check?
Spotless. Too spotless. It smelled like cleaned-up history.
"Who are you, Miss Jha?" he murmured, flipping through photos, digital traces, blurred images from six years ago.
A woman in shadows.
A courthouse scandal.
A blood-stained file that mysteriously vanished from police archives.
One photograph caught his eye.
Janhavi —27 years old. Bruised. Broken. But her eyes? Still burning.
Agastya leaned back, heart thudding louder than it should.
Whatever this girl had survived… it hadn't killed her.
It had forged her.
But what was she hiding now?
---
The next morning, fate decided to play cruel.
Agastya walked into a high-profile legal briefing and saw her.
Janhavi. Draped in a navy-blue saree, heels echoing with every step. Calm. Dangerous.
Their eyes locked.
"You stalking me now?" she said under her breath as they passed.
He leaned close, his words cold enough to freeze her blood.
"Just curious what kind of woman scrubs her past so clean… it screams guilt."
Janhavi's heart skipped, but her smile never faltered.
"You should be careful, Mr. Singhania. Poking old wounds can get messy."
Agastya smirked. "I'm not afraid of blood."
Her voice dropped an octave.
"You should be. Mine spills fire."
And just like that—they parted.
But neither of them noticed the figure watching from a distance.
Aarav.
Smiling.
Lurking.
Waiting.