13. The Hunter

A silent billionaire.

A woman trained to kill.

When power marries danger, love turns lethal.

Morning arrived without permission.

Light slipped through the curtains—soft, unfamiliar—touching a room that did not belong to me. The chandelier above was dim now, stripped of its night-time arrogance, watching me like a silent witness.

For a moment, I forgot where I was.

Then the weight returned.

A new house.

A new name.

A husband who had thrown me out of his space as if I were an intruder.

The bed had stolen all my exhaustion. I had slept deeply—too deeply. Peacefully. Yet something strange lingered in my chest. Even inside sleep, a part of me stayed awake, alert, as if expecting someone to step out of the dark and slit my throat.

Old instincts never die.

For a fleeting second, my mind drifted to a familiar nightmare—this marriage as a trap, an elaborate mission where everyone had to be eliminated to save myself. And of course, in that version, he led it.

The bed was warm.

The room was beautiful.

And still, none of it was mine. It had been handed to me without choice.

I had married for a promise—for the last wish of a grandfather who was no longer alive to see what he had bound me into.

One part of me remained uneasy, refusing to relax. Another part kept hoping this was all a dream. That when I opened my eyes, I would see my old room, my home, my parents.

But reality did not fade.

Still… with time, even foreign places begin to feel familiar. Or so I told myself.

I lay there, lost in thought, when the door opened softly.

“Bhabhi, good morning,” Ankita said, her smile bright enough to hurt my eyes.

“Good morning,” I replied.

“Badi maa sent these,” she added, holding out sarees, jewellery, and a set of bangles. “For today.”

“Oh,” I murmured. “I see.”

I washed away the remnants of sleep and stood before the mirror, staring at the fabric in my hands. Wearing a saree felt like preparing for battle without armor. Yesterday, I had nearly fallen a hundred times—even with my mother, friends, and his sisters saving me from disaster. Today, there would be no one to catch me.

Lehenga. Saree. Bangles.

None of these had ever been my skin.

I had lived in shirts, trousers, dark colors—clothes meant for movement, for escape. Clothes that didn’t hesitate when blood had to be spilled. Silk felt foreign. Heavy. Irritating.

But this house demanded softness.

When I was finally ready, I roamed around the room a little. The room is so big—why does anyone need such a big space? This part of the house was luxurious, yet faded in color, as if a monster had absorbed all brightness from it. I glanced at the closet—it was so big I could probably hide many bodies in here.

Oh God… this is for clothes, Trishika.

What are you thinking?

I paused at the doorway, peeking down the corridor first. The morning felt too fragile to be ruined by him. I didn’t want any curse from him on my first day here. Relief washed over me when I saw no sign of his presence. Maybe my luck is with me.

“Trishika, you’re ready,” his aunt said warmly as I stepped out.

“Ji, good morning,” I replied, bending instinctively to touch her feet.

She stopped me mid-motion and pulled me into a hug instead.

“No feet. Hug me,” she said, smiling.

Downstairs, only women and a few servants moved about. The kitchen was already alive with quiet preparation. I went to each elder, seeking blessings.

“You look beautiful,” his mother said, placing her hand on my head.

“Thank you, Maa.”

“Today is your first rasoi,” his second aunt reminded me. “You’ll make something sweet.”

“As per ritual, suji ka halwa,” Maa added gently. “But you can make whatever you like.”

“I’ll make suji ka halwa,” I said. “If that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Maa smiled. “Come with me.”

She showed me the ingredients, explaining softly, “We’re a big family. Food here is always shared work.”

“And breakfast?” I asked.

She hesitated for a second, then smiled knowingly.

“For him… it has to be precise. No excess oil. Measured portions. He counts calories like he counts people—strictly. Aloo paratha, but light. He won’t touch it otherwise.”

I almost smiled.

For a moment, pettiness whispered—I could leave his plate empty. Let him feel hunger after last night’s words. But I wasn’t cruel. And I wasn’t trying to scare him. Not yet.

“I’ll make for everyone,” I said.

“For everyone?” Maa repeated, startled.

“You don’t have to,” his aunt protested.

“Maa, please,” I insisted calmly. “Just tell me where everything is.”

They finally agreed, standing at a distance, watching—as if waiting for me to break.

The family was enormous. Friends had stayed over. Feeding them all alone should have been overwhelming.

But pressure had never scared me.

I mixed flour with water, my hands moving instinctively. Vegetables were chopped swiftly, cleanly. My body remembered rhythm, precision, control. The knife felt light.

Cutting vegetables was easy.

Easier than flesh.

Cleaner than bone.

There was no hesitation. No wasted movement. Just focus.

I had survived things that should have killed me. This was nothing.

As the aroma began to rise, filling the vast kitchen, I realized something unsettling.

In this house of warmth and rituals, I was still standing exactly as I always had—balanced between danger and disguise.

And the day had only just begun.

“Bhabhi, you’re making breakfast for everyone?” Priya came closer, her voice bright with disbelief.

“Yes,” I replied simply.

“It smells so good,” Ankita said, inhaling deeply.

“I hope it tastes good,” I murmured.

I was still near the stove, finishing the last touches. When I finally turned it off and faced the room, something unexpected met me.

I almost missed it.

Every woman in the kitchen—maids, aunties, even the ones who had been casually chatting—stood frozen at the edges of the room. Their hands were still. Their conversations had vanished. Eyes wide. Mouths slightly open.

I blinked.

I hadn’t realized this would shock them.

For a woman like me—who jumps from building to building, who knows the weight and balance of almost every weapon, who calculates exits and timing, who has taken lives—this was nothing.

A kitchen was easier than a battlefield. A knife here felt softer than the ones I had held elsewhere. My movements were instinctive—controlled, precise.

Still… this was more than they expected.

Now what?

“How did you make breakfast for everyone?” Maa asked softly, disbelief clear in her voice.

“This is impossible,” the first aunty said.

“And in such little time… all by yourself,” the second aunty added.

Here it comes, I thought.

Now they’ll say they’ve seen through me. That I’m not a daughter-in-law. That I’m something else.

“Actually…” I began, letting my voice tremble just enough to feel real. “I love cooking. I cook every day at home. I think… that’s how I learned.”

It was the safest lie. Almost the truth.

Maa smiled. “Learn something from her, Ankita and Radhika. She’s human too. She works hard.”

“Maa, not now,” Radhika said, making a face.

Laughter followed—light, easy. I joined in, letting it wash away the tension. I hoped they were satisfied. I needed them to be.

Then I felt him.

Some presences don’t announce themselves.

They don’t need to.

The air shifted. The kitchen tightened. Even the sounds seemed to retreat.

I didn’t turn around.

He stood at the entrance.

I knew because the room went still again.

Servants paused mid-step. One of the aunties glanced up and fell silent. The house itself seemed to wait—for him.

I didn’t look at him.

I didn’t want to.

Why did everyone freeze like statues in his presence? Why did he command silence without a word?

I could feel his gaze—sharp, unreadable, lingering longer than politeness allowed. He was staring me.

Finally, I looked at him—for just five seconds.

Dark brown tuxedo. Tailored perfectly to his body. Too tall. Too composed. Too handsome for his own good. Strength visible even beneath the fabric. Black hair slightly untamed, as if control didn’t come naturally to him—he forced it.

The calm on his face made him even more handsome.

He didn’t expect me here, I think so.

I could almost hear his thoughts colliding—the woman he had thrown out of his room last night now feeding his family, occupying his space without asking.

I wondered if it hurt him.

If he wanted to see me, he could. I had learned long ago how to exist without reacting.

“Breakfast is ready,” his mother said gently, breaking the silence.

Only then did he move.

His footsteps were controlled. No hesitation, no hurry.

He passed behind me.

Close enough that I caught his scent—clean, restrained, faintly bitter, like black coffee.

My hands didn’t tremble.

My expression didn’t change.

But my breath slipped from my lungs, as if he had taken it with him.

If he was waiting for a reaction—

He didn’t get one.

All the elders came downstairs.

His friends followed soon after.

Everyone settled together in the dining hall. Plates were served. The servants and I moved quietly between them, placing food, refilling glasses, careful not to disturb the fragile calm.

Slowly, conversation returned—carefully normal.

As if nothing delicate had almost shattered.

“You know,” the first aunty announced proudly, “everything today was made by Trishika. All by herself.”

“Everything?” Grandfather asked, surprised.

“Ji,” she replied. “She cooked it all. And so quickly.”

“She did the work of almost ten people,” Maa added, looking at me with something close to wonder.

I smiled. Just a little.

Then I saw him.

He lifted one eyebrow—barely—but said nothing. Didn’t look at me. Didn’t acknowledge the praise. While everyone else stared at me like I was some rare masterpiece displayed in the hall, he remained unreadable.

Maa signaled me to serve him.

I stepped closer and placed the plate in front of him.

I wanted to throw it on his head.

Instead, I served light aloo paratha—minimal oil, clean portions. Exactly how they said he preferred it.

From the corner of my eye, I watched him.

He stared at the plate longer than necessary. As if searching for a mistake.

I looked at him as he ate, waiting for even a hint of praise. It wasn’t wrong to want it. I had worked hard. Wanting recognition from your husband wasn’t weakness—it was human.

I wasn’t heartless.

Just… different.

I looked down at my hands, faintly dusted with flour, and felt something twist inside my chest.

Recognition.

“Bhabhi, it’s delicious,” Reyansh said with a grin.

“Yes, really amazing,” Daksh added.

“Can I have more?” Nikhil lifted his plate.

“Me too,” Nishant chimed in.

“Well, just for today, I’m eating extra,” uncle laughed.

Even father asked for another serving.

He still hadn’t said a word.

“Ranbir, how is breakfast?” Maa asked.

“Edible,” he said.

My jaw dropped. How dare he. I knew it might be acceptable for someone else, but this sounded so rude here.

Why don’t I just put poison in his food? No, no, Trishika—you cannot murder your husband just because he doesn’t like your food. You need a stronger excuse.

Yet somehow, without stepping into his room—I had entered his space.

And this time, he hadn’t thrown me out.

“Trishika beta,” Maa said softly, placing something in my hands. “This is your first rasoi blessing.”

A box of petal jewelry. Beautiful. Delicate.

“Thank you, Maa,” I said, smiling.

“I’ll keep it in your room,” she said and went upstairs.

Then—

“We have an important meeting today,” he finally spoke. “After that, some contracts. Don’t be late.”

“Okay, brother,” someone replied.

“Yes, sir,” the others echoed.

The shift was immediate.

No laughter. No chatter. Even the elders spoke less around him. Every man agreed without question.

His control wasn’t loud—but it was absolute.

The room felt heavy in his presence… and breathed again when he left.

I had noticed it since yesterday.

Why was he so cold with his own family?

Why did no one ever push back?

Not even the elders.

The strangeness in everyone’s behavior told a story from the past—one I needed to uncover.

He stood to leave.

Then Maa stopped him.

“Trishika beta,” she asked gently, “why did you put your luggage in the other room? Why not in Ranbir’s room?”

The hall went silent.

This was it.

I could tell them. Tell them how he threw me out. How he didn’t even want to see my face. Let him explain my humiliation.

Before I could speak—

He turned back.

He walked toward me and looked straight at me.

“Yes, Trishika,” he said calmly. “Why? If I did something wrong… if you didn’t like the room, we can change it as per your comfort.”

What.

In.

Hell.

Was he pretending? Was he mad? Or was this his real talent—rewriting reality as if it had always been his?

It was he who had told me to leave his room, who had thrown me out without a second glance. And now he stood there, calm and composed, behaving as if nothing had happened—as if I had imagined it all.

Was he unstable? Did he have some twisted ability to switch faces at will? Or was he drunk last night and had simply forgotten everything?

No. This felt deliberate. And that frightened me far more than anger ever could.

“Actually,” I said evenly, “I was very sleepy last night. So I kept my luggage there. Today I’ll move everything.”

“Yes, beta,” father nodded. “You’re his wife. Why would you stay in another room?”

“Do it quietly,” he added, smiling.

Too easy. Too smooth.

A manipulator.

Desperate, as if he wanted his wife close to him—quickly, conveniently. Such a manipulator. I would have to stay alert now. I wouldn’t miss his next move.

He started walking toward the door.

My answer had worked. The moment passed. The house slipped back into its routine. I let out a slow breath, relief loosening my chest.

But before leaving, he looked back at me.

No—

He smirked.

A silent claim of victory.

No one else noticed. It wasn’t meant for them.

It was for me.

Well played, Ranbir Singh Rathore.

Everyone had gone back to their work. Finally, I could see what had been packed for me—what my sisters had sent. I wasn’t even there when they did it.

I stepped into the room.

Big. Bright. So-called my room.

I took a slow breath and glanced at the luggage. Thankfully, only a few bags. At least, that’s what it should have been. I started unpacking—sarees, jewelry, things that didn’t belong to me.

My body still ached from wearing them. The weight of bangles, the pull of the necklace, the restriction of silk. I could barely move properly. If I had to wear this every day, I might actually die—and the reason would be ridiculous.

I picked a few clothes and moved to his room, placing them inside his closet. There was barely any space. Too many clothes. There hadn’t been this many before—he had done it on purpose. One man didn’t need this much. For a moment, I considered burning half of it.

But I chose not to be violent. Not yet.

Then I saw it.

A black bag.

My steps slowed.

No… this wasn’t supposed to be here.

I had run out of rounds in my last contract, and the knife I left in that man’s body hadn’t been recovered. I needed both. Kabir handled deliveries—always to the studio. Not here. But during the wedding chaos, I forgot.

Of course he didn’t.

Thankfully, the bag had a code. No one could open it.

I moved toward it and picked it up quickly.

A knock cut through my thoughts.

“Bhabhi?” Priya’s voice. “Can we come in?”

Too late.

“Come.”

The door opened, and Priya walked in with Ankita and Radhika right behind her.

All walking straight into a problem.

“You didn’t unpack yet?” Ankita asked.

“We’ll help,” Priya said, already sitting down.

“No, it’s fine—” I stopped myself.

Great. A bonus problem.

If they saw anything… I would have to handle it. I didn’t like witnesses.

I softened my tone. “Just a little is left.”

“Then we’ll do that little,” Radhika smiled. Of course she could. She might as well help arrange those weapons in her brother’s closet. They could pick the rounds while I carried the knife and decorate it in his closet. How beautiful.

They started opening one of the bags, pulling out clothes, talking like it was nothing. I stayed where I was—between them and the bag in my hand, half-hidden under my pallu.

“Bhabhi… what’s in that one?” Radhika asked, noticing.

I stilled for a second.

“Nothing important,” I said.

“Then we’ll check,” Priya grinned.

“No.”

The word came out sharper than intended.

Silence.

I relaxed immediately. “Trust me,” I added, lowering my voice, “you don’t want to see that.”

“Why?” Ankita laughed. “You hiding weapons in there?”

For a second, I almost smiled.

“No… it’s just…” I hesitated deliberately. “Night clothes. The embarrassing kind. I’d rather not display them.”

A pause.

Then they burst out laughing.

“Ohhh, we get it,” Priya said, grinning.

“You’re bold, bhabhi,” Radhika teased.

I smiled, just enough. Couldn’t I come up with a better excuse? That was so bad. What must they think of me? Still… it was good they didn’t get even a hint of what I really was.

Their interest disappeared instantly.

“I think that’s enough for today,” I added, glancing toward the closet. “If I change too much, he might not like it.”

That worked.

They exchanged looks, then nodded.

“Okay, we’ll leave then,” Ankita said.

They walked out, still laughing.

The door closed.

Silence returned.

I needed to get it out of this house.

Because in this house—

This wasn’t the danger they saw.

I was the one they hadn’t even imagined yet.