Yuvaan guided Bhoomi gently through the mansion's foyer, his protective arm around her. The staff had hastily cleared the glittering shards of glass, but the evidence of his outburst still hung heavy in the air—a gaping, boarded-up window frame letting in the evening chill.
Vinod stood stiffly nearby, his face a mask of simmering anger and lingering fear. As Yuvaan passed, he could not hold his tongue.
"Yuvaan!" Vinod's voice was tight. "What is the meaning of this? How did the glass... shatter like that?"
Yuvaan did not even break his stride. He paused, turning his head just enough to cast a cool, sidelong glance at his uncle. A faint, cynical smile touched his lips.
"Uncle," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Haven't you always called me a cursed child? The boy whose birth brought death and madness?" He let the painful words hang in the silence for a moment. "Then you should know... ominous things tend to happen around cursed people."
Without waiting for a sputtered reply, he turned his back on Vinod's stunned, pale face and continued leading his mother up the stairs to the safety and peace of her room, leaving his uncle with a chilling new truth to ponder.
The Shetty family dinner table was usually a lively affair, filled with chatter about the day. Tonight, however, a palpable silence emanated from Kiara. She pushed her food around her plate, her gaze distant, a small, unconscious smile playing on her lips one moment, a faint blush creeping up her neck the next.
Varun, sitting across from her, watched her for a minute before reaching over and giving her head a light, brotherly smack. "Hey! Earth to Kiara. Your dal is getting cold. Focus."
Kiara jumped, startled back to reality. "Wha—? Oh. Right."
Vikram, observing the exchange with a father's sharp eye, set his spoon down. "Your mind is clearly elsewhere, beta. Where is your focus tonight?"
Caught off guard, Kiara's eyes widened slightly. The truth—that she was replaying the feel of Yuvaan's wrist under her fingers, the raw worry in his eyes for his mother, the way he'd looked at her as she drove away—was impossible to voice.
"Nowhere, Papa!" she said, a little too quickly, forcing a bright smile. "Just... tired from the excursion yesterday, I think." She took a few hurried bites. "I'm finished. May I be excused?"
Without waiting for a full reply, she stood and practically fled to the sanctuary of her room, leaving her father and brother exchanging a look of shared suspicion.
Alone, she collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. Why? she wondered, her mind a whirlwind. Why can't I stop thinking about him? He was arrogant, infuriating, and undeniably dangerous. Yet, the memory of his vulnerability, his quiet "thank you," and the intensity of their shared moments overshadowed everything else. The villain was becoming a person, and that was a thought far more terrifying—and thrilling—than any ghost in a haunted palace.
The evening of the Lalwani Gala had arrived, and the city was draped in the glittering promise of a glamorous night. But beneath the surface, intentions darker than the night itself were being woven together.
At the Shetty Mansion:
Kiara stood before her mirror, a vision in an elegant gown. Every brush of her hair, every delicate piece of jewelry was chosen with a fluttering anticipation she could no longer deny. She wasn't just preparing for a party; she was preparing to see him.
In a Dimly Lit Apartment:
Professor Ragini Malhotra fastened a sleek, black dress. Her reflection showed a beautiful, sophisticated academic. But her eyes held a cold, murderous glint. Tonight, she thought, applying a dark shade of lipstick, the Reeva hunter's line ends. Kiara Shetty will not leave the gala alive.
At the Pratap Singh Mansion:
Yuvaan adjusted the cuffs of his impeccably tailored black shirt, deliberately cut to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his chest. His reflection showed the perfect picture of a wealthy, disinterested playboy. But his mind was fixed on one goal: the girl who had tied a sacred thread to his wrist without being burned. Tonight, the game would intensify.
In Her Quiet Home:
Mishka slipped into a deceptively simple dress, her movements efficient. Her mission was clear: be Kiara's shadow. Watch Yuvaan. Uncover Ragini's move. The gala was not a celebration for her; it was a battlefield.
Down the Hall from Yuvaan:
Angad fussed with his tie, a nervous excitement bubbling within him. He saw the gala not as a den of supernatural intrigue, but as the perfect, romantic backdrop to finally tell Mishka how he felt and start their relationship.
In the Shetty Basement:
Vikram and Varun checked their concealed, silver-lined weapons. There were no tuxedos for them tonight, only the grim resolve of hunters. "Stay vigilant," Vikram instructed his son. "We do not know what Ragini will attempt, but we will be ready to thwart it."
As limousines began to pull up to the opulent venue, each passenger carried a secret. For some, it was a night of potential love and dance. For others, it was a night of espionage and protection. And for a chosen few, it was a stage set for a long-awaited kill. The gala was about to begin.
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