The city had rulers no one voted for.
And at the top of that invisible throne sat Rudra Khanna.
His office overlooked the skyline — glass walls, dim lighting, silence heavy with power. Unlike the chaos of the underground fight club, this place was controlled. Calculated. Cold.
Rudra stood near the window, hands behind his back, watching the city lights flicker in the distance.
"Say it again," he said calmly.
One of his men lowered his head. "Sir… Meera was seen at the fight club last night."
Rudra's expression did not change.
"With whom?"
"A fighter. Name: Aarav Sen."
A tablet was handed to him. On the screen — a photo.
Aarav standing close to Meera in the corridor.
Rudra's jaw tightened slightly.
"Background?"
"Orphan. Lives alone. Regular in underground matches. Skilled. Dangerous."
Rudra studied Aarav's face carefully.
There was something in those eyes. Not greed. Not fear.
Hatred.
"Keep watching him," Rudra ordered.
"Yes, sir."
"And my daughter?"
"She doesn't seem aware of who he is."
Rudra finally turned away from the window.
"No," he said quietly. "She doesn't."
Meanwhile, across the city, Meera stood in her room staring at her phone — Aarav's contact saved, but no message sent.
She didn't understand why he pushed her away.
But she knew one thing.
There was more to him than violence.
Back in his office, Rudra picked up his glass of whiskey.
"If he comes near her again," he said coldly, "break him."
The Shadow King had spoken.
And war was slowly beginning.