Power came at a price. And Sara Oberoi had paid hers in blood.

The heels of her stilettos echoed through the marble halls of Oberoi Industries like a war drum. Heads turned as she passed– some with admiration, most with fear. At twenty-five, she wasn’t just the youngest CEO in the city's history– she was also the coldest.

Dressed in black from head to toe, her tailored blazer hugged her figure like armor, her dark eyes unreadable, lips painted the same shade as the wine she hadn’t touched in months.

She didn’t believe in indulgence. Not anymore. Not after what happened five years ago.

“Sara,” Rashi’s voice called from behind, breathless. Her best friend always had to jog to keep up.

“You’re late,” Sara said without looking back.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re early. As always.”

“I like being prepared.”

“You mean you like control.”

Sara turned slightly, her gaze sharp. “Same thing.”

She stepped into the boardroom, where the senior executives were already seated– her presence silencing every whispered conversation.

She didn’t sit. She didn’t smile. She didn’t waste time.

“The contract with Aryan Group is terminated,” she announced. “Effective immediately.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

Someone dared to speak. “But, ma’am, that deal was worth millions–”

“And yet, they tried to shortchange us in the last clause,” she interrupted coolly. “I don’t negotiate with liars.”

Her tone could cut glass. Silence fell again. No one challenged her after that.

When the meeting ended, she returned to her office– a space as sleek and cold as she was. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Black leather. Clean lines. No warmth.

She stared out at the city, fingers tightening around the diamond ring she wore on a chain around her neck. It was her mother’s. The only thing she kept.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

She didn’t answer. It buzzed again.

Unknown Number.

This time, a message followed.

You’re not as safe as you think, sweetheart.

Her breath caught.

She read it again.

Then again.

And again.

There was no name. No context. Just those eight words.

She deleted the message and turned away from the window.

Her mask returned.

She was used to shadows. She had lived in them ever since that night. But this… this felt different. More calculated. More personal.

Her phone rang again.

Ishaan Maheswari.

The name flashed like a silent threat.

She didn’t answer. She knew better than to open doors that were meant to stay closed.

And Ishaan Maheswari was a locked door wrapped in barbed wire and gasoline. One strike of a match, and he’d burn her whole world down.

But something told her he was coming anyway.

And he would not knock.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Ishaan didn’t believe in chance.

Everything in his life– every asset, every downfall, every scar– was born from intention.

And Sara had just become his most deliberate pursuit.

He sat in his penthouse, floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the city he owned in all but name. His fingers swirled the contents of his crystal glass—whiskey neat, untouched.

A dossier lay open on the table before him, its pages filled with her life, dissected down to the minute.

Birth certificate. Academic records. Photos from gala events. Surveillance from the past three weeks.

He’d watched her.

Closely.

There was something about her– the way she walked through the world like it owed her nothing, like she’d already been gutted and rebuilt.

She wasn’t just powerful. She was dangerous in her coldness. And that made her irresistible.

He remembered the first time he saw her– not at a boardroom or a public event, but outside the court two years ago. She was standing in the rain, stone-faced, staring at a gravestone. Her parents.

And in that moment, he knew she was a broken thing, just like him.

Beautiful.

Shattered.

Hungry for truth.

That hunger was what he would use.

A phone buzzed on the table beside him. His assistant.

Aryan Group terminated the deal. Just like you predicted.

Of course they had. He knew Sara wouldn’t tolerate betrayal. She didn’t forgive. She struck.

He leaned back in his chair, dark eyes thoughtful.

“She’ll get predictable,” he murmured to himself.

But his mind was already three steps ahead.

He wasn’t interested in watching from the shadows anymore.

No, now he wanted to own the storm.

He typed the message himself this time, rather than letting one of his people do it.

You’re not as safe as you think, sweetheart.

He pictured her reading it– her eyes narrowing, fingers twitching. She’d pretend to be unfazed.

She always did.

But he knew how to find the cracks.

She wore her trauma like armor, but even armor can be unbuckled with the right touch.

His phone lit up with her name, calling.

Then stopped. She didn’t answer his last call either.

Good. Let her resist.

Resistance was foreplay.

He rose, walking to the window, his reflection merging with the skyline. A king ruling from the shadows. But even kings got lonely.

He smiled to himself– slow, dangerous, knowing.

She would come to him. Not today. Not tomorrow.

But soon.

Because Ishaan had something she needed more than peace, more than revenge.

The truth.

And in return, he would take everything.

Her freedom. Her loyalty. Her soul.

Piece by broken piece.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

A knock echoed through the penthouse just as he lit a cigar and took the first slow drag.

He didn’t bother answering. He didn’t need to.

The door opened anyway.

“You planning world domination again or just seducing your next victim?” came a familiar voice, laced with sarcasm and just enough concern to annoy him.

Kabir Ahuja.

Sharp suit, sharper tongue. The only man Ishaan ever allowed to walk into his space uninvited. Childhood friend. Business partner. Occasional devil’s advocate.

Ishaan didn’t turn. “Neither. Just laying the bait.”

Kabir stepped in, grabbing a glass from the side cabinet and pouring himself a drink. “You’ve been watching her again, haven’t you?”

He smirked. “She’s fascinating.”

Kabir raised an eyebrow. “She’s dangerous.”

“That’s what makes her fun.”

“She’s also not one of your usual... distractions.”

“I know,” Ishaan said, finally turning to face him. “She’s more than that.”

Kabir leaned against the edge of the table, eyes narrowing. “This isn’t just about obsession anymore, is it?”

His gaze darkened. “She’s connected to something I need. Something unfinished.”

Kabir knew better than to ask directly. He had learned that with Ishaan, answers were rarely straightforward. “You think she knows?”

“She will,” Ishaan said. “When I’m ready to tell her.”

“Or when it’s too late.”

Ishaan walked over to the table, picked up a glossy photo of Sara– mid-stride, fierce and unaware of the camera. “She’s already in it, Kabir. She just doesn’t know how deep.”

Kabir sighed, taking a slow sip of his drink. “You're playing a dangerous game.”

Ishaan chuckled, a low, sinister sound. “That’s the only kind worth playing.”

There was silence for a beat, heavy with unsaid warnings and old wounds. Kabir had seen what obsession did to Ishaan before.

He’d cleaned up the mess. Buried secrets. Watched his friend spiral and rise again like a phoenix made of ashes and revenge.

But this? This felt different.

Sara Oberoi wasn’t just a game.

She was the wildfire.

And Ishaan Maheswari was walking straight into the flames, knowing full well he might never make it out.

“Just tell me you won’t destroy her,” Kabir said finally.

Ishaan looked him dead in the eye, his voice like ice.

“I’m not going to destroy her,” he said.

“I’m going to make her mine.”

Kabir’s silence lingered like smoke—thick, suffocating, full of unsaid things.

“You’re playing a long game,” Kabir said finally, swirling the drink in his glass. “What’s the end goal here, Ishaan? Possession? Revenge? Redemption?”

Ishaan’s jaw tightened. “Control.”

“Of her?”

“Of the narrative,” Ishaan corrected coldly. “Of the truth. Of the chaos she doesn’t even know she’s in yet.”

Kabir studied him for a moment. “You’re not just doing this for the truth about her parents.”

He didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, she made him feel alive in a way nothing else ever had. Not wealth. Not power. Not even vengeance.

She made him feel out of control– and he craved that chaos like a drug.

And yet… he had to own it.

“She’s unpredictable,” Ishaan said finally, pacing back toward the glass windows. “But she’s hungry for answers. That hunger makes her vulnerable.”

“She’s also not stupid. You can’t manipulate her the way you do everyone else.”

“I don’t need her to trust me, Kabir.” A smirk ghosted across his lips. “I just need her to depend on me.”

Kabir downed the rest of his drink and shook his head. “This woman’s going to burn you.”

“I hope she does,” Ishaan muttered under his breath.

Kabir pretended not to hear it.

“I’m sending her a file tomorrow,” Ishaan said, eyes gleaming. “A piece of the puzzle. Just enough to plant the seed.”

“And then?”

“She’ll come to me,” Ishaan said. “Begging for the rest.”

“And what happens when she finds out you’ve been pulling the strings this whole time?”

Ishaan turned, eyes dark and dead serious. “Then she’ll hate me.”

Kabir arched a brow. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

Ishaan smirked. “Love. Hate. They’re two sides of the same coin. As long as I’m the one consuming her thoughts—I win.”

Kabir stared at him, glass still in hand. “You're playing god with a woman who’s already drowning.”

“She won’t drown,” Ishaan said softly. “Not until I’m ready to let her.”

The silence after that was final. Inevitable. Just like the storm Ishaan was preparing to unleash.

He turned away from Kabir, his reflection merging with the city lights.

It had begun.

One seed planted.

One lie dropped.

One obsession ignited.

And the predator was already in motion.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Thank you for reading the first chapter.

Sara and Ishaan's world is one of shadows and manipulation, where every move is calculated and nothing is as it seems. Their journey is not for the faint-hearted, but for those who crave the thrill of danger, revenge, and the unexpected twists of dark romance. The story has only just begun—prepare for the storm ahead. (*evil smirks*)