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The air was heavy with anticipation as the final hour before the grand party ticked closer. The entire city seemed to pulse with life—lights shimmering like fireflies, roads buzzing with luxury cars, and the elegant venue standing tall like a throne room in a modern palace.

Krishna, however, stood in the middle of it all—still, quiet, and surprisingly restless.

He leaned against the wall near the staircase, arms folded, gaze trained upstairs where Rukmini had disappeared hours ago. She hadn't shown herself since, and a flicker of frustration, or perhaps nervous anticipation, lingered behind his eyes.

He wasn't supposed to care this much.

But here he was—waiting. Wanting to be the first to see her.

He imagined how she'd look tonight. And no matter how many images flickered in his head, none seemed good enough to match what he knew she'd become—grace with sharp edges, fire hidden under silk.

His fingers tapped against his elbow. Why is time moving like molasses now? He cursed mentally.

"Krishna, change of plans," Ram's voice broke his thought. "You and Draupadi need to be at the venue early. Now, actually."

"What?" Krishna's voice dropped in disbelief.

Ram nodded apologetically. "We can't risk last-minute confusion. You two will be getting into character before the others arrive."

Krishna muttered something under his breath that probably would've made a few gods look away.

"Oh come on," Subhadra chimed from behind, grinning far too wide, "you'll survive not being the first one to see her. It's not like you've branded her."

Krishna shot her a look that could've singed the edge of her dupatta.

Ram sighed and stepped in like a referee. "Both of you—enough. We don't have time for a sibling face-off right now."

Still glaring at Subhadra, Krishna turned and walked out, resigned, yet the ache of not seeing Rukmini before the world did—it stung.

By the time he picked up Draupadi, he had composed himself—or at least tried to.

She slid into the passenger seat with her usual composed elegance, her eyes flicking toward him with a casual glance. "You're unusually quiet, Krishna."

He didn't look at her. "Just thinking. Nothing serious."

Draupadi smirked, sensing the lie. "Let me guess... someone's not happy they couldn't see her first?"

Krishna's lips twitched. "You're in a surprisingly teasing mood today."

Draupadi turned to the window. "Maybe because I'm trying not to feel my stomach twist into a thousand knots."

That caught his attention.

"You? Nervous?" he asked, glancing sideways, genuinely surprised.

"Don't make a big deal out of it," she said lightly, but her voice carried something else—fragility layered under sarcasm.

Krishna didn't press further, but the silence between them was laced with understanding. 

When they reached the venue, the building stood bathed in elegance—gold lights, velvet ropes, the chatter of powerful people already echoing through the entrance.

Before stepping out of the car, Krishna turned to her.

"You know, even if you don't say it... I've seen the way you look at him," he said quietly.

Draupadi stiffened.

"I don't blame you," he added. "He's not hard to look at."

A faint blush bloomed on her cheeks, but she scoffed. "You talk too much. Now stop flirting with my business and go blend in. We have work to do."

Krishna grinned, amused, but let her walk ahead without another word. As she disappeared into the sea of people, Krishna finally let himself breathe.

But even amidst the glittering guests, the subtle game of shadows and spying, his mind wasn't on their mission.

No. It was still stuck on one thing—one person.

Rukmini.

Where was she?
Would she show up with that same fire in her eyes?
Would she smile at him the way she used to?
Or would she walk in looking like a stranger he had to relearn from scratch?

He didn't know. But all he did know was this—

He was waiting.

Even if the world didn't see it, Krishna was waiting for her in every breath, in every heartbeat.

And tonight, even hidden in plain sight, he hoped she'd somehow notice.

The ballroom had bloomed into its full glory.

Every chandelier sparkled like stars caged in gold. The air buzzed with conversations dipped in expensive cologne and quiet ambition. Krishna adjusted his blazer, pretending to blend into the crowd while his mind lingered elsewhere. He was mid-scan through the clusters of guests when his phone buzzed softly in his pocket.

It was a message from Ram.

"They've arrived."

Just those two words—but Krishna knew exactly what they meant. His eyes snapped up, meeting Draupadi's from across the floor. She had been stationed a little distance away, pretending to be just another socialite sipping wine. Her glance was sharp, understanding, laced with the same anticipation he felt—and without a word, they nodded to each other.

Krishna stepped deeper into the crowd, weaving between strangers cloaked in designer suits and old money. His heartbeat kicked up a notch, but his face remained unreadable.

And then, he saw her.

The doors at the far end had just opened again—and there she was.

Rukmini.

Walking beside Arjun, who looked maddeningly confident as always. But Krishna barely saw him.

His eyes were on her.

She wasn't supposed to look like that.
Not this effortlessly stunning.
Not this dangerously beautiful.

She wore a deep emerald gown that clung to her like moonlight on still water, with thin straps that barely kissed her shoulders and a slit that dared the air to breathe too close. Her hair was styled in a loose wave, dark curls framing her face, a single emerald earring glinting against her neck. She wasn't smiling exactly—her eyes held a flicker of hesitation, a quiet confusion, like she was still adjusting to the storm of attention crashing around her.

Arjun leaned in, said something only meant for her ears.

Whatever it was, it worked—because the stiffness in her shoulders melted slightly, and her lips curved into a soft, uncertain smile.

And that was when it hit Krishna—like a chord inside his chest had been plucked too hard.

"Beautiful," he whispered, not realizing he had spoken aloud.

"You say something?" asked one of the men standing near him—older, powerful, a name on the guest list that mattered. They weren't supposed to notice Krishna. He wasn't meant to stand out tonight. But their eyes had followed his.

"To be fair," the man continued, glancing toward Rukmini, "it's hard not to look. That woman—goddess, really—is devastating." He chuckled. "If she was with me, I wouldn't have brought her out. I'd keep her locked up where no other eyes could see her."

Another man beside him, this one middle-aged and far less subtle, leaned in. "Or maybe not locked up, just tied down properly. I bet she'd like that."

Krishna's jaw clenched.

He turned—slow, quiet, like a storm just before it cracked—and looked straight at the man. His fists curled slightly at his sides. "What did you just say?"

There was no smile on his face now. No mask of charm.

Just fire.

The man chuckled, not sensing the shift. "Don't be offended, son. Just an observation. That woman's enough to burn half the room down. Can't blame me for admiring a good flame."

"I can blame you for being disgusting," Krishna said flatly, taking a step forward.

He was seconds away from saying far worse, from drawing every eye in the room with a reckless outburst—when suddenly a hand gripped his arm and yanked him back.

It was Draupadi.

She stepped between them smoothly, laughter in her voice but steel in her eyes. "Ah, here you are! I've been looking all over for you," she said sweetly, before turning to the men. "Forgive him—he gets a little lost when he sees fine wine. I told him to behave."

She didn't wait for their response.

With a swift push, she nudged Krishna backward into the crowd, her smile vanishing the moment they were out of earshot.

"Have you lost it?" she hissed.

"They were talking filth about her," Krishna shot back, eyes still blazing.

"And you're here to protect her honor or blow our entire cover?" Draupadi snapped. "You want them to get suspicious? You want the whole damn room to know we aren't who we say we are?"

Krishna didn't reply. His jaw worked as he glanced back, but the men had already turned to their drinks.

Draupadi sighed and softened just slightly. "I get it, Krishna. I do. But right now? Focus. We need you inside. You can have your battles later—after we finish the war."

Krishna nodded once, swallowing the anger still burning at the back of his throat. But even as they slipped back into the flow of the party, one thought looped in his mind like a quiet mantra—

He would never let anyone speak of Rukmini like that again.
Never.

And as his eyes scanned the crowd once more, they found her again—radiant, unaware, smiling at something Arjun said.

Just wait, he thought. You'll see me tonight. You'll have to.

Because no matter what mask he wore or which role he played—his eyes would always find her first.

Krishna moved through the gathering like a shadow dressed in silk—his mask firmly back on, lips curled into a polite smile, eyes scanning and observing, picking up fragments of conversations, names, gestures, alliances. He sipped his drink just enough to not seem rude, nodded at people who didn't know his real name, exchanged smiles with people who didn't know what he was really here for.

But none of it registered.

His mind was somewhere else.

No—his mind was on someone else.

He didn't want to look for her again. He really didn't. But the moment he paused near the center of the floor, surrounded by gilded laughter and wine glasses raised mid-air, his eyes wandered back, like they had a will of their own.

And found her.

Rukmini.

Only... she wasn't standing alone this time.

Krishna's heart stumbled—no, it staggered—because she was smiling. Not the polite kind, not the mask she wore in council meetings or stiff gatherings. This smile was... soft. Real. Familiar.

And the man she was smiling at?

He wasn't Arjun.

Krishna's grip on the glass tightened until he almost cracked it.

The stranger was tall, charming, casually dressed in an elegant jacket, his body language confident and far too relaxed for Krishna's liking. He leaned in when he spoke, like what he was saying needed her attention and only hers. Rukmini wasn't just listening—she laughed. She laughed. And then, to make it worse, she reached out and touched the man's arm gently, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Something cold and bitter twisted in Krishna's chest.

It wasn't jealousy, he told himself. It wasn't.

He had no right. She wasn't his. She had never been his.

And yet...

The longer he stood there watching, the more his throat tightened with an emotion he couldn't name and wouldn't dare admit. His thoughts grew loud, too loud, swirling dangerously.

Who is he?
Why does she look so... free around him?
Why haven't I seen her smile like that in months?
Why does it matter so damn much?

"Krishna."

Someone said his name from nearby. A woman. Dressed in velvet. He turned, gave her a smile that didn't touch his eyes, excused himself.

He didn't care who she was. He didn't care who anyone was right now.

All he could think about was how Rukmini looked when she was with someone else. Someone who wasn't pulling her into a war. Someone who wasn't linked to the ghosts of her past. Someone who wasn't him.

Arjun would have made sense, somehow. It would've hurt—but it would've made sense. But this? This faceless man who just appeared and got to see her laugh like that?

It burned more than Krishna wanted to admit.

He took a step back, retreating toward the shadows of the tall marble pillars. From a distance, he watched as the man leaned down and said something into her ear, something that made her shake her head and smile wider.

It was unbearable.

So Krishna looked away.

For the first time that night, he looked away—not out of strategy, not out of caution, but because he couldn't bear it.

Draupadi passed by him with a wine glass in her hand and a sharp look in her eyes. She noticed. Of course, she noticed. She didn't say a word—just bumped her shoulder against his as she walked past.

Krishna didn't respond.

He stood still amidst the crowd, a storm behind still eyes.

He didn't know what that man meant to her. He didn't know if she'd tell him. And perhaps the worst part—he didn't know if it was any of his business.

But he knew one thing:
That smile?
He missed being the reason behind it.

And tonight, it wasn't his.

But even as something unnameable twisted inside him, Krishna forced himself to breathe, to stand straighter, to focus. He hadn't come here to chase shadows of his own heart. This night—this mission—meant far more than a moment of weakness.

So he did what he'd mastered long ago—he composed himself.

Straightened the cuffs of his sleeves. Pulled his mind back from the ache in his chest and threw it into the fire of purpose. He was here for a reason. They all were. And he wouldn't let his personal turmoil unravel everything they'd worked for.

His feelings could burn later.
Right now—he had a war to win.

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