Chapter 6: The Poison in the Honey
The plan was a suicide mission dressed in couture.
"His name is Rohan Singhal," Advik said, his voice dropping to a dangerous level as he adjusted the hidden microphone beneath the collar of my lace gown. "He's the youngest son, the 'charming' face of the family that holds your brother. He's a predator who hides behind a dimpled smile. Do not forget that."
I looked at my reflection. I didn't see the scared girl from the study anymore. I saw a woman with eyes as cold as the diamonds around her neck. "I know how to play a part, Advik. You taught me well enough."
Advik's hand lingered on my neck, his thumb pressing into my skin with a possessive force. "If he touches you for more than a second, the plan ends. I'll burn the building down with everyone inside, including you. Am I clear?"
"Jealousy doesn't suit a King, Advik," I whispered, though my heart skipped a beat at the raw heat in his eyes.
"It's not jealousy, Ananya. It's territory."
The Encounter
The club was a neon-drenched fever dream—The Velvet Underground. It was where the Singhal heirs spent their blood money. I slipped away from Advik's men at the bar, moving toward the VIP lounge where Rohan was known to hold court.
I sat at the bar, ordering a drink I had no intention of finishing. Within minutes, the seat beside me was occupied.
"A girl as beautiful as you shouldn't be drinking alone. It's a crime against the city," a smooth, lighthearted voice said.
I turned. Rohan Singhal didn't look like a monster. He looked like a Bollywood star—messy hair, a soft smile, and eyes that seemed to sparkle with genuine warmth. It was a terrifying contrast to Advik's brooding darkness.
"Maybe I like the company of my own thoughts," I said, tilting my head.
Rohan laughed, a rich, easy sound. "Then your thoughts must be very lucky. I'm Rohan."
"I'm... Maya," I lied, using the name Advik had given me.
For the next hour, I did something I hadn't done in weeks: I talked. Rohan was funny, attentive, and seemingly kind. He told me about his dreams of leaving the family business to travel, about his love for old Urdu poetry. For a moment, I forgot he was the brother of the man who had my brother in a cage.
"You're different, Maya," Rohan said, leaning closer, his hand resting lightly on the bar near mine. "Most girls here want to know what's in my wallet. You look like you're searching for a way out of the world."
My heart twinged with guilt. "Maybe I am."
"Then let me help you," he whispered, his eyes softening. "I have a private booth. Away from the noise. We can talk about things that actually matter."
Through my earpiece, I heard the faint, sharp crackle of Advik's breathing. "Don't go with him, Ananya. Abort. Now."
I ignored the voice in my ear. This was the only way to find Ishaan.
"I'd like that, Rohan," I said, giving him a small, shy smile.
As he led me toward the back, his hand moved to the small of my back—a gesture so similar to Advik's, yet entirely different. Rohan felt like a summer breeze, while Advik was a thunderstorm.
But as we entered the private booth, the "good friend" I had just made leaned in to whisper, "You really should have checked for cameras before you entered the club, Ananya Malhotra."
My blood turned to ice. The "warmth" in his eyes vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp glint of malice.
"Did you really think the Singhals were that easy to play?" he chuckled, his grip on my arm turning into a vise. "But don't worry. You and I are going to be very good friends while my brother deals with your husband."
Suddenly, the lights in the club flickered and died.
"Ananya!" Advik's voice roared through the darkness, followed by the terrifyingly familiar sound of gunfire.
The war hadn't just begun. It had just walked through the front door.