Aryan's mansion in Seoul was quiet, the city lights glowing faintly through the massive glass windows. The hum of security cameras and the soft footsteps of guards reminded him of one thing: control was everything.
And yet… Nithya had shaken that control.
Even after returning from India, he could not stop thinking about her. Her calm defiance, the way she looked at him without fear, the faint smirk she gave him when their eyes met—everything burned in his mind. For the first time, Eagle felt a need he could not command.
Aryan's phone buzzed. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the message. His men in India had tracked Nithya's daily routine. Classes, breaks, walks home—all mapped precisely.
He didn't reply. Instead, he moved toward the garage. Outside, his convoy waited: five black SUVs, ten motorcycles, engines humming softly. The middle car, of course, held him. Guards sat rigid, ready for any movement, while Aryan climbed into the sleek leather seat.
"Form up," he ordered. "We move in fifteen."
"Yes, sir," came the reply. Every word carried fear.
By afternoon, Aryan's convoy glided through the streets near Nithya's college. Four cars in front, four behind, ten motorcycles flanking every side. Drivers and bikers moved like extensions of his body, silent, precise, deadly.
Aryan stepped out, tall and imposing, black suit perfect. His presence was a storm in the middle of calm. He walked slowly toward the college, eyes fixed on her.
Nithya noticed immediately. She didn't panic. She didn't run. She just tilted her head, observing him like a cat watching a predator. Her lips curved in a subtle smile.
Aryan's chest tightened. That smile—small, soft, and teasing—was the first spark of challenge he had encountered in years. And he loved it.
"Good afternoon, Nithya," he said, voice low, controlled.
She tilted her head, examining him. "Good afternoon, Mr. Deshmukh," she replied politely, her tone teasing just slightly.
Aryan's jaw clenched. Calm. Fearless. This girl was testing him. Perfect. He had never encountered someone like this.
"You are dangerous," she said softly, eyes glinting.
"And you are tempting," he countered, stepping closer. "You are mine, whether you like it or not."
Her smile widened slightly. "You think it's that easy?"
"No," he said, coldly, deadly calm. "Nothing about me is easy."
The confrontation lasted only a minute, but the tension lingered long after. Aryan returned to his convoy. Four cars ahead, four behind, ten motorcycles flanking every side. He didn't speak. He didn't smile. He only stared at the road ahead, mind racing with plans.
Back in his mansion later that night, Aryan stood on the balcony overlooking Seoul. The city lights twinkled below, beautiful and insignificant. His empire was perfect, orderly, untouchable. Yet nothing mattered except one thing: her.
He whispered softly, to no one but himself:
"You will be mine. And you will want it… eventually."
For the first time, Eagle felt the thrill of a hunt—not for power, not for money, not for fear—but for a single girl who dared to defy him.
The game had begun.