The screen of Avni Mehta's phone lit up—an unknown international number flashing across it.
She barely looked up from the Mumbai portfolio, her brows furrowed in concentration. The soft buzz of the vibration made her jump.
Unknown number.Could be an investor.
As CEO of Mehta Corporations, odd-hour calls were routine—from venture capitalists to board members, even the occasional tabloid leech. But this call sent a chill she couldn't name.
She answered, professional and poised."Hello?"
Silence.
Just as she began to pull the phone away—A voice cut through.Low. Male. Foreign. Smooth as silk, and just as dangerous.
"Ti sto guardando da lontano, sei mia. Sono persino geloso dell'aria che respiri."I'm watching you from afar. You're mine. I'm even jealous of the air you breathe.
Her breath caught.
That voice—there was hunger in it. Obsession. And something darker.
She didn't understand the words, but the intent was unmistakable.
"Must be a wrong number," she muttered, and hung up, tossing the phone aside with a frown.
Milan, Italy – Midnight
"Che cazzo!"The curse tore from Abhimanyu Singh Rathore's throat, echoing off marble walls.
She'd hung up.His principessa had hung up on him.
His fingers trembled—not from fear. From rage barely contained beneath skin and sinew.
How dare she?How dare she ignore his voice, his presence—his obsession?
"I'll let it go," he muttered, voice cold and smooth. "But you'll be punished, principessa. Very soon."
From the shadows, Matteo Ricci stepped forward. Silent. Lethal. Waiting.
"Il piano?"The plan?
Matteo nodded. "È in movimento. Fase uno è iniziata. Nessuna traccia. Nessuna pietà."It's in motion. Phase one has begun. No traces. No mercy.
Abhimanyu's lips curled. Perfect.She wouldn't even see him coming.
Mumbai – Same Night
Avni curled into her couch, the city twinkling through her windows. A cashmere throw draped around her, candles casting soft amber glow across the space.
A glass of wine sat untouched beside her.
Her best friend's message blinked on screen:
Siya 🧡Creepy call? Girl, maybe it's a ghost admirer 😏
She smiled faintly. Ghost or not, that voice lingered—deep in her bones.
Another buzz. This time, a name she knew.
Her secret.Her boyfriend.
Him: Hey... I missed you.
Their conversation was light. Familiar. A comfort she didn't let herself feel often.
For now, the night was peaceful. Tomorrow would bring boardrooms and power plays.
But tonight?Tonight was hers.
Milan – Later
The club pulsed like a heartbeat—low, red, and full of sin.
Abhimanyu walked in like he owned the dark.Tailored suit. Cold fire in his eyes.
He needed distraction. Just for a few hours.
A woman approached—tight dress, looser morals, desperation trailing her like perfume.
He didn't ask her name. Didn't want her story.
Upstairs in the VIP lounge, the music dimmed. Clothes vanished.
His hands were rough. His movements, merciless.
She moaned. Tried to kiss him.
"No."His voice was ice.
"You don't touch me."
He didn't look into her eyes. Didn't care who she was.
Because she wasn't her.She wasn't Avni.
"Stronza inutile."Useless slut.
When it was over, he left her—bare, breathless, and meaningless.
Because Avni had dared to hang up on him.
She didn't know who he was.But she would.
Soon.
Later That Day – Mumbai
Avni leaned back in her office chair, unaware that her schedule for tomorrow had been quietly cleared.
A knock echoed faintly from the hallway, but no one entered.
Somewhere across the city, a man tightened the strap of his Rolex and straightened his cuffs.
"È ora di incontrarla."It's time to meet her.
And just like that—Her carefully guarded world was about to unravel.