{"Power was his weapon, control his language. But behind cold eyes burned a storm she couldn't buy or break. Two souls clashed—not with fists, but with defiance and pain—where mercy was weakness, and every choice could shatter them both.}
"If this coffee spills, I'm going home," Meher whispered to herself, the cool glass in her hand a small comfort. "Let fate decide."
Fate, it turned out, had other plans.
THUD.
Her perfect iced Americano splashed. A dark, cold wave hit her crisp white dress, leaving an ugly stain. Her mouth opened, ready to unleash a storm of angry words. But then her eyes met his.
His eyes were dark. Deep. Dangerous. They didn't just look; they saw. They looked right through her fancy clothes and icy stare, straight to her boiling anger. It was a look that disarmed her, not with charm, but with pure, unapologetic intensity.
"Are you blind?!" Meher hissed, pointing at her ruined dress. "My coffee—ruined!"
The man barely blinked. His eyes, still on hers for a moment too long, then flickered to a waiter. "Get her another one," he said, his voice low and commanding. "It's on me."
"I'm not poor," Meher snapped, her voice like ice. "Keep your money."
He didn't react, just a hint of dismissal in his dark eyes. "Good. Now move."
She glared, furious. Everything in her screamed at his arrogance. This man, whoever he was, dared to treat Meher Khan with such disrespect. "You'll pay for this," she vowed, her voice quiet but sharp.
A dry, almost bored amusement touched his lips. "Cash or UPI? Hurry—I don't have time."
"Do you think everything can be bought with money?" Meher asked, a sudden crack in her tough shell. A single tear, a betrayal, slid down her cheek.
With a cool smirk and a raised eyebrow, he delivered his final blow. "Of course, Miss. Now, get out of my way."
Meher could have fought back. She could have said a hundred cutting things. But controlling that single tear, that unexpected flood of emotion, was all that mattered. So, with silent, burning anger, she let him go. She just stared as he turned and walked away.
*A Secret Room*
Zayn left the café, the annoying encounter already forgotten. His black car, sleek and powerful, waited. The driver, quick and efficient, opened the door. Zayn slid into the cool leather seats. The driver got in, and the car pulled away smoothly.
They didn't drive far. The car stopped silently at the back of Zayn's company building. The driver opened the door again. Zayn stepped out, his eyes already scanning the area. His secretary, Faqair Khan, rushed over, looking worried.
"Sir, please come this way," Faqair urged, pointing to a plain, unmarked door on the building's back wall.
This was no ordinary door. Behind it was a secret room, completely soundproof. No city noise could get in, and no sound from inside could get out.
Faqair opened the door, showing the dimly lit room. Zayn walked in, and the air immediately felt heavy.
Inside, only three people were there: two silent bodyguards, and a man tied to a chair.
Zayn slowly took off his tie, his eyes fixed on the man. As soon as the man saw Zayn, he started crying, begging.
"Sir, I didn't do anything! Please forgive me! I'm begging you, sir!" the man pleaded, his voice choked with fear.
A small, chilling smile appeared on Zayn's face. He walked closer, his steps slow and steady. He paused, placing a hand, almost gently, on the man's head. "Hmm… what was the first rule in the agreement you signed?" he asked, his voice calm, too calm.
The man shook his head wildly, tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry, sir! Please! I'll never do it again!"
Zayn's smirk grew wider, a cruel, sharp glint in his eyes. "Never again? You won't even live to try again."
Just then, Faqair handed Zayn a gun and stepped back. The man in the chair sobbed louder, begging again, "Please, sir! I didn't do anything wrong!"
Zayn gave a soft, cruel laugh that sent shivers down the spine. "Nothing wrong? You betrayed me. You leaked our information to someone else. And now you say you did nothing wrong?" He pressed the cold gun to the man's head.
"Faqair," he asked, his voice a low growl, "what was the first rule?"
Faqair replied calmly, "Betrayers will die a painful death."
Zayn nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the man's terrified face. "Hmm… so now what?"
The man cried harder, a desperate, guttural sound. "Please, sir! I beg you!"
Zayn gave him one last, chilling smirk. "Hope we never meet again."
Then, he pulled the trigger.
To be continued.....
("Some rules are written in ink, clear and unchanging. But Zayn's rules were written in blood — sharp, irreversible, and carved into the bones of anyone foolish enough to cross him.")
[Chp-3 realising date 27/07/2025]
"Thank you for stepping into this world with me. Remember, behind every act of strength is a story of struggle—and sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is hold on, even when everything feels like it's falling apart. Thanks a lot for giving us your time. Stay safe and take care of everyone around you."
— Yours, Galaxy's Eyes