The air was thick with smoke and silence.

Deep beneath an abandoned textile mill on the outskirts of Mumbai, the mafia basement pulsed with tension. The cold cement walls were stained with years of secrets—secrets whispered, tortured, and buried in blood. There were no clocks here, no sunlight. Just shadows and the sharp scent of steel.

At the center of the room sat a long table. Around it were men who spoke in low voices, their words laced with power and fear. But every conversation paused when he entered.

Rudraksh Singh Rathore.

The air shifted.

He walked in with slow, deliberate steps, dressed in black. His sharp jawline cast a clean shadow under the harsh single bulb hanging from the ceiling. His eyes—dark and unreadable—swept across the room. Everyone stood.

He said nothing.

He didn’t have to.

At twenty-seven, Rudraksh had built an empire on silence, fear, and precision. No one dared cross him—not even the police, not even rival dons. Yet behind that cold gaze, there was a storm. A rage he kept buried. A promise he made to himself years ago.

“Where is he?” Rudraksh asked finally, his voice calm—but lethal.

One of the men pointed toward the locked steel door.

Inside that room was a traitor. A man who dared to sell information to the police. Rudraksh didn’t tolerate betrayal. Ever.

As the door creaked open, Rudraksh didn’t flinch. He stepped in.

The man inside was trembling, tied to a chair, bruises already marking his face.

“You know why you're here?” Rudraksh asked.

The man stammered, “P-please… I had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Rudraksh replied, his tone devoid of emotion. “You made yours. Now I make mine.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t scream. He simply leaned in and whispered something that made the man’s face go pale.

Ten minutes later, Rudraksh stepped out of the room. Not a single drop of blood on his shirt—but the fear he left behind was thicker than any scream.

He lit a cigarette, his fingers steady.

“Get the jet ready,” he said to his right-hand man. “We’re going to Delhi.”

“Delhi?” the man asked, surprised. “What’s there?”

Rudraksh took a long drag, his eyes narrowed.

“Trouble.”

And far away in Delhi, unaware of the storm approaching, Heer Mehra was about to step into a dream she thought was hers alone.