Club Vortex was Mumbai's wildest party spot. Music pounded, shaking the walls. Neon lights flashed pink and blue, lighting up the sweaty crowd. Nisha Malhotra, 24, ruled the stage, her body moving like a spark.
Her black dress hugged her hips, sparkling under the lights. The crowd was hooked, eyes glued to her every move. But Nisha hid a secret. A strange power made her hands glow silver when she felt too much—fear, anger, or something hotter.
Tonight, that power was buzzing, a rare electric rush through her veins. She kept her smile sexy, hiding the glow. One slip could get her caught. She couldn't let that happen.
Nisha's smile hid a scar that cut deep. When she was 16, her mother, a dazzling dancer who lit up Mumbai's clubs, died in a fire at a nightclub. Nisha held her mother's hand as flames roared around them, the heat choking, but that hand stayed cold, slipping away. Her silent tears fell, her heart breaking as her mother's warmth faded forever.
That night left Nisha alone, with no one to trust. The police called it a short-circuit accident, but Nisha knew better. Her mother had warned her about the Syndicate, a shadowy group hunting those with the rare power inside them—people like Nisha and her mother. They feared that power and wanted it gone.
Nisha was sure the Syndicate caused the fire. She burned with a need for revenge, but she had to be smart. One wrong move, and she'd be their prey. Every step she took was careful, her secret buried deep.
She thought of her ex, Rohan, who saw her hands glow one night. He'd sworn to keep her secret, but he sold her out to someone dangerous. The guilt hit hard—she'd let him too close. Never again.
She spun on the stage, the crowd cheering. Her hands sparked, but she hid it with a quick twirl. Nobody could know her secret. She had to stay sharp.
Rhea Kapoor, her best friend, stood by the stage, holding a neon-green drink. At 22, Rhea was all smiles, her sparkly top catching the lights. "Nisha, you're killing it!" she shouted. "But your hands are glowing again. What's up?"
Nisha stepped down, wiping sweat from her neck. "Just the lights, Rhea," she said, forcing a grin. "Stop freaking out." She didn't want Rhea to know her secret—it was too risky.
They pushed through the crowd to the bar. Vik, the bartender, grinned at them. He was 28, tall, with a quick wink and a fast pour. "Drink's on me, star," he said, sliding Nisha a cold cocktail.
"Thanks, Vik," Nisha said, sipping it. The icy drink calmed her nerves. But her power was on edge, her skin buzzing like live wire. Something felt wrong tonight.
"You okay, babe?" Rhea asked, leaning close. Her sweet perfume hit Nisha. "You look ready to bolt."
"I'm fine," Nisha lied, faking a smile. Her power was acting up, making her restless. She scanned the crowd, feeling eyes on her. Someone was watching.
She spotted him by the bar. Tall, built, in a black leather jacket. His dark hair was messy, his eyes locked on her like a hunter. A strange mark on his neck caught the light, pulsing faintly.
Her heart raced. Her hands tingled, heat rushing through her. She felt a pull toward him, wild and dangerous. It was trouble, but it felt too good.
"Who's that guy staring at you?" Rhea asked, nudging her. "He's hot as hell. Go say hi."
"No way," Nisha said, shaking her head. "Guys like that are bad news." But her eyes stayed on him. He moved to the back hallway, like he wanted her to follow.
"I'm checking something," Nisha told Rhea, ignoring her friend's smirk. She slipped through the crowd, heels clicking on the sticky floor. The hallway swallowed the music, thick with shadow and secrets.
He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes were intense, like he could see her secrets. Her power buzzed, her skin burning. She stopped, hand on the knife under her dress.
"Who are you?" Nisha asked, her voice sharp.
"Arjun Khanna, private investigator," he said. His voice was deep, rough, pulling her in. "You're Nisha Malhotra. We need to talk."
She raised an eyebrow. "You stalk girls in clubs a lot?"
He grinned, slow and sexy. "Only the ones who stand out." He stepped closer, his smell—leather and smoke—hitting her hard. "I saw your hands on stage. They lit up."
Her breath caught. Nobody was supposed to notice. "You're seeing things," she said, gripping her knife. Her heart was pounding, her power messing with her head.
"Don't play dumb," he said, his eyes on her lips. "Something's going on with you. I know because I feel it too." He tilted his head, showing the mark on his neck. It pulsed, dark and strange.
"What's that?" Nisha asked, trying to stay cool. Her skin was hot, her body leaning toward him. The pull was strong, like her power was reaching for him.
"You tell me," he said, smirking. "You've got something special, don't you?" His voice was low, teasing, making her stomach flip. He was close now, his heat making her dizzy.
"Back off," she said, but it sounded weak. Her body wanted him closer, her power buzzing like crazy. She hated how much she liked it. "I don't know you."
"You will," he said, his grin pure sin. "I'm Arjun, and I'm not here to hurt you. But you're in trouble, Nisha."
"Trouble?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Her pulse was racing, fear mixing with something hotter. "What kind of trouble?"
"The Syndicate," he said deeply. "They hunt people who glow like you. They know your name."
Her stomach dropped. "The Syndicate?" she asked. "What do they want with me?"
"They hunt people like us," he said. "That explosion when you were 16? Not an accident. They're coming for you now."
Nisha's chest tightened. She saw her mom's face, the fire swallowing her. The guilt burned, sharp and raw. "Why should I believe you?" she asked, voice shaking.
Arjun stepped closer, his breath warm on her ear. "You feel it too. Don't pretend you don't." His eyes darkened, full of heat. "It's called Aether. It's old. Buried. We're born with it—most never wake it up."
Her breath hitched. Aether? The word felt heavy, like it carried secrets. Her power flared, making her gasp. "You're full of yourself," she said, but her voice was breathy.
"Admit it," he said, his lips close, too close. "This spark's not just you." His hand hovered near her arm, not touching, but she felt the heat. "You want to know what it is."
"Shut up," she snapped, but she didn't back away. Her skin was burning, her power pulling her toward him. It was too much, and she hated it—but she wanted it too.
Before she could say more, a scream tore through the club. The music stopped. Lights flickered, then went out. Rhea's voice cut through the dark. "Nisha! Where are you?"
Nisha's hands glowed silver, lighting the hallway. Vik shouted from the bar. "Stay calm, everyone!" But the crowd was panicking, pushing toward the exits.
Arjun grabbed her arm. His touch sent a jolt through her, making her gasp. "The Syndicate's here," he said. "We gotta go."
She yanked free. "Don't touch me," she snapped, but she was shaking. Her power was wild, and so was her body. She didn't trust him, but she had no choice.
They ran for the back door, dodging crates and bottles. Mumbai's streets hit them hard—hot, loud, and bright. Neon signs glowed, rickshaws honked, and the air smelled of smoke and street food.
"Where are we going?" Nisha asked, her heels clicking as they ran. Her heart was racing, not just from fear. His closeness was driving her crazy.
"Somewhere safe," Arjun said, his hand brushing hers. It sent a spark through her, making her curse. "Keep up, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that," she shot back, but her voice was soft. His grin said he knew she didn't mean it. Their powers were pulling them together, and it was intense.
They ducked into a narrow alley, the club's chaos fading. Nisha leaned against a wall, catching her breath. Her skin was still buzzing, her body alive with want. Arjun stood close, his eyes on her.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice softer. His gaze was warm, intense, making her stomach flip. "This is a lot, I know."
"No shit," she said, honest for once. "This Aether thing—it's like a fire I can't control." She thought of Rohan again, his betrayal cutting deep, mixing with her mom's loss.
"I don't know everything," Arjun said, stepping closer. "But we'll figure it out. Together." His hand hovered near her face, not touching, but she felt the heat.
She wanted to argue, but her power was singing. His heat was pulling her in. The Syndicate was out there, and so was the truth about her past. She needed answers.
A shadow moved at the alley's end. A figure stood there, face hidden in a hood, watching them. Nisha's hands glowed, and a folded paper fell from her pocket, shining faintly silver. She hadn't put it there—who had?