The Kapoor estate breathed like a living creature—its heartbeat low, its secrets tucked behind antique walls and floor-length mirrors. To outsiders, it was opulence. To Vivaan, it was a trap disguised as seduction.
Somewhere inside, someone was always watching.
Vivaan sat in the half-light of his apartment study, the glow of his screen casting shadows across his face. His fingers danced across the keyboard, chasing threads buried deep in the betting syndicate networks. But this wasn't just about algorithms anymore. It had become personal.
A name pulsed onto his screen.
Veer.
Alive.
Last trace: Dharavi Underground League. Location masked.
Vivaan's heart jolted. Blood rushed to his ears. Why hadn't Aaravi told him? Why drag him through whispers and heat when her brother—her truth—was still out there?
His phone vibrated.
A single video message.
No text. No explanation.
He hesitated. Then tapped play.
The screen flickered—and Aaravi appeared, but not the woman the world knew. Not the Ice Queen of press conferences or the teasing siren who flirted with control. This version of her was raw. Dangerous. Intimate.
She sat cross-legged on a velvet chaise, clad only in a translucent lace slip that shimmered beneath flickering candlelight. The shadows clung to her like lovers.
Her voice was smoke.
"You want the truth, Vivaan?
You want inside the game?"
Her fingers grazed her thigh, slow. Deliberate. A promise.
"Then come find me.
Room 707. Don't knock.
Don't speak. Just… feel."
The screen turned black. His thoughts didn't.
—
At exactly 11:07 p.m., he reached the Kapoor estate's private wing. He didn't knock. He didn't speak.
He simply entered.
The room was different from the rest of the mansion—darker, laced with jazz and shadows. Moonlight spilled through sheer curtains. The air carried sandalwood, sweat, and temptation.
She stood before him, wrapped in a sapphire silk saree. The pallu barely clung to her shoulder, revealing golden skin that shimmered in the dim light. Her thigh emerged through a deep slit, like a threat stitched in elegance.
Aaravi moved toward him—not rushed, not coy. Predatory.
"You followed well," she murmured, circling him like a storm. "But are you ready to play without your data, Vivaan?"
He nodded, voice lost in his throat.
She pushed him onto the velvet couch, her body fluid as mercury. Straddling him, she leaned close, lips brushing past his without touching.
"You chase truths," she whispered. "But truth… likes to hide."
Her hips began to sway against his lap, painfully slow. His hands gripped the edges of the couch, resisting the urge to seize her.
Her fingers tangled in his hair. Her mouth hovered at his ear.
"Tell me, when you look at me—do you see danger?"
He swallowed.
"I see a woman who terrifies me."
She smiled, dark and indulgent. "Good. Because I'm about to destroy every rule you believe in."
Her movements quickened, her breath sharp. His body betrayed him, hard and trembling beneath her weight. Still, she didn't undress him. She made him beg through silence. Through desperation.
Just as his control splintered, she froze.
Her gaze drifted beyond him. Not to his face—but to the mirror behind him.
"Still watching?" she asked.
Vivaan blinked, confused.
"…What?"
She didn't answer. Instead, her expression changed—not fear, not surprise. Something worse.
Satisfaction.
And then he understood.
That mirror wasn't a mirror.
It was a screen.
And behind it, someone else was watching.
Aaravi leaned in one final time, lips ghosting his skin.
"The real game…
has just begun."