As the eerie silence settled over the gala grounds, Mishka turned to Angad, her voice soft. "Thank you," she said, "for shielding me."
Angad managed a pained grin, cradling his injured arm. "It's okay. Couldn't let you get hurt." His eyes, full of concern, searched her face. "You're sure you're alright?"
She nodded, a genuine—if slightly troubled—smile touching her lips. His selfless act had stirred something within her, a flicker of warmth for this brave, human boy.
Nearby, Vikram's voice, firm and authoritative, cut through the lingering tension. "The event is over. Everyone, please proceed to the exits in an orderly manner. Security will assist you."
He then turned to Kiara, placing a protective arm around her shoulders. "Let's go home, beta." His tone brooked no argument.
Kiara, still visibly shaken, nodded. She cast one last, lingering glance over her shoulder at Yuvaan, who stood amidst the scattered evidence of his hidden power, his expression unreadable. Then, she allowed her father to guide her away from the chaos, the night's terrifying events and passionate confusions locked tightly within her.
Later that night
The air in the grove of the Kaal Vriksh—the ancient, twisting Tree of Darkness—was cold and still. Yuvaan stood before its gnarled trunk, a triumphant smirk gracing his lips as he widened his arms, feeling a raw, intoxicating surge of power course through him. It was different from the fleeting energy he siphoned from fleeting passions; this was deeper, darker, more potent.
"Kiara Shetty," he murmured to the silent tree, his voice laced with dark victory. "You are well and truly caught in my web." He clenched his fist, savoring the newfound strength. "This... this is not mere infatuation. It is true love from the heart of my enemy's own bloodline. And her love... it makes me stronger than any fleeting pleasure ever could."
His plan was unfolding with perfect precision. The kiss, the confessions, the protection—all were calculated steps not just to win her heart, but to forge a weapon from it.
"My next move is clear," he declared, his eyes gleaming with sinister purpose as he looked up at the skeletal branches of the Kaal Vriksh. "I will marry her. Right here, under these sacred boughs. And once I share that eternal bond with a descendant of the Reeva hunters..."
A slow, chilling smile spread across his face.
"...the sacred mantra guarding the Dark Abyss will recognize her blood as my own. Its protection will be nullified. It will not be able to stop me." The ultimate prize, the Dark Stronghold he needed to cure his mother, would finally be within his grasp, all thanks to the love of the very girl destined to destroy him.
The Shetty mansion was shrouded in a heavy silence, but sleep eluded Kiara. Tucked in her bed, she stared at the ceiling, the events of the gala replaying behind her eyes like a thrilling, chaotic film. But one moment stood out, clear and vivid amidst the confusion: the library, the confession, the feel of Yuvaan's lips on hers. A warm, restless energy hummed beneath her skin.
Driven by a boldness the night had forged, she reached for her phone, its screen a beacon in the dark room. Her thumbs flew over the keyboard, her heart hammering a hopeful rhythm.
Kiara: Can we go out tomorrow? Just the two of us?
---
Across the city, in the opulent gloom of his room, Yuvaan swirled the amber liquid in his glass. The soft chime of his phone cut through the quiet. He read the message, and a slow, predatory smirk curved his lips. He took a deliberate sip of his whiskey, the burn a familiar comfort, before replying.
Yuvaan: Yes, Sweetheart.
In her bed, Kiara's breath hitched. Sweetheart. The word seemed to glow on the screen, intimate and possessive. A deep blush warmed her cheeks as she quickly typed out the details.
Kiara: The Brewed Bean cafe. 4 pm?
Yuvaan: I'll be there.
Setting her phone down, Kiara hugged her pillow, a giddy smile finally breaking through. The terror of the crow attack was fading, replaced by the bright, anticipatory flutter of a first real date.
Meanwhile, Yuvaan set his glass down, the ice cubes clinking softly in the silence. The hook was set. The "Sweetheart" was a calculated endearment, a tool to deepen the illusion. Tomorrow was not a date; it was the next phase of the hunt, and his prey was willingly walking into the snare.
---