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The club was a sensory overload—a haze of flashing strobe lights, heavy bass that rattled the ribcage, and the overwhelming scent of expensive perfume and cheap sweat. As they pushed through the crowd, Zoya clung to Ananya’s arm, her eyes wide as she took in a couple tangled together in a dark corner.

"Anu, yeh sab kya hai?" (Anu, what is all this?), Zoya whispered, looking slightly overwhelmed by the raw intensity around them.

Ananya gripped her hand tighter, pulling her toward the pulsing glow of the bar. "Chill kar, baby! Yeh club hai, yahan log isi liye aate hain. Main hoon na, tension mat le." (Chill out, baby! This is a club, this is why people come here. I'm here, don't take tension.)

Ananya ordered a round of shots for the group. Zoya shook her head vigorously. "Anu, yaar, tujhe pata hai na main drink nahi karti. Please!"

Ananya rolled her eyes playfully, pushing the glass into Zoya’s hand. "Abe chal! Aaj mera birthday hai, thoda toh banta hai. Bas ek shot, phir maza aayega!" (Come on! It's my birthday, a little is necessary. Just one shot, then it'll be fun!) Another friend chimed in, "Haan yaar, bas try toh kar, life mein thoda toh adventure hona chahiye!"

Zoya hesitated, then downed the shot. It burned, but the buzz hit her almost instantly. Soon, they were all out on the dance floor, moving with a reckless, giggly energy. Zoya, usually so guarded, was letting loose, her backless dress swaying as she laughed at Ananya’s ridiculous dance moves. "Arre, ruk ja! Tu toh aise dance kar rahi hai jaise bhookamp (earthquake) aa gaya ho!" (Hey, stop! You're dancing like there's an earthquake!) Zoya laughed, nearly tripping over her own heels.

Meanwhile, inside the velvet-roped sanctuary of the VIP room, Rudra’s phone buzzed sharply—an encrypted line. He scowled at the screen. The music was a wall of sound, making it impossible to hear. With a sharp gesture to his guards to stay put, he stood up and strode toward the club’s exit, his presence parting the crowd like water. Viraj, opting for a fresh round of drinks, stayed back to charm the bartender, but after a moment, he too stepped out to get some fresh air.

Just as Rudra reached the lobby, a whirlwind of color and sound erupted near the restrooms. Zoya, feeling the effect of the drinks, was practically bouncing. "Anu! Anu, jaldi chal, mujhe washroom jana hai! I can’t hold it anymore, explosion ho jayega!" (Anu! Anu, walk fast, I need to go to the washroom! Explosion will happen!)

Ananya was doubled over, clutching her stomach as she steered her wobbly friend. "Abey, tu toh handle kar le, birthday girl ko mat girana!" (Hey, you handle yourself, don't drop the birthday girl!) They were singing along to the club track, their voices shrill and joyful, giggling like two kids who had just pulled off a heist.

The sound of their infectious laughter cut through the muffled beat of the music, reaching the lobby with startling clarity.

In the dim light of the entrance, Rudra stopped dead in his tracks. His predatory gaze shifted, locking onto the source of the noise. Across the hallway, standing by the exit gates, was a vision of chaotic innocence. Zoya was swaying, trying to balance herself while swatting at Ananya, a bright, genuine smile plastered on her face.

Behind Rudra, Viraj had also stepped out, his playful smirk fading into a look of sharp, calculated interest. The two men stood in the shadows like twin specters, their eyes tracking the way Zoya tilted her head back to laugh, completely unaware that she had just wandered into the den of the two most dangerous men in the city.

Rudra watched her, his fingers twitching slightly against his thigh. He had seen many things in this city—death, betrayal, power—but he had never seen anyone look so effortlessly happy. It was a sight that made his chest tighten with a strange, possessive urge.

"Bhai," Viraj whispered, his voice low and amused, "kaun hai yeh? Club ki roshni mein koi angel bhatak gayi hai kya?" (Brother, who is this? Has an angel lost her way in the club's light?)

Rudra didn't answer. He just watched, his eyes dark and hungry, as the "angel" stumbled toward the restroom, completely oblivious to the Vulture who had just set his sights on her . He made his way back to the vip cabin in the club

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Inside the washroom, Zoya and Ananya were in a state of absolute, tipsy delirium. They were striking ridiculous poses—Zoya trying to pout like a high-fashion model while tripping over her own heels, and Ananya doing a "victory dance" while holding her phone.

"Chal, ek aur pose maar!" Ananya shrieked, laughing so hard she couldn't stand straight. "Zoya, tu toh bilkul 'bhoot' jaisi lag rahi hai, par 'sexy bhoot'!" (Come on, one more pose! Zoya, you look just like a ghost, but a 'sexy ghost'!)

Zoya giggled, clutching her sides. "Bhoot nahi, main toh princess hoon! Tu dekh, mera dance move... isse kehte hain 'the intoxicated swan'!" (Not a ghost, I'm a princess! Look at my dance move... this is called 'the intoxicated swan'!) They stumbled out of the washroom, leaning on each other, the night air hitting them and only making their giggles turn into full-blown hysterics.

They reached the parking lot, which was dimly lit and filled with luxury vehicles. Zoya, still doubled over with laughter, grabbed onto the side of a sleek, black car for support. "Anu... main... main aur nahi has sakti!" (Anu... I... I can't laugh anymore!) But before she could finish, the combination of the shots and the movement betrayed her. She bent forward and—splat—unexpectedly vomited all over the pristine, polished door of the expensive car.

Ananya froze, her jaw dropping. "Oh shit! Zoya! Yeh kya kar diya?! Yeh kisi aur ki gaadi hai, pagal ho gayi hai kya?!" (Oh shit! Zoya! What have you done?! This is someone else's car, have you gone mad?!) She frantically grabbed Zoya’s arms, pulling her away, but Zoya just swayed, looking at the mess and letting out a hiccup-filled, "Oopsie."

The driver, who had been waiting nearby, came sprinting over. He took one look at the ruined car and his face went white. "Arre! Yeh kya tamasha hai?!" he shouted, his voice trembling. "Pata hai yeh gaadi kiski hai? Jaan nikal jayegi meri! Tum dono ladkiyon ko akal nahi hai kya, itna peeke ghum rahi ho?" (Hey! What is this drama?! Do you know whose car this is? I'll lose my life! Do you two girls have no sense, wandering around so drunk?)

Zoya looked at the driver, her eyes slightly glassy and unfocused. She started to pout, her bottom lip quivering. "Uncle... chill... gaadi hi toh hai, dhul jayegi..." (Uncle... chill... it's just a car, it'll get washed...)

Just then, the sharp click-clack of footsteps echoed across the concrete. Rudra and Viraj were walking toward the vehicle, ready to head back to the mansion,their silhouettes imposing in the dark. The driver immediately folded his hands, his voice shaking. "Maalik, meri galti nahi hai! Main toh bas wahan tha, inhone... inhone..." (Boss, it's not my fault! I was just there, they... they...)

Rudra stopped, his cold eyes scanning the scene. He looked at his car, then at the mess, and finally at the source of the noise. Zoya was standing there, pouting with teary, drunken eyes, looking like a lost little girl who had just been scolded by a teacher.

She looked up at Rudra, oblivious to the fact that he was the most feared man in the city. To her, he was just a very tall, very intimidating man. She pointed a shaky finger at the driver and cried out dramatically, "Yeh uncle... yeh uncle bahut gusse mein hain! Mujhe daant rahe hain! Aap inko bolo, meri galti nahi hai!" (This uncle... this uncle is so angry! He's scolding me! You tell him, it's not my fault!)

Viraj burst into a laugh, leaning against the neighboring car, clearly entertained by the absurdity of the situation. Rudra remained silent, his gaze fixed on Zoya. The contrast between her messy, adorable pout and the deadly atmosphere he usually carried was jarring.

Rudra turned his head slightly toward the driver. "Saaf karwao," he ordered, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. (Get it cleaned.)

He then stepped toward the girls. Zoya looked up at him, her eyes wide and shimmering with unshed, intoxicated tears. She leaned in slightly, tilting her head in that soft, baby-like way of hers, and whispered in a small, shaky voice, "I'm sorry... galti se ho gaya."

Rudra looked down at her, his expression unreadable, but for the first time in his life, his hand stayed perfectly still—he didn't feel the urge to strike, only a strange, quiet fascination with the girl who had just vomited on his empire and dared to pout at him.

Rudra stood frozen, the silence of the parking lot amplifying the beating of his own heart—a sensation as alien to him as mercy. He looked down at Zoya, who seemed impossibly small and fragile against the backdrop of his dark, aggressive world. For the first time, the "Vulture" felt a crack in his armor. It wasn't just attraction; it was a sudden, violent sense of protectiveness mixed with an overwhelming, terrifying curiosity. He felt an intense urge to shield her from the very darkness he embodied, a strange, possessive ache he couldn't name.

Ananya, trembling, stepped forward, her voice high and frantic. "We are sorry, Sir! Galti se ho gaya... yeh bohot innocent hai, please, sorry!"

Rudra didn't even blink in her direction. His entire existence had narrowed down to the girl in front of him. He leaned down, his face mere inches from hers, invading her space with his intoxicating scent of tobacco and expensive cologne. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. His breath hitched in his chest, the air turning thin.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice a low, husky rumble that seemed to vibrate through the night air.

Zoya, lost in her drunken haze, didn't sense the danger. She simply pouted, her eyes searching his face as if looking for a friend. She reached out, her small, soft hands coming to rest flat against his hard, expensive suit—right over his chest.

Andd booommmm ...

As her fingers touched him, Rudra felt a shock go through his system, a sensation like a live wire sparking against his soul.

Viraj stood a few feet away, his mouth slightly agape, staring in sheer disbelief. He had seen Rudra break bones, but he had never seen his friend look human until this very second.

Zoya giggled, the sound light and musical. "Zoyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa," she stretched, her voice sweet and liquid. She poked his chest with a playful finger. "Aapkaaaaa naam kya hai?" (And what's your name?)

Ananya, standing by, whispered to herself, her face pale with terror, "Ye marwake manegi aaj." (She’s going to get us killed today.)

Just then, the driver scurried back, beads of sweat on his forehead. "Sir... gaadi saaf ho gayi hai."

Rudra straightened up, his movements rigid, his mask of stone snapping back into place. He fixed his suit with a sharp, practiced motion, his eyes never leaving Zoya’s face. He didn't say a word to her or the driver; he simply turned and slid into the backseat of his car.

As the driver started the engine, Zoya’s attention shifted to him. She scowled, her face scrunching up into an adorable, angry pout. "Bad uncle... ganda aadmi!" (Bad uncle... bad man!) she huffed, pointing a finger at him.

She turned back to Rudra, her eyes meeting his through the window as the car began to glide away. Rudra sat perfectly still, his gaze locked onto her, watching her pout and glare as his car pulled into the dark city streets, carrying the memory of her touch burning against his chest..

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