Anaya's POV

It’s been two years since my world crumbled like a house of cards. Since the night I heard the screech of tires on wet asphalt and the sterile voice on the other end of the phone telling me my father was gone. Just like that. No warning. No goodbyes. Just a broken body, a funeral pyre, and the kind of silence that wraps around your bones and never lets go.

Two years since Rakesh Mehra—the most honest, feared, and fiercely protective police officer this city had ever known—was declared a victim of a "tragic road accident." But I know better. Deep in my chest, beneath the grief and the hollow ache, I’ve always known his death wasn’t an accident. 

I knew that the Knights were connected to my father's death, and I wanted to uncover the truth about my father's accident.

Since then, life has been cruel in the quietest ways. The kind of cruelty that doesn’t scream—it whispers. My father’s pension was halted with some mysterious red tape. His so-called friends in the department stopped returning my calls. The city that once saluted his name turned its back on mine.

In those days, someone who had helped me was Kabir Uncle. He is my father's friend. He helped me settle in his new flat. He was asking me to stay in his mansion but  I couldn't be selfish; he has done much for me. He takes my care as if I am his own daughter. He is a great business man and a person of a kind heart.

I work part-time at a bakery in the heart of the city—"Butter & Whisk," a quaint little place that smells of cinnamon and exhaustion. I serve coffee with fake smiles, frost cupcakes like it's therapy, and close the register every night pretending that everything is under control.

Tonight is no different.

The old iron shutter screeched as I pulled it down. The lock clicked into place with a finality that echoed across the empty street. The neon lights above the signboard buzzed dimly, casting a faint pink glow over the pavement.

I glanced at the time on my cracked phone screen. 11:07 PM.

Shit ! I am late today.

 The last customer had taken too long chatting, and I hadn’t the heart to push her out. Some part of me still believes kindness will keep me alive.

I turned toward the narrow lane that led to my flat. The roads were nearly deserted—just the occasional rickshaw in the distance, the hum of streetlights overhead, and the sound of my own footsteps clicking on uneven cement.

The silence wasn’t comforting.

It was suffocating.

A strange chill ran down my spine. That familiar, gnawing feeling returned. The one I’d been getting for months now. Like eyes were watching me from the shadows. Like something or someone was always just out of sight.

I wrapped my shawl tighter around myself and quickened my pace.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps.

Multiple. Fast. Heavy.

I turned my head just slightly, pretending to fix my hair, and caught the silhouette of three men behind me. Close. Too close.

My heart plummeted.

Not again.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been followed. It wasn’t the first time I’d run. For reasons I didn’t understand, I’d been hunted for months. Shadows at the edge of alleys. Men in dark clothes lurking near my street. Whispers behind me in places I swore were empty.

I had no idea who they were.

Or why they wanted me.

But I knew what fear felt like.

And tonight, it clawed its way back into my throat.

I took off running.

My sandals slapped against the concrete as I darted down a side alley, praying the shortcut would buy me some time. My lungs burned, my legs trembled, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

They shouted behind me. Their voices- cruel, taunting. Laughing.

My breath came in short gasps as I turned sharply, nearly falling. The shortcut twisted into another narrow lane, then a dead-end lined with broken fences and half-constructed buildings.

Shit.

I spun around, only to feel a hand wrap around my wrist and yank me backward.

“No—please!” I screamed, kicking, thrashing, nails clawing at skin.

Another man grabbed my waist, pinning my arms down as I fought. Tears streamed down my face. I screamed again, louder this time.

“LET ME GO! SOMEBODY PLEASE!”

My voice echoed but found no help. Only more laughter.

The stench of sweat and liquor made me gag. One of them leaned in, his breath hot on my cheek.

“You are coming with us, little doll.”

I sobbed. My hands shook, legs flailing.

But I couldn't give in , I have to fight for my life. I am my papa’s angel then a thought stuck in my mind.

 My knee connected with someone’s groin, and he cursed loudly.I was going to run ,but to my dismay another man caught me and slammed me against a wall, knocking the wind from my lungs. I felt something warm trickling from my head . It’s  blood. My eyes are feeling heavy. 

I was going to die here.

And then I heard it.

The sound of tires screeching. A car door slamming. Boots hitting the pavement.

“Touch her again,” a voice growled from the darkness, “and I’ll rip your fucking arms off.”

Everything stilled.

I knew that voice. Even after all these years. Even through the fog of fear.

Aarav.

The men froze. One took a step back. The one holding me faltered.

And then chaos erupted.

I was dropped like a ragdoll as fists collided with faces, bones cracked under pressure, and someone screamed in agony.

I curled into a ball against the wall, hands over my head, too scared to look.

Aarav didn’t fight like a man. He fought like a storm—calculated, merciless, and terrifying. One of them swung at him. Aarav caught the man’s fist midair and twisted until bone cracked like dried twigs. The scream that followed didn’t even faze him.

The second man pulled a knife.

Wrong move.

Aarav snatched the wrist holding the blade and slammed it into the nearest wall with a sickening crunch. The knife clattered to the floor. Blood smeared the brick. He punched the man in the throat next, sending him crumbling to the ground, gasping like a fish out of water.

The third man tried to run.

Aarav didn’t let him.

He shot out an arm, caught him by the collar, and yanked him backward into a brutal elbow to the face. Blood sprayed across the wall. The man dropped.

Aarav stood over them, chest heaving, blood on his knuckles, his eyes burning with a rage I hadn’t seen in years.

“Who sent you?” he barked, grabbing the half-conscious one by the hair and slamming his head into the ground. “TELL ME!”

The man groaned, babbling nonsense.

“I’ll rip your fucking tongue out,” Aarav snarled, yanking a switchblade from his coat.

“Aarav!” I shouted, shaking, tears pouring. “Stop!”

He turned to me, knife  still in hand, chest rising and falling like he could barely contain the beast inside him.

But the moment his eyes met mine…

Something shifted.

He dropped the knife. Walked toward me. And dropped to his knees. His hands were still stained with blood when they cupped my face.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “No one touches you. No one scares you. Ever again.”

I was sobbing. I couldn’t help it. He held me like I was something fragile. Something breakable. But his grip… it was possessive. Fierce. Like I belonged to him.

“You’re mine, Anaya,” he whispered against my hair. “And I’ll burn this city down if anyone even breathes wrong near you. I will not let you work in that stupid bakery now.”

I should have pushed him away. But I didn’t. I stayed.

Because for the first time in two years… I wasn’t alone. I couldn’t stop crying.

My fists gripped the fabric at his chest, clinging to the one man I had never wanted to see again.

But in that moment… I didn’t want to let go.

Not yet. Not while he held me like this.

Not while the world finally felt safe.

And that terrified me more than anything else.

"I've given you enough time, Anaya, and now you're coming with me. You're not safe here. Someone is after you, and I can't let them take what's mine."

My brain suddenly stopped functioning. Someone is after me? What did he mean? And who gets what after killing me? The questions made me dizzy. But I couldn't go with the man who had shattered my world. Not this time.

I rose abruptly, wrenching myself from his grasp. "I am not your damn property, Mr. Knight. Choose your words carefully." I spun to head home, only for a sudden wave of dizziness to wash over me, sending me tumbling into a deep slumber.

Flashback

It was the first time Aarav took me out in public.

I remember how tense he was the entire night. His arm never left my waist. Not once. Even when we were at the rooftop bar, with the lights of the city glittering like stars beneath us, his eyes weren’t on the skyline—they were on every man who even glanced in my direction.

"You don’t like crowds," I teased him.

"I don’t like men looking at what’s mine," he’d replied without missing a beat.

I had rolled my eyes and laughed back then. I thought it was just possessiveness disguised as affection.

But I didn’t understand the depths of it until a stranger at the bar brushed against me while handing his card to the bartender.

Aarav didn’t say a word.

He simply stepped forward, picked the man by the collar, and slammed him—hard—against the nearest wall.

"You ever touch her again," Aarav growled low in the man’s ear, "I will carve my name into your bones and make you beg to forget it."

The man stammered an apology, practically shaking.

Aarav released him only after the bartender promised the guy would be banned for life.

When he came back to me, I wasn’t scared.

I should’ve been.

But I wasn’t.

I was breathless.

He cupped my jaw gently like I was made of porcelain, his thumb brushing over my cheek as his voice softened.

"You don’t understand what you do to me, jaan. You walk into a room and I forget how to breathe. If someone else even looks at you, I lose the part of me that knows restraint."

And I believed him. 

God help me, I believed every word.

Flashback ends

"Ugh, my head is hammering. The pain is excruciating." My eyes fluttered open. I surveyed my surroundings, blinking once, twice, then thrice. Nothing changed. This wasn't a dream; I was truly in unfamiliar territory.

After all these years, why did I dream of him? Everything was finally in place, so why did he have to destroy it? Why did he kill my father?

The last memory hit me like a tidal wave. I was with Aarav... which means, right now—

The door swung open, and there he stood: Aarav. Still as handsome and undeniably hot as ever.

Shut up! What are you thinking? He's behind my father's murder. It's wrong to feel this way.

"Jaan," the motherfucker smirked, "I am all  yours. You can stare all you want, but right now, take this medicine. I know your head must be blasting. I've bandaged it properly, though."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Knight," I replied, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "But I'm leaving now. I have college to attend; I don't have free time like you."

I moved to leave, but he caught me, pulling me back. We both landed on the bed, him pinning me beneath him.

"I've waited long enough," he whispered, his voice dangerously low. "But not anymore. You are mine, Anaya, and soon the world will know it."

He sounded very much intense this time. His eyes held fire and I knew I was going to burn in it.