14. The Monster

A silent billionaire.

A woman trained to kill.

When power marries danger, love turns lethal.

The car moved smoothly through the gates, iron closing behind me like a verdict already passed, carrying me toward an important meeting.

Victory had a strange taste—subtle, clean, almost addictive.

I leaned back, eyes fixed on the blurred city outside, but my mind wasn’t there.

It was still in the house. In the dining room. In that moment.

She hadn’t exposed me. Instead, she adjusted.

That alone made her perfect—and I hated it.

Her presence irritated me enough that I found myself calculating her every move, even her cooking, searching for flaws just so I could dismiss her.

But the taste surprised me.

Not because it was good—many people cooked well in my house—but because it was balanced.

Exactly how I preferred it.

She made it right for everyone… and still, it felt like she made it for me.

That was what unsettled me.

I knew she was trying to become part of the family. But life doesn’t reward effort every time. And I refused to watch her succeed so easily—refused to see her settle into my life like she belonged there.

I exhaled slowly, fingers tightening against the armrest.

Fine.

I’ll admit it—she looked beautiful.

In that saree, she was softer than she should be. The morning light had been cruel—falling gently over her, tracing her silhouette as she moved through the kitchen like it was always hers. The fabric clung where it shouldn’t.

Her wrists were heavy with bangles, as if they had always belonged there.

So what? A simple, innocent, fragile woman—one who takes care of herself financially, yet is expected to depend on her husband for everything else.

But that isn’t what I prefer.

In my world, a woman should be the kind who makes people kneel with her strength.

Who doesn’t fear the devils in the dark—but becomes one when needed.

Who can protect herself… and hunt down anyone who dares to mess with her.

Free from society’s weak expectations, standing alone against every storm.

Just like my hunter.

My velvet viper.

The thought made a quiet laugh slip past my lips before I could stop it. I straightened instantly when the driver glanced at me through the rear-view mirror.

For a second, I forgot where I was.

Just her name… and I was lost.

I settled my tie and came back to a thought of my lovely wife—when I had asked her about the room, it had been a close call. Too close.

When I rewrote that night as if it had never happened, shaping it into the version she was supposed to believe, her eyes had flickered for just a second.

I didn’t want her near me, but I had promised the elders I would take care of her. So I had to pretend.

She knew. She knew exactly what I was doing—and still, she played along.

For a moment, I was certain she would tell the truth… but she didn’t.

Well played, Trishika Raj Thakur.

No

Trishika Ranbir Singh Rathore.

But I had more surprises for you.

The car slowed in front of the office. For now—only work.

The Rathore Tech boardroom was already alive when I entered. Low conversations filled the space, screens lit, files open.

“Good morning, sir. Adriano Falcone will be here in a few minutes,” Daksh said, straightening as I walked past him.

“Morning,” I replied, taking my seat at the head of the table. “Perfect.”

Right on time, the doors opened. The Italian alliance walked in, led by Falcone.

The meeting unfolded exactly as I wanted—controlled, precise, efficient. Every number aligned. Every word calculated. No room for error. Not from them. Not from me.

“Very good,” I said finally, rising from my seat. “Everything went exactly as we planned.”

Relief was visible on their faces. It always was.

“Sir, we found the intruder,” Kartik said, stepping forward the moment the room cleared. His voice was calm—but I knew what lay beneath it. He was always quick when it came to eliminating problems.

“Good.”

A faint smile touched my lips—rare, but never meaningless.

I didn’t stay any longer. Work was done.

Now came the part I enjoyed.

I left the office, heading toward the farmhouse. Games like this… always ended better there.

I drove alone.

And, as expected, I wasn’t alone for long.

A car followed. Not too close. Not too far. Careful—but not careful enough.

I already knew whose it was.

By the time I reached the farmhouse, the gravel crunched softly under my tires. The engine barely died before the second car pulled in behind me.

Right on cue, Shanya Singh stepped out.

“Ranbir, why aren’t you picking my calls?” she rushed toward me, her red heels uneven against the ground, her urgency louder than her voice.

“Last time I checked,” I replied coldly, “we were done.”

“Ranbir, I know you’re a little mad at what I said… I’m really sorry. Please don’t end it like this,” she rushed out, her voice breaking.

She stepped closer—too close.

I could feel her breath against my skin.

Her hazel eyes shimmered, tears threatening, her nose slightly flushed—but I didn’t move.

“Some things,” I said quietly, “don’t deserve a second chance.”

“Ranbir… we are a match.”

“No,” I cut in, stepping past her. “We were never anything.”

I walked into the farmhouse, already done with the conversation, but the sharp echo of her heels followed me inside. At this pace, she might actually fall—but I didn’t slow down.

For a while, I had convinced myself I was fine—that I had moved on. I buried myself in work, let numbers and deals fill the spaces that once meant something more. But reality has a way of slipping through the cracks.

Nothing ever felt right again.

The faint scent of roses filled the air—her signature perfume. It settled quietly, pulling at memories I had no interest in revisiting. It used to mean something. Something real.

Now… it was just a reminder of what I had lost.

For a moment, I had thought she could replace it. Fill that absence.

She proved me wrong.

I wasn’t angry anymore.

Just disappointed.

Not in her.

In life.

I stopped mid-step.

My gaze lifted to the painting on the wall.

A familiar hillside stretched into the distance. The slopes carried faint traces of color—uneven, faded—like something vibrant had once lived there and left without warning. The sky above was pale, giving light but no warmth.

I had bought it two years ago at an exhibition. I went there to show status, nothing more.

But I left with this.

And something I hadn’t expected—guilt.

I had seen countless paintings of that place before. All of them the same. Full. Alive. Covered in bloom.

This one wasn’t.

Here, the land stood bare.

The fields carried only the memory of Neelakurinji—flowers that bloom once every twelve years, turning the valley into something people travel across the world to witness.

And then… they’re gone.

My jaw tightened slightly.

Most people only knew that place like that—when it was alive with color. When the hills transformed, when crowds filled the silence, chasing something rare that never stayed long.

I had seen that version too.

Once.

Ten years ago.

The memory rose, sharp and uninvited—but I didn’t let it stay.

Because that wasn’t the place I remembered.

Every other time I had been there, it looked like this. Quiet. Bare. Real.

Back when Rathore wasn’t a name people recognized. Just a small infrastructure firm trying to survive contracts it wasn’t ready for. Long days, longer nights—building something out of nothing.

That was when I found that place.

Or maybe… it found me.

And I wasn’t alone when it did.

No bloom. No crowd. No reason for anyone to stay.

Except… we did.

A small house stood at the edge of that land. Nothing impressive—just walls bought on a loan I couldn’t afford, built slowly with money I barely had. Most would’ve called it a mistake.

I didn’t.

It was the only place that didn’t demand anything from me.

The only place that felt… ours.

Most days, there were no flowers. Just open land, quiet air, and time that moved differently there.

We spent years like that.

Before everything changed.

Before everything ended.

My fingers curled slightly at my side.

The painting didn’t show the bloom. Didn’t show what people waited years to see.

It showed this.

What remained.

The version no one cared to remember.

Or maybe… the only honest version of it.

I had seen the flowers once but it was never the bloom that mattered.

It was the waiting.

Because back then…

We were together.

My gaze lingered for a second longer before I looked away, exhaling slowly.

Ten years.

The flowers would bloom again in two. People would return, chase the same beauty, take the same pictures… and leave just as quickly.

But I wouldn’t be there.

Not this time.

“Ranbir, listen to me—”

Her voice cracked as she grabbed my arm, stopping me.

“We can start again… just once,” she whispered, her hand starting to move down under my trouser. I felt her finger moving over my dick and, as expected, she grabbed it.

I felt it—the intention behind the touch.

A slow smile tugged at my lips.

She really thought this would work.

Her lips parted slightly, her gaze lifting to mine, something desperate… almost reckless flickering in her eyes now.

“I’m giving you a chance,” she murmured, biting her lower lip, coming so close that her lips were just a few inches away from mine. The tears vanished from her eyes, leaving only a sharp light behind.

“Ranbir, give just one last chance… just one…”

I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. She was far more crazy than I thought.

She pulled her hand out and licked her finger while continuing her non-movable eye contact with me.

And with this, she sat on her knees.

For a second, my body reacted out of instinct—memory, not desire. And I hated that.

Before she could go further, I caught her wrist, my grip so tight that it could stop the blood from flowing to her fingers. With my other hand, I grabbed her hair and pulled her close to my face, just the way she preferred.

“That trick won’t work on me,” I said, my voice low. She didn’t pull away her hands, didn’t even move them slightly.

Her gaze sharpened, like she took it as a challenge now.

“Ranbir…” she breathed, holding my gaze like she was daring me to refuse. I bet no man ever went away from her trap. And now I was moving away from her—that was making her crazy.

A quiet chuckle escaped me.

She was more desperate than I thought. I let go of her wrist slowly, watching her.

Then I leaned in just enough for my words to brush against her skin.

“You’re trying too hard,” I said. “But if you don’t move, you will never move again.”

By this, tears and anger both came to her face. Her eyes dropped tears but were filled with fire as well. She took a step back and then another. Finally, before leaving, she looked at me again and disappeared.

Such lovely conversations I had today.

I poured myself a drink and waited. I had arrived before them.

The day had been brutally sunny an hour ago. Now the sky broke without warning. Rain fell hard, sudden, unapologetic.

I stepped outside with my glass, stopping just far enough to watch.

The rain fell in sharp rhythm—softening dust, darkening stone. The scent of wet earth rose as the world blurred, quieter under the storm.

Beautiful.

Headlights cut through the rain.

A car pulled in. Kartik. Sameer. Daksh.

They stepped out, quick, efficient, shielding themselves from the downpour. They greeted me briefly before heading inside. No Nishant. No Reyansh. Both out of the country.

Tonight—it was just us. And her.

I didn’t move.

I stayed where I was, glass in hand, watching the rain—until I saw her.

Velvet Viper.

She stepped out of the rain like she belonged to it—draped entirely in black, a dark silhouette on the long, empty road.

Black jeans. Black high-heel boots. A thick black raincoat, hood drawn low, hiding most of her face. Black gloves.

Only her chin… and her lips were visible.

Dark red.

Like blood. Like sin.

The rain slid over her, but didn’t seem to touch her. She walked through it—steady, unhurried, as if the storm adjusted to her pace.

And then it reached me.

That scent.

Red roses.

Faint. Familiar.

I had noticed it before—in our last meeting. Just enough to recognize it. Now I knew. It was her signature fragrance.

My grip tightened slightly around the glass.

The rain kept falling.

But my focus had already narrowed.

On her.

She stopped a few steps away, and her lips formed a small smile—but it was so controlled, like a challenge.

The rain fell between us, softening everything except her.

“You chose the weather well,” she said, her voice low, filtered, almost lost in the rain.

“I don’t control the weather,” I replied, calm. “Only outcomes.”

A pause.

Her gaze lifted slightly beneath the hood. I couldn’t see her eyes fully—but I felt them. Her black eyes kept staring at me.

“You assume too much.”

“I don’t assume,” I said, taking a slow sip of my drink. “I observe.”

Another step closer.

The scent of red roses sharpened.

“Observation can be misleading,” she said.

“Not when the subject is interesting to observe.”

That earned the faintest tilt of her head. That look on her face didn’t change a bit.

“And what have you concluded?” she asked.

I let the silence stretch—just enough.

“That you don’t like being watched,” I said. “But you never miss anything.”

A beat.

The rain filled it.

“Be careful,” she said quietly. “Men who think they understand me usually don’t last long.”

Something in me stilled.

Not fear of her. Something else.

“I’m not most men.”

Her lips curved—barely. Not a smile.

A warning.

In that moment, I knew she could slit my throat. But I didn’t step back. I was actually excited to see what move she would use if she needed to kill me. I wasn’t an easy target for her, and she knew it. But fighting her would feel like fighting myself—and I was excited to fight myself.

“Good,” she said. “I don’t take ordinary contracts.”

Her gaze drifted over the farmhouse. I knew she was scanning it again. But this place hadn’t changed a bit. I thought her instinct was warning her of a trap. Assassins are like this—that’s why they are brutal. And I like watching brutality.

“For a place this size,” she said, “it lacks… taste.”

“Function over decoration,” I replied.

“Empty space isn’t always functional,” she said. “Sometimes it reflects the owner.”

I watched her. “And what does this reflect?”

“Control,” she said. “And a lack of life.”

That landed deep in my chest. “Lack of life”—it was true, but it was also a taunt at the way I decorated my things.

“I don’t keep what I don’t need.”

“Interesting,” she murmured. “I prefer spaces that breathe.”

I stepped closer. “Careful. You might influence my choices.”

A faint curve touched her lips. “Unlikely.”

She moved past me then.

Close enough to disturb the calm I had just rebuilt.

I didn’t follow immediately.

For the first time—

I waited, settling myself again until her fragrance vanished from the air.

Then I turned, setting the glass aside, and walked in after her.

Everyone was already seated in their prescribed places. So was I.

“You’re late,” Kartik said.

“I’m precise,” she replied. “And I was having a good conversation with Mr. Rathor.”

She looked at me.

Kartik’s gaze lingered on her longer than necessary.

I was acting like a five-year-old who got angry when someone touched what belonged to him.

I didn’t like that.

Daksh stepped forward. “Status.”

She reached into her jacket and tossed a slim drive onto the metal table.

“Contract complete.”

She said it the way one would comment on the weather.

Sameer picked it up, already understanding what it meant.

“Eliminations?”

“Clean. No collateral. No trace.”

I finally gave her my full attention.

“I appreciate your work.”

The drive confirmed everything—Aakash Singhania’s network, his collaborators. Three key players. Important. Exposed.

“Yes, it was really clean,” Sameer said.

“Great work,” Kartik added.

“I know.”

That confidence—I liked it.

“So, Miss,” Daksh continued, “your next contract—Pradeep Mishra. Alive.”

“Bring him here,” I added. “We’ll take it from there.”

“Your target is more protected than your suggestion,” she said evenly.

Silence followed.

I nodded once.

Approval.

“Your reputation holds,” I said. “You deliver without noise.”

Kartik completed the transfer payment instantly. No one risks their life without money involved, though some people have other reasons—but I couldn’t conclude that in this case.

Her phone vibrated.

She didn’t even look.

“I don’t work for applause,” she replied coldly.

“So—extraction,” she said.

“Alive,” I clarified.

“Hm.”

She exhaled slowly, calculating.

My lips curved slightly.

“I want him delivered,” I said. “Unharmed. Talking.”

“And the route?”

“You’ll work with our man,” Sameer added.

She nodded once.

“Done.”

She turned to leave—

then paused.

“Payment doubles,” she said. “This comes with consequences.”

“Approved.”

She glanced back briefly.

“Nice game.”

Sameer leaned back casually. “Coffee?”

“No.”

What was wrong with him?

Daksh nodded. “You’ll get the details.”

She didn’t reply.

She just left.

I watched her until she disappeared from my sight.

The warehouse felt colder.

We moved to the back of the farmhouse. Men were already lined up. In the center stood one of ours.

A guard.

A traitor.

He had been feeding information to our enemies. Because of him, they had taken a shot at Reyansh and Nishant on the road—and many of the problems over the past months happened because of him.

Daksh asked a few questions. The man broke too quickly. Kartik struck him once—hard enough to drop him to his knees.

I stepped forward.

The line of men shifted. Not a sound—just fear tightening the air.

He started begging.

I crouched, meeting his eyes for a brief second. Then I poured the acid.

The scream that followed wasn’t human. It tore through the silence, echoing against the walls. He writhed, clawing at the ground, his voice breaking into something unrecognizable.

No one moved.

The men behind him went still—shoulders locked, breaths shallow. Some looked down. Others stared, unable to look away. All of them understood.

“Look straight,” I commanded.

This wasn’t punishment. This was a message. “If you are mine, you don’t betray me.”

I straightened, calm, untouched.

“And let this be clear,” I said quietly. “There are no second chances here.”

The night swallowed his screams.

And the rest of them never forgot.

The mansion felt unusually quiet. No one was in the corridor. I think everyone must have been asleep—even time itself felt asleep. No one was as crazy as me, working at night if needed.

I felt good today. Too good.

The day had gone exactly the way I wanted.

I reached my chamber and rested one hand on the doorframe. As I walked through the corridor, I heard the soft sound of her payal. Irritation crept in—but it didn’t matter. I had already shown her where she belonged.

“Planning to shift here, darling?” I said with a smirk.

I had expected her to be here—and seeing her still managed to ruin my mood. Her innocent face only made her look more dangerous.

She looked shocked at my words, turned toward me, but didn’t say anything. Just stared… then looked away, rolling her eyes.

For a second, I thought I imagined it.

No. She couldn’t have.

“Keep just a few things here. Just a few,” I said.

I had arrived at the right time—she hadn’t put much here. I had expected the opposite. Every corner filled with her things. Her presence everywhere.

But no.

Was she lazy? What had she been doing all day?

“And get out of here,” I said, moving toward the closet to change.

She stood there, frozen, just staring.

“Do you want to see me while I’m changing?” I said coldly.

She looked away again—rolling her eyes. This time, I saw it clearly.

She really did it.

Finally, she walked out of the room. I could hear the soft sound of her payal fading into the corridor—and this time, that sound brought me peace.

But then—

“Trishika beta, where are you going?” Maa’s voice.

“I… actually—” her voice trembled.

Damn.

I reached there quickly.

“Maa, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you sleeping? It’s very late.”

“I just came to see you.”

Maa leaned closer to her and whispered something I couldn’t hear.

“Go to your room and sleep, beta,” Maa said, then left.

She came back inside my room.

I stood there, confused—uncertain what to do next. I couldn’t tolerate her presence here any longer.

“Go sleep on the sofa,” I said, irritation slipping through.

“I’ll sleep on the bed. If you have that much problem with me, why don’t you sleep there?” she said, settling at one corner of the bed.

What did she just say?

She answered me back.

In my own room—she gave me an order.

How dare she?

Just because she was a woman, she thought I couldn’t do anything?

If she were a man, I would have taught her a lesson right now—one she would never wake up from.

How dare she talk to Ranbir Singh Rathore like that.

I pulled the bedsheet, and she quickly jumped off the bed. I threw the bedsheet aside… then the pillow.

She could sleep wherever she wanted.

But not on my bed.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” she said, a small smile forming. “That’s really a cute gesture, but you’ll catch a cold.”

What?

“What did you say?” I asked, shocked.

She bent down, picking up the bedsheet and pillow.

“Do you know whom you are talking to?” I said, anger rising in my voice.

“Talking to my husband,” she replied quickly.

“Shut up,” I snapped. “Get out.”

This time, she looked a little scared. Good. I wanted that fear—even if her words hadn’t affected me, I could still make her feel it.

And just as expected, her gaze dropped. Her hands trembled slightly.

Finally.

Control.

“Trishika,” I said coldly.

The moment I said her name, her composure broke.

Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over quickly, tracing down her cheeks. Her breathing grew uneven, her lips trembling as she tried to hold it in—but failed. A soft sound escaped her, turning into quiet sobs that grew louder with each second.

“Stop crying,” I said, my voice calmer now. “Trishika.”

She took a step back… then another.

“Where are you going?” I asked. Not out of fear—but because she was turning this into something unnecessary.

“I… I left my phone outside,” she said between breaths. Her voice broke, words uneven. Her nose had turned red, her cheeks flushed, tears still clinging to her lashes.

“I thought you were leaving the room,” I said.

“You will leave this room. Why would I?” she replied, wiping her tears quickly with her fingers, trying to steady herself.

She was crazy.

I almost laughed at the situation—at the thought of being thrown out of my own room. Maybe this was karma.

I was about to say something—to remind her exactly who she was standing in front of—

When my phone rang.

Kartik.

“Hm.”

A pause.

“Okay. I’m coming.”

I cut the call. Said nothing more.

Just stared at her.

And she stared right back at me—without flinching.

Neither of us looked away.

We both took it as a challenge.