They called him a ghost.
Rudransh Agnivanshi — heir to an empire built on blood, manipulation, and silence. Delhi’s underground knew him as "Raavan in a suit." No photos. No trail. Just whispers of a man who never let go of what was his.
And now, he wanted her.
She didn’t even know his name.
Avni Sharma, 23. Final-year psychology student. Top of her class. Quiet, curious, scarred. She had learned to read people better than they could read themselves.
But she couldn't read him.
Not when he sent her her own childhood diary — the one she thought she had burned at 17.
“Your secrets are prettier than you, sweetheart.”
— R.A.
The next day, her scholarship was mysteriously doubled.
Then her internship at a prison was canceled without notice.
And when she found her hostel room door ajar at midnight, she knew someone had been inside.
Everything was being... controlled.
Avni never saw his face. Not clearly. But Rudransh watched her.
From the black Mercedes parked two blocks away. From the cameras he’d hidden in the streetlamp. From the burner phones she never knew were tracked.
He didn’t want her love.
He wanted her fear.
Because fear... was intimate.
“You don’t know me yet, but your body will recognize my touch before your heart ever dares to.”
He murmured it the first time he cornered her — outside the library. Rain pouring. Her umbrella flipped. She looked up, shivering, only to find a figure in black holding out his jacket.
“I don’t talk to strangers,” she muttered, stepping back.
He smiled. The kind that didn’t reach his eyes.
“We stopped being strangers the day I saw you cry on your terrace three months ago.”
She froze.
He leaned close, brushed a knuckle across her cheek.
“You mourned someone that night. I mourned my control.”
Her world narrowed overnight.
Her best friend moved cities.
Her professor resigned.
Her internship at a mental health NGO? Replaced by a new “private client.” A criminal accused of four murders... who refused to speak to anyone but Avni.
The case was funded anonymously.
But she knew.
She knew the strings were being pulled by Rudransh Agnivanshi.
And she knew... she should run.
But there was one problem.
Her nightmares had started whispering his name.
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