Arjun's POV

I have always believed that silence is sharper than any blade. When you learn to control your words, you learn to control the battlefield. That is what my business rivals never understood. They thought I was arrogant because I never spoke much at meetings, because my honey-brown eyes scanned the room like a predator calculating which prey to strike. But arrogance was just a mask-behind it was a hunger that never died.

That hunger had a name. Raj Malhotra.

Every morning, when I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I remembered the day he humiliated me. His voice had echoed across the conference hall when he refused me the project, his smirk taunting me in front of every tycoon, every investor. "Arjun, business is not just about numbers-it's about trust. And you, my boy, are too reckless to be trusted."

My blood had boiled that day. He had turned me into a laughingstock. He had underestimated me. He had forgotten that orphans don't survive by being trustworthy-we survive by being ruthless.

And so I designed my revenge, layer by layer, like an architect sketching a doomed building. His weakness was not in his empire. His weakness was his daughter.

Aarohi Malhotra. Blue eyes like the monsoon ocean, soft voice that never rose, delicate frame that looked as if a storm wind could carry her away. She was innocence wrapped in silk, and I-cursed man that I am-decided to turn her innocence into my weapon.

The memory of our first meeting at the gala kept replaying in my mind. She hadn't spoken a word to me, but those trembling eyes had clashed with mine, as though some fragile part of her soul had recognized the wolf behind my suit. She had looked away instantly, her cheeks flushing like roses dipped in cream. And in that moment, I knew she was perfect for the role I had written for her.

But Kabir didn't see it that way.

"You're out of your mind, Arjun," Kabir snapped as we sat at my penthouse balcony, overlooking the restless Mumbai skyline. His voice was sharp, but his loyalty softened it. "She's a girl, yaar. A sheltered girl. Do you even realize what you're planning to do?"

I swirled the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. "I realize it better than anyone. Her father took my dignity from me in front of the entire business world. I'll take his pride, his breath, his peace of mind. I'll make him crawl."

Kabir ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "And for that, you'll destroy her? You'll stain her? She hasn't wronged you. She probably doesn't even know her father crushed you like that."

"She doesn't need to know," I said flatly. "She just needs to fall in love with me. And she will. Because girls like her-they dream of love stories. They dream of the prince who notices them. I'll be her prince. And then..." My lips curved into a cruel smile. "I'll be her nightmare."

Kabir's gaze softened despite his anger. "And if she actually gives you her heart, Arjun? What then? Do you even know what love feels like?"

I laughed, short and hollow. "Love? It's just a transaction. Give and take. I'll give her attention, she'll give me trust. Simple math."

But Kabir didn't laugh. He just stared at me as though he could already see the cracks in my plan, cracks I was too blind-or too stubborn-to notice.

That evening, as the city lights glittered below like fallen stars, I prepared for my second meeting with Aarohi Malhotra. This time, there would be no silence between us. This time, the game would begin.

Aarohi's POV

There are days when you feel like the world is too large for your fragile heart, and yet you want to step into it anyway. That's how I felt the morning after the gala.

I stood in front of my mirror, adjusting the pleats of my baby pink salwar kameez. My mother had always told me that pastel colors made me look softer, more delicate. I wasn't sure if I wanted to look delicate, but I wore it anyway because it made her smile.

But behind my shy smile, behind the carefully braided hair and kohl-lined eyes, my thoughts were tangled. They kept drifting back to the man with honey-brown eyes. Arjun. I didn't know his full name then, but his presence had clung to me like a storm cloud refusing to drift away.

Why had his gaze unsettled me so? Why had I felt as though he could read every unspoken word in my heart? And why, even now, did my pulse quicken just thinking about him?

I shook my head, embarrassed at myself. I was twenty years old, a college student, barely exposed to the outside world. My father had always shielded me, reminding me that I was his princess. My mother's love was no less protective, wrapping me in rituals, traditions, and unspoken rules. Boys were a world I was not supposed to wander into.

And yet... my heart had already wandered without permission.

That afternoon, after my classes ended, I waited at the college gate for the driver. The October sun was harsh, yet the air carried a faint coolness, promising winter's arrival. Students bustled past me, laughing, gossiping, holding hands openly in ways I knew my father would never approve of.

I hugged my books close, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest. And then I saw him.

Arjun.

He leaned against a black Mercedes, his suit casual yet sharp, as though wealth had molded itself around him like a second skin. His eyes found mine instantly, and I froze. The world blurred into silence.

For a second, I wanted to turn and flee. But my feet betrayed me, and instead I found myself walking toward him, every step heavy with questions.

"You're Aarohi Malhotra, aren't you?" His voice was smooth, deliberate, a low timbre that seemed to vibrate against my ribcage.

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. "Yes..."

"I'm Arjun. We met-well, almost met-at the gala. I saw you with your parents." He smiled faintly, as though amused by the memory. "I didn't get a chance to introduce myself then."

The corners of my lips twitched nervously. "Yes, I... I remember."

He tilted his head, studying me as though I were a puzzle. "You don't talk much, do you?"

Heat rose to my cheeks. "I... I talk. Just not easily with strangers."

"Then maybe we shouldn't be strangers." His words were simple, but the weight behind them unsettled me. His smile wasn't like the other men I had noticed in passing-it wasn't loud, it wasn't demanding. It was... dangerous in its subtlety.

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. The driver had arrived. I clutched the phone like a lifeline.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Arjun," I whispered, already retreating into the safety of formality.

"Arjun," he corrected softly. "No mister. Not with you."

I swallowed hard, then hurried toward the car. But as the door closed behind me, I dared one last glance through the window. He was still there, leaning against his car, watching me. Not with hunger, not with impatience, but with the patience of someone who knew exactly how the game would unfold.

And against my better judgment, a part of me hoped I would see him again.

Author's POV

There are meetings that pass like shadows-quick, forgettable, gone. And then there are meetings that change the very rhythm of a heartbeat.

When Arjun's honey-brown eyes met Aarohi's ocean-blue ones that afternoon, two worlds collided: one built of vengeance, the other of dreams. One heart sharpened into a weapon, the other soft like a prayer.

He saw her innocence as a door to his revenge. She saw his gaze as a door to her first taste of freedom.

Kabir's warning echoed in the silence of fate: Do you even know what love feels like?

Perhaps not. But love has a way of planting itself in the cracks of cruelty, of blossoming where no seed should survive.

So I ask you, reader: when lies wear the mask of love, when a girl's first blush is met with a man's hidden dagger, what future can bloom? Is it love waiting to be born-or a storm waiting to destroy?

Only time will reveal whether this was the first step into heaven... or into hell