PROLOGUE

"Drive slow, Sunita-for God's sake, we're on a forest road, not a racetrack!" The winding path is swallowed by ancient trees, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. This stretch of road is notorious-whispered about in hushed tones, a graveyard of reckless speed and bad decisions. But Sunita? She drives like the devil himself is chasing her, her laughter wild and untamed, her grip on the wheel both careless and confident.

Sekhar's knuckles whiten against the leather seat. "For God's sake, woman, I've survived gunfights and backstabbing bastards, but I didn't sign up to die because my wife has a death wish!" His voice is a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement-because damn it, he loves this madness in her.

Sunita's grin is pure mischief, her eyes alight with adrenaline. "Oh, relax, Mr. Big Bad Mafia. Don't underestimate the power of a new driiiii-"

The car lurches violently as she takes the sharp left turn too fast, tires screeching in protest. For a heart-stopping second, the world tilts-metal groans, gravity rebels-but then, somehow, she controls the drift like she was born doing it.

"See? I did it!" She crows, triumphant, her laughter ringing through the car like reckless music.

Sekhar should scold her. He should take the wheel. But instead, his lips twitch, his chest swelling with something dangerously close to pride. This woman. She's chaos and fire, and he's helpless against her.

But then she accelerates again, the BMW roaring like a beast unleashed. His amusement fades. "Hey-hey, easy now, love," he warns, his voice dropping into that low, commanding tone that usually makes her pause. "We've got Rudraksh waiting at home. That little monster still needs his parents in one piece."

Sunita's laughter softens, her foot easing off the gas-until her playful smirk freezes. Her breath hitches. "Se... Sekhar-" Her voice is suddenly small, fragile. "The brake isn't working."

The words hang in the air like a death sentence.

Sekhar's blood turns to ice. His mind races, scanning options, but the road ahead is a serpent's coil, and their speed is a death wish. "Sunita," he says, voice steel wrapped in calm, "just control the wheel. Aim for a tree. Hit it straight-we'll survive."

Her fingers tremble on the leather, her usual bravado crumbling. But before she can react-

Headlights.

Blinding. Brutal.

A car materializes out of nowhere, a ghost in the night.

Time fractures.

Metal screams. Glass shatters. The world spins in a dizzying carousel of destruction-their BMW fishtails, the other vehicle flipping like a discarded toy before vanishing into the abyss of the forest.

And then-impact.

Their car slams into a tree with a sickening crunch, the force rattling bones, stealing breath.

Silence.

Blood trickles down Shekhar's temple like a crimson tear, painting stark contrast against his ashen skin. His vision swims, the world tilting in nauseating waves, but his first thought is her. Always her.

"You alright?" His voice is rough gravel, the words tasting like copper.

Sunita nods, her hands trembling as they flutter over his wounds-those delicate fingers now painted in his blood. She moves mechanically, the shock still clinging to her like a second skin, but her body acts on instinct. The car door groans as she wrenches it open, the metallic scream echoing through the silent forest.

Cool earth meets his back as she lowers him gently, her saree's pallu already unraveling-white silk turning scarlet as she presses it to his head. "Hold this," she murmurs, her voice fraying at the edges.

The BMW hisses behind them, its dying breath a plume of smoke curling into the twilight. Shekhar fishes his cracked phone from his pocket, the screen splintered like his patience. "Call Rana," he growls, thrusting it at her. "Tell him to bring the fucking cavalry."

Sunita obeys, her fingers slipping on blood-smeared glass. The moment the call connects, she shoves the phone back into his hand and turns away-toward the wreckage, toward the fire.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Shekhar barks, but she doesn't stop.

"There was another car, Shekhar," she throws over her shoulder, her voice steel wrapped in velvet. "People could be-"

"Don't be ridiculous!" His roar is half pain, half fury. "I'm a mafia kingpin bleeding in the dirt, and you want to play Good Samaritan? If someone sees you-"

"-I'll live with it," she snaps, and then she's gone, swallowed by the shadows.

The fire greets her like a demon's maw-hungry, unforgiving. The other car lies twisted, its belly ripped open, flames licking at the corpses still strapped inside. The stench of burning flesh claws at her throat, but it's the silence that guts her. No screams. No last prayers. Just the crackle of annihilation.

Her knees hit the dirt. "God..."

Then-movement.

A flicker of pink amidst the carnage. A tiny form curled in the grass like a discarded doll. Sunita's heart stutters. No. No, no, no-

The girl is impossibly small, her frilly dress smeared with soot, one shoe missing. Sunita gathers her into shaking arms, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Alive. She's alive.

Back at the makeshift camp, Shekhar's men swarm like hornets-guns drawn, voices sharp. But when Sunita staggers into the light, the child limp in her arms, even the hardest among them freeze.

"Bhaiya-" one thug starts, but the words die as doctors rush forward, prying the girl from Sunita's bloodstained embrace.

Shekhar's gaze locks onto hers. The fury in his eyes flickers, then drowns in something far worse-understanding.

Sunita doesn't realize she's crying until the first sob tears free. "They burned," she chokes. "All of them. I couldn't-I didn't even see their faces-"

And then his arms are around her, crushing her to his chest. His heartbeat is a ragged drum against her ear, his breath warm in her hair. "Shhh," he murmurs, his voice softer than she's ever heard it. "Not your fault, jhalli. Not your fault."

But the weight of the child's body still lingers in her arms, and the fire still paints the night in hellish hues. Some sins, no amount of absolution can wash away.

The engine of the getaway car purrs like a restless beast, its headlights cutting through the gathering dusk. Shekhar's men shift uneasily, their eyes darting toward the distant wail of approaching sirens.

"Sir, we need to move-now," one urges, fingers twitching near his holster. "Police will be crawling here any minute."

Shekhar nods sharply, but when he turns to Sunita, she's already shaking her head, her arms crossed like steel bars. "I'm not leaving her here alone," she declares, her voice the quiet kind of dangerous that makes even hardened men step back.

A muscle ticks in Shekhar's jaw. "Don't be stubborn, baby," he growls, stepping closer. The scent of blood and smoke clings to them both. "We don't know who she is. Or worse-whose daughter she is. The authorities will handle it. We have a flight to catch. Rudra is waiting."

Sunita doesn't blink. "She just lost everything because of me. I won't let her lose her future too." Her gaze could cut glass. "She's coming with us. End of discussion."

For a heartbeat, the world holds its breath.

Then Shekhar exhales, running a hand through his hair-streaked with ash and dried blood. "Fine," he grits out. "But she gets treated first. We go back to France, settle things, then return for her. Understood?"

Sunita's shoulders relax the barest fraction. She knows this man-knows his word is law, even when it bends for her. "Understood."

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

The flight is a blur of exhaustion and restless thoughts. Sunita stares out the window, but all she sees is that tiny figure in the grass, one shoe missing, her pink dress smeared with tragedy.

Their mansion in France looms like a gilded cage. The moment they step inside, Rudraksh barrels into them-all 15 years of lanky limbs and inherited stubbornness.

"Mom! Dad!" His voice cracks mid-shout. "What the hell happened? Are you okay? How could you be so reckless, Mom? Dad was in the car!"

Sunita's lips quirk despite herself. "Oh? Only Dad?"

Shekhar smirks, ruffling their son's already messy hair. "Careful, beta. Your mother's driving has character."

Rudraksh scowls. *"Character? She almost killed you both!"*

*"Almost doesn't count,"* Sunita retorts, but her smile fades too quickly. The ghost of that little girl clings to her, a shadow even the French sun can't chase away.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Weeks later, over glasses of whiskey that do nothing to dull the tension, Shekhar finally breaks.

"We can't adopt her," he says bluntly. "If Rudra and she don't... mesh, what then? She'll be discarded in this world. And our world isn't kind to strays."

Sunita's nails dig into her palms. "I'm not talking adoption. She stays with me."

Shekhar stills. "Explain."

"You're taking over the Asian syndicate. It's safer for her in India-away from the crossfire. I'll raise her there."

"And Rudra?" Shekhar's voice is dangerously soft. *"He's 15 , not 50. He still needs his mother."*

"And she's six," Sunita fires back. "She needs a guardian more. Or have you forgotten? This is my fault."

The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on.

Then Shekhar does something unexpected-he laughs. A rough, hollow sound. "What about me, jhalli? How am I supposed to live without you?"

Sunita reaches for his hand, her fingers threading through his. "You'll visit. As often as you want. But Shekhar-" Her grip tightens. "No one can know the truth. Not Rudraksh, not your men. We tell them she's from an orphanage. Her past stays buried. For her safety. For my peace."

Shekhar stares at their joined hands. When he speaks again, his voice is raw. "I've never stopped you. I won't start now."

Then he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him-leaving Sunita alone with the weight of a decision th

at might just split her world in two.

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