The afternoon sun spilled through the arched windows of the Moren mansion, painting patterns of gold across white marble floors.
A soft wind carried the fragrance of jasmine and rain — the quiet calm before the storm.
Inside, the grand house buzzed with gentle preparation. Servants moved about, arranging fresh flowers and silver trays. Tomorrow, a charity gala was to be held — a gathering of art, music, and kindness.
But in one corner of the house, hidden behind tall doors, a different kind of magic unfolded.
The dance room — Isabella Moren's sanctuary.
White curtains drifted like ghostly veils in the breeze.
The room was crafted with old-world charm — arching windows carved with intricate frames, floor of marble cool beneath bare feet, and sunlight filtered like honey through the drapes. In one corner rested her sitar, its polished body gleaming faintly, beside the silver ghungroos that waited patiently for her touch.
Isabella stood before the mirror, her reflection calm, centered.
Her chestnut-brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders, a golden sheen catching the sunlight.
Her honey-brown eyes — deep and thoughtful — held both gentleness and determination.
The air was quiet, save for the faint rustle of her yellow dupatta and the jingle of silver anklets as she adjusted them.
Then came a soft knock on the door.
"Come in," she said.
Rumi peeked in, a mischievous smile on her lips. "You're practicing again? The charity event isn't until tomorrow!"
Isabella smiled faintly, tuning the strings of her sitar. "Yes, but tomorrow's important. It's for the children's foundation. I want it to be perfect… for them."
Rumi rolled her eyes fondly and plopped onto the couch. "You and your perfection. I swear you were born in another century."
Suddenly a sound of Rumi's ringtone rang."hello? Yes.....oh....Ok...." Rumi picks it up and answers the call. After some talk she hangs up "Bella I need to go...there is some problem so I have to fly to France back to Aunt..."
"Any problem? " Isabella stops and looks back.
"You know their divorce case....just that....don't worry I will come back tomorrow okay?" Rumi reassures her.
"Okay....take care call me if you need help okay and don't worry I will take care of things here okay...." Isabella nodes and hugs Rumi as Rumi leaves hurriedly.
---------
After few hours
The black convoy of Romano vehicles snaked through the quiet outskirts, headlights slicing through the fog. Inside the lead car, Leonardo sat still as stone, his gaze fixed forward, jaw tight. The air around him pulsed with unspoken fury.
Alex sat beside him, tension etched in his posture. He didn't speak — not since Leo had uttered the words that set tonight in motion.
They weren't here to negotiate.
They were here to end a ghost.
The gates of the Moren estate creaked open under the weight of a threat older than its walls.
Guards rushed forward, demanding names, but before they could react, Leonardo stepped out.
One moved forward, shouting, but Leonardo's hand was already at his collar, slamming him into the wall. Another rushed in, only to be met by Alex's blade flashing in the dim light — not to kill, just enough to make the message clear.
Within seconds, the grand hallway was theirs — a battlefield without noise.
Leo adjusted his coat, dusted off his gloves, and spoke coldly to the butler trembling near the staircase.
"Tell your master Ben Smith," he said softly, his tone lethal, "that the Romanos never forget their debts."
The name Ben Smith sliced through the walls like a ghost from the past.
Inside, Belrum Moren froze at the sound of his old name.
Ben Smith.
A name he had buried, changed, and escaped. Or so he thought.
His breath quickened as he rose from behind his desk, palms slick with sweat. When he saw them — Leonardo and Alex Romano standing in his grand hallway — his legs nearly gave out.
Belrum Moren froze where he sat, that buried name ringing in his ears. His heart kicked in panic.
No one was supposed to know that name anymore.
He rushed out from his study, and when his eyes fell on the two men standing in his hall, his blood turned to ice.
"Romano…"he breathed, barely standing. "You— how—"
"Save your breath," Leonardo cut him off, his voice low, dangerous. "You stole, betrayed, and hid behind a false name. Did you really think death wouldn't find you?"
Belrum's voice broke. "I never meant for your father to die. I was scared, I wanted to save my family that's all—"
Leo's lip curled into a humorless smile. "You should be scared now."
He stepped closer. The scent of blood and smoke clung to him, heavy, inescapable.
Belrum's knees trembled. "Please— please, I'll pay. Whatever you want, I'll give you. I'll give everything!"
Leo tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Money?"
He gave a soft, mocking laugh. "If revenge could be bought, you'd be broke already."
"I… I just want to live," Belrum stammered. "For my daughter's sake."
That made Leo pause.
His tone shifted — soft, dangerous curiosity replacing mockery.
"Your daughter?"
Belrum nodded desperately—"Please, let me get what I can. You can take it, just let me live."
Leo smirked. "Fine"he murmured. "Go on. Let's see what a desperate man looks like."
Belrum didn't wait — he turned and hurried down the corridor toward his room, his mind racing for anything to save him.
He wasn't here for money and didn't told him to get the money to take it. He was playing, hunting for his amusement and fun to see him desperately trying to live and at the end of the day he wanted to kill him mercilessly.
"Alex, get the gun ready." Leo tells Alex with a grin.
"We are going to have a good hunting, huh?"
"But....Leo..... don't drag his innocent daughter into this- " Alex sentence get cut in middle with his phone ring. As Alex turns to pick up the call moving a little further to talk the room gets a little silent again.
As he looks up sitting on a sofa resting his head thinking how he should kill and torture Belrum a small fading tune reaches his ears.
Soft, delicate, unlike anything that had ever reached his ears in the midst of vengeance.
The gentle notes of a sitar, played with aching graceful and melody soft voice, drifted through the hallway. Each string hummed with life, the melody climbing and falling like the breath of something divine.
Leo's head lifted, eyes narrowing, drawn toward the sound without thinking. It was a sound one couldn't resist but to follow, it was almost like a lullaby to his ears.
He followed it — down the corridor, past walls lined with paintings and perfumed air heavy with jasmine.
The door at the end was half open. White curtains swayed in the afternoon breeze, letting streaks of gold sunlight blend into the room contrasting with the white marbles and curtains.
Inside, a woman sat on the floor, her back turned to him, her posture poised and serene.
Her fingers danced across the sitar, coaxing out notes so pure and voice like a warm melting sunlight, it almost hurt to hear such pure beautiful voice.
> "Ga ga re sa... sa sa sa sa sa pa ma ga..ga re sa Sa re ga re ga ma ga ma pa.. ma ga re sa Sa sa sa ni re sa re sa ni dha pa ma ga pa ma ga
Ga ga ma pa dha pa ga ma
Re ga sa pa sa ni re sa ni sa pa ma ga
Pa pa sa ni re sa ni sa pa ma ga
Ma pa dha ni dha ni dha pa
Re ga ma pa ga ma pa
Ohhohoohhohohooooo
Hooohohohohoooo
Tere binaa chaand kaa sonaa khotaa re
Peeli peeli dhool undaawe jhootaa re
Tere binaa sonaa peetal
Tere sang keekar peepal
Aaja katenaa ratiyaan
It was a song that he never hear, no not just the song but the whole different language too. Even after that, he could feel it's melody. Smooth, beautiful and melting warm.
Leo stopped in the doorway. For a man born in violence, the softness of that melody felt unreal — almost forbidden.
He couldn't see her face. Only her long chestnut-brown hair glinting faintly in the light, the curve of her shoulder framed by a flowing dupatta.
And then — the music faded.
Silence, brief and weightless.
She set the sitar aside.
The faint jingle of metal broke the quiet — she was fastening her ghungroos around her ankles. The small silver bells caught the light, chiming softly as if whispering a secret to the air.
**They are same like the bell anklet....** Leo thought in his mind as he hears the sound of chim.
Then the rhythm began as she turns on the music on speaker.
Her feet tapped, light at first, then stronger, until the entire room pulsed with sound of her chims and music.
The wind caught the white curtains again, sending them swirling like mist as she moved — precise, graceful, every turn stitched with emotion.
Leo stood transfixed — her movements a language he didn't know but somehow understood.
And then it happened.
She spun. Once. Twice.
And as the rhythm swelled, she reached up — and the chunni(Shawl) slipped from her face that she wore on her head while dancing.
And just like that the world seemed to stop for him.
Her face — the same one he'd seen in the mirror weeks ago, the illusion he had dismissed as madness.
The same honey-brown eyes, framed by lashes dark as ink.
The same calm, haunting beauty that shouldn't exist in his world.
Leo's breath caught. His chest tightened.
She wasn't real — at least, she wasn't supposed to be.
But there she was.
Flesh. Breath.
Real.
His fingers curled unconsciously. The rage that had driven him here — the blood debt, the revenge — all blurred into something he couldn't name.
For a moment, Leonardo Romano forgot why he'd come.
Forgot the man he meant to kill.
Forgot himself.
All he saw was her — the girl in red saree market— dancing in the glow of the dying sun, unaware that the monster who'd come to destroy her world had already fallen under her spell.