đź–¤ Title: The Devil's Gentle Touch
đź“– Chapter 12: Cooking for the Devil
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The kitchen had never seen this much chaos.
Aanya stood in the middle of it — flour in her hair, turmeric on her cheek, and a wooden spoon in one hand like a weapon of mass destruction.
She wasn't a great cook.
But today, she wanted to do something for him.
Her husband.
Her devil.
Dev Raichand.
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She had spent the morning secretly watching YouTube tutorials. Measuring, cutting, burning, restarting.
And now, the rice was overcooked.
The dal was too salty.
And the paneer looked like it had trust issues.
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"Why didn't I just make Maggi…" she groaned.
But quitting wasn't an option. Not when he had been so gentle with her yesterday. Not when he still kissed her forehead before bed despite everything. Not when the world called him a monster but she saw the man.
Her man.
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Meanwhile… downstairs, his guards were watching something unbelievable on the security cam feed.
The Mafia Queen was cooking.
"Does Sir know?"
"Should we warn him?"
"He's allergic to extra salt—"
Before they could finish gossiping, Dev walked in.
"Why is it so quiet?"
The guards froze.
They all stared at him like they saw a ghost.
"Speak."
One brave soul cleared his throat.
"S-Sir, your wife is in the kitchen… trying to cook."
Dev paused.
Then smirked.
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He walked in just as she was about to throw the whole dal pot out the window.
"Planning to poison me, sweetheart?"
Aanya jumped, spoon flying, nearly hitting his chest.
"Dev!" she hissed. "Don't sneak up like that!"
He chuckled.
His eyes scanned the mess. The stained apron. Her tired eyes.
"You did all this… for me?"
She looked down.
"I just wanted to do something nice," she mumbled. "Even if it's bad…"
He took the spoon from her hand. Tasted a bit of the dal. And blinked.
Then slowly said:
"It tastes like death."
Her heart dropped.
Until he added,
"…And I'd still eat it. Because you made it for me."
---
He kissed her flour-dusted nose.
Then lifted her onto the counter with ease.
"I'm starving. Let's cook together."
And for the next hour, the Devil himself chopped vegetables while Aanya sang off-key beside him.
---
At lunch, all the guards waited to hear if he survived.
He walked out, licked his lips dramatically, and said:
"Best meal of my life."
The guards? Shook.
And from that day, the kitchen was off-limits to chefs on Sundays.
Because Sunday was their day.
To cook. To fight. To laugh. To love.