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His eyes fluttered open.

The light was blinding at first — too white, too clean, too unnatural. A dull ache throbbed at the back of his head, and his limbs felt heavy, like someone had stuffed his bones with lead. The room swam in and out of focus before the blur began to settle.

Cold steel walls. A flickering fluorescent bulb. No windows. The faint scent of antiseptic and rust.

Krishna took a breath. Shallow. Controlled.

He wasn't surprised.
Because he'd known this was coming.
He'd known someone was watching him the moment he stepped out for the so-called "business trip."

And now — here he was.

Tied?

No. Not tied.

Tested.

He sat up slowly on the hard surface beneath him, realising it was some kind of makeshift cot. His fingers grazed the metal railing, and the moment he did — he heard it.

Clapping.

Slow. Mocking. Familiar.

"Oh, the prince awakens," came a voice smooth as silk and twice as poisonous.

From the shadows emerged Vyom Thakur, dressed in a tailored coat too sharp for the stench of the room, his posture elegant, eyes gleaming with a kind of theatrical madness.

"Good morning, Krishna," Vyom said with a smirk. "Or should I say Your Highness of Morality? The one who walks around this world with his bleeding heart and charming eyes, fooling people with kindness, with... hope."

Krishna simply blinked once. Then twice.

And then — he grinned.

"Oh thank god," he drawled. "I thought I'd been kidnapped by someone boring."

Vyom's smile twitched.

"You haven't changed," he said through gritted teeth, stepping closer. "Even here, on your knees, you mock."

Krishna looked around.

"Well, unless my knees have shifted to my back, I think I'm still sitting upright," he replied casually. "But sure, go ahead. Give me your villain monologue. I've got time."

Vyom's nostrils flared.

"I've been watching you. Always walking around with that I'll save the world attitude. Winning people over. Getting in the way. Acting like you don't bleed like the rest of us."

Krishna tilted his head. "Aww, Vyom. This isn't about me. This is about you. You're mad because people like me exist. Because even after all your planning, your plotting, your polished suits and expensive cigars — you're still nothing more than a bitter boy crying for attention."

The slap came fast. Sharp. But Krishna didn't flinch.

He turned back slowly, that infuriating grin still on his lips.

"Ouch," he said flatly. "That hurt more emotionally than physically, but go on. Get it all out. Catharsis is important."

Vyom's face darkened. "You really think you can joke your way out of this, Krishna?"

"I know I can," he said coolly. "Because you've made the classic mistake, Vyom. You brought me here. Which means you're scared of me. That's why you're talking. That's why you haven't killed me yet."

Vyom said nothing.

"And the longer you talk," Krishna added with a quiet edge, "the more time I get to figure out how I'm getting out."

Vyom's smirk returned — colder now. "You think this is a game?"

Krishna's expression flickered, for just a breath.

"No. I think this is a warning," he said, voice low now, almost too calm. "And it won't be for me."

A silence passed between them.

Heavy. Sharp.

Vyom stepped back, his fingers twitching as if restraining himself from another strike. But instead, he smiled.

"Fine," he said. "Let's see how long that confidence lasts when I start playing my next card."

He turned away, already walking into the shadows. "Enjoy your stay, Krishna."

Krishna didn't reply.
He simply leaned back against the wall, eyes narrowing, mind already racing.

Because if Vyom thought this was a victory...

He was in for a surprise.

Krishna had just let the silence settle again when the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor. Different this time — not Vyom's theatrical prowl, but a crisp, deliberate gait. Polished shoes on concrete.

He didn't have to look up to know who it was.

Mr. Anil Chauhan.

The man practically smelled of expensive cologne and old-school ruthlessness. Krishna had met him months ago in boardrooms layered with fake niceties and glassed-in egos. Chauhan Industries had proposed a merger that came with a clause Krishna couldn't stomach — marry the daughter, seal the deal.

Krishna had smiled. Stood. Shaken his head politely.
And walked away without blinking.
Deal lost. Conscience intact.

But now?
Here he was.

"Krishna," Mr. Chauhan's voice cut through the air like a blade wrapped in velvet. "I must admit, I didn't expect to see you like this."

Krishna arched a brow, still leaning against the metal wall. "Well, I like to travel in style."

Chauhan chuckled, dry and humourless, as he stepped fully into view — perfectly tailored suit, not a wrinkle in sight. Behind him, Vyom watched like a shadow, then slowly disappeared, lips curling in a silent smirk.
He wanted this to play out.
A show.

Mr. Chauhan's gaze flickered across the room. "You know... you had potential. Charming, confident, resourceful. I told my people — that one's dangerous. Because he knows how to win a room."

Krishna said nothing, just folded his arms.

"But unfortunately," Chauhan continued, pacing now, "you're also idealistic. Too honest. Too righteous. It's cute, really — in a tragic sort of way."

"I'm flattered," Krishna said lightly. "But if you're here to give me another shot at the marriage deal, I hate to break it to you... I'm still not into dowries. Even the human kind."

Chauhan's eyes narrowed. "Still the joker, I see."

"No joke. Just truth in a better outfit," Krishna quipped, his smirk growing.

Mr. Chauhan stopped pacing and turned sharply toward him, jaw tight. "Let's be real, Krishna. You're stuck. You don't know what Vyom's capable of. But I do. And I can get you out."

Krishna tilted his head. "How noble of you."

"All I ask is for you to consider," he said coolly, "marrying my daughter. We'll spin a new story. I'll tell Vyom to back off. I'll handle the press, the police, everything. You'll come out of this a hero. This little... hiccup? Forgotten."

Krishna was silent for a beat. Then...

He laughed.
Not the polite kind. Not a chuckle.
A full-bodied, amused, and entirely mocking laugh.

Chauhan's face burned. "What's so funny?"

"You, Mr. Chauhan," Krishna said, leaning forward, voice low and laced with steel. "You really thought I'd fall for the same bait again? Marriage like a bribe. Rescue like a leash. You don't want to save me. You want to own me. Dress me up like a trophy and place me on your shelf of business puppets."

Chauhan's nostrils flared. "You're arrogant."

"No," Krishna said smoothly. "I just know what I'm worth — and I don't sell in bulk."

The silence was crackling now.

Chauhan adjusted his coat, attempting to recompose himself. "You'll regret this."

"I doubt it," Krishna said with a shrug. "But hey, next time you propose, at least bring flowers."

Chauhan turned on his heel, storming out, his pride more bruised than anything else.

And the moment the heavy door slammed shut, Krishna's smirk faded.

He sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes scanning the corners of the room — not for an escape, but for an opportunity.

Okay, he thought.
Two egos, one enemy alliance, and a room full of silent guards who aren't entirely loyal.

He could work with that.

Because Krishna never played checkers.
He played chess — and now, it was his move.

The door had barely clicked shut behind Mr. Chauhan when Krishna threw his head back against the wall with a soft thud.

A slow, mocking smirk spread across his face.

"Marry someone else?" he muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "When my heart's already somewhere else?"

He closed his eyes for a second — just a second.

And there she was.

Rukmini.

Hair slightly damp from a rushed shower, that little crease between her brows when she was overthinking, and those wide, luminous eyes he knew how to read even when she tried so hard to hide her emotions. But this time... they weren't shining with mischief or curiosity. No.

In his mind's eye, she was crying.

Tears.

Because of him.

Krishna's jaw tightened.

He clenched his fists against his knees, knuckles whitening. The memory wasn't even real — it was all just imagination — but it hit like truth. What if she believed something had happened to him? What if, in her mind, he was already—

No.
He hated that.
Hated that she might be hurting. That she might be counting days, glancing at the door, waiting for him to walk in with a stupid joke and a pack of caramel popcorn.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.
Damn it.

He had promised himself he would protect her — not just from the world, but from his world. His enemies. His chaos. His shadows.

And now she was probably tangled in all of it.

Because of him.

He sighed and leaned back again, staring up at the ceiling. The smirk had long faded now, replaced by something heavier, something rawer.

"I should've told her," he murmured under his breath. "Should've said something more... real."

But how could he? He couldn't drag her into this madness — not fully. Not yet. And still... she was already there.

And that hurt more than any threat Vyom or Chauhan could throw at him.

For a few moments, he just sat in silence, the picture of her face etched behind his eyelids.

Then his lips twitched.
Softly.
Wistfully.

"Hold on, Rukmini," he whispered.
"I'm coming back to you."

And this time, he wouldn't let anyone or anything touch the life they were building — not Vyom, not Chauhan, not even fate.

Krishna paced slowly across the confines of the dusty room — well, cell would be more appropriate, but even that sounded far too dramatic for what Vyom had set up. The place was old, worn down, with high stone walls and one small, barred window that let in a slice of moonlight.

He had been waiting.

Not to be rescued — he didn't believe in sitting around for miracles. No, he had been waiting for a crack. A slip-up. Some overconfident guard sent by Vyom, some weak link he could press on and unravel. But surprisingly, or maybe not, Vyom wasn't giving him the luxury of a mistake. The man was cautious — too cautious.

Krishna sat back on the creaky wooden bench, lacing his fingers behind his head and stretching out his legs.

"No weaklings today," he murmured with a sardonic smile. "Vyom must've read my resume."

He laughed under his breath and shook his head, eyes lifting toward the window as night settled in.

The moon had risen again — quiet and full — and Krishna leaned his head back against the wall, letting the silver light kiss his face.

His thoughts, as always, drifted back to her.

Rukmini.

What would she be doing now? Still in the office, chewing on the end of her pen as she read contracts? Or curled up on the sofa with Subhadra, pretending to watch a show but secretly checking her phone every few minutes?

Would she be angry?

Would she be hurting?

His chest tightened at the thought.

"Don't you dare cry," he whispered softly, as if the breeze might carry the words to her. "Not for me. Not yet."

Sleep tugged at him slowly — not the kind that brought rest, but the kind that offered a brief escape from the stone walls and taunting echoes of Vyom's voice. And so, under the moonlight, thinking of the woman whose heart beat in sync with his, Krishna drifted off.

Morning.

A clatter jolted him awake — the sound of metal against stone.

Two men stood at the door, their expressions bored and stiff as they slid a tray toward him.

He sat up, blinking.

"Breakfast?" he quipped, lifting the lid to find... something that looked like it was cooked last week and forgotten under a broken AC.

"Is this food or a failed science experiment?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The younger of the two guards stifled a laugh. The older one glared but didn't speak.

Krishna leaned back, balancing the tray on his knee, and casually began to talk — not directly about escaping, of course, but he had his ways. Light jokes, innocent questions, a mention of the weather, then slowly, a few curious inquiries slipped in.

"You guys local? This place doesn't look like a city centre," he said, looking around. "Must be peaceful at night, huh?"

The younger one nodded. "It's about forty minutes from the border town. Middle of nowhere."

Got it.

Krishna smiled. "No wonder the Wi-Fi sucks."

By the time they left, one of them had accidentally told him there were only two exits to the compound and the names of two other guards who rotated shifts.

He watched the door shut behind them, expression thoughtful.

Then, he smirked.

"Poor Vyom," he muttered. "Always so focused on looking dangerous, he forgets how charming I can be."

He stood, cracking his neck, eyes gleaming with that familiar glint of mischief and fire.

"Let's see how long your empire lasts, Vyom. Because I'm already inside the walls."

And just like that, Krishna went back to plotting — not just his escape, but a comeback that would shake everything Vyom thought he had under control.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of faded orange and bruised purple. Evening settled in like a tired sigh, and the silence in Krishna's cell grew heavier — thicker than usual, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Krishna sat against the far wall, head tilted back, arms resting on his knees. Despite his sharp mind constantly working in overdrive, his body was beginning to feel the effects of minimal food, restless nights, and heightened alertness. Somewhere between thought and strategy, sleep had crept in again — uninvited but inevitable.

He didn't even realise he had drifted off until the clink of metal startled him.

The door creaked open.

Krishna's eyes fluttered open lazily, a sarcastic smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Another visitor? I really should start charging for this fan meet," he murmured, straightening up. "I'm so popular these days."

He was already lining up a few good jabs — perhaps about Vyom's poor taste in henchmen or Chauhan's inability to negotiate without being petty — but then he paused.

His gaze locked on the silhouette in the doorway.

It was a woman.

And for a fraction of a second, Krishna's breath caught in his chest.

Rukmini?

His heart jerked instinctively.

The posture, the hair, the way the dim light hugged her figure — it tugged at his memory like a cruel joke.

But as she stepped inside, and the harsh yellow bulb flickered overhead, he saw it — no, felt it — she wasn't Rukmini.

This woman... was someone else.

She sauntered in with the overconfidence of someone who believed the world owed her everything. Her dress was sheer party-glam — sequins catching the light, heels clicking dramatically against the stone floor. There was a glassy sheen in her eyes, a smirk that didn't reach her lips. And the way she held herself, swaying slightly — she either was drunk or wanted to look like it.

The keys jangled carelessly in her hand.

She shut the door behind her.

"Krishna," she said, her voice soaked in syrup and something sharper. "Why do you make it so hard? Do you know how long I've wanted you?"

Krishna's brow arched. "Lady, I've had dreams less confusing than this conversation."

She didn't laugh. Instead, she stumbled closer, placing her perfectly manicured hands on his chest. He instinctively reached up to steady her, not out of affection — purely reflex. But the closeness made his skin crawl.

"You keep rejecting me. You said no to the marriage like it was a business deal," she whispered, her face inches from his. "But you don't understand, Krishna. I'm not a deal. I'm a reward."

And just like that, he knew.

Mr. Chauhan's daughter.

Of course. How can he forget her? He had seen her, with her father on the day her father came up with the proposal of getting engaged with her.

This was the missing piece — the one Vyom had conveniently kept quiet about.

She leaned in closer, brushing her fingers along his jaw. "We could be so powerful together. I already told Daddy... I'll have you. And if you behave, maybe we'll even make a good story."

Krishna held back a scoff, keeping his tone light. "You're underestimating my talent for bad behaviour."

He tried to shift subtly, eyes flicking toward the set of keys hanging from her side. She was distracted — seemingly intoxicated — but the moment he moved, her eyes sharpened.

She wasn't drunk. Not completely.

As he reached, ever so subtly, she stepped back with the grace of a practiced dancer.

"I'm not as foolish as Daddy thinks," she said, giving him a wicked little smile. "And certainly not as foolish as you think."

Krishna narrowed his eyes.

She reached for the door again, turning back to blow him a kiss.

"Next time, Krishna..." she purred, "I'll come prepared. And you... better stop resisting. I won't leave so easily again."

With a final smirk, she stepped out and locked the cell behind her, the keys jingling one last time before vanishing into the silence.

Krishna stood there, arms folded, jaw tense.

"That's it," he muttered, dark eyes burning now. "This isn't just a power play anymore. This is war."

He turned his gaze toward the window, his mind already racing.

Vyom. Chauhan. That daughter.

They thought they were dealing with a businessman.

They had no idea they were playing with a storm.

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