chapter 2

Chapter OneThe Smile That Shouldn’t ExistFour days earlier...Dev Raichand hated the color gold. It reminded him of old palaces that smelled like power and secrets, and of people who smiled with knives tucked behind their teeth.And yet here he was — draped in gold embroidery, sipping stale champagne at a minister’s engagement party, pretending to belong.The music was too loud. The chandeliers were too bright. The smiles were too fake.But none of it mattered.Because Rani Singh had just entered the room.She didn’t walk. She arrived. Like a storm that didn’t care what it destroyed on its way in. Heads turned. Conversations died mid-sentence. Men stood a little straighter, women narrowed their eyes.Dev stayed where he was — leaning casually against the marble bar, jaw clenched around the stem of his glass.He'd seen pictures. Surveillance footage. Intelligence reports. But nothing had prepared him for her.Blood-red saree. A slit bold enough to silence small men. Hair pinned with golden spikes. And that mouth — soft and sharp at once, like the kind of sin men would ruin kingdoms for.She didn’t glance at him. Not yet. But he knew better.Rani Singh never entered a room without knowing exactly who was in it.“Pretty, isn’t she?” a voice said beside him.Dev didn’t look away from her. “She’s more than pretty.”The man beside him — Inspector Aryan Thakur — chuckled. “Just don’t forget what she’s capable of.”“I haven’t.”“Good. Then maybe you’ll live long enough to regret this assignment.”Dev finally turned to him. “Has anyone gotten close?”Aryan’s smile faded. “Close enough to die.”Dev didn’t blink. “Then I’ll get closer.”Aryan didn’t respond. Just walked away, muttering something about people who mistake fire for warmth.Across the hall, Rani was speaking to a high-ranking politician. Smiling with practiced grace, as if she hadn’t ordered two assassinations that week alone.Dev downed the rest of his champagne.Showtime.The corridors of the Haveli were colder than they looked. Centuries-old stone floors, echoing footsteps, and guards who didn’t blink.Dev was escorted by two of them — both silent, both armed. Not that he hadn’t noticed the camera behind the tapestry, or the knife hidden under the antique console table.He was led into a wide, arched room with a single throne-like chair and no sign of hospitality.And there she was. Again.Rani Saheb.A glass of red wine in one hand. The same saree from earlier, but now paired with a fur-lined shawl draped lazily around her shoulders. The look on her face was unreadable — not hostile, not welcoming.She waved the guards off with a flick of her fingers.Dev stood still. Silent.“I hear you’ve been asking about me,” she said. Her voice was smoother than he expected. Deeper.“I’ve been asking about a lot of things.”Her brow lifted. “That’s a dangerous habit.”“So I’ve been told.”She rose, walked toward him with slow, measured steps. He noticed she didn’t wear heels tonight. Just bare feet on polished marble, the sound softer but no less commanding.“And who are you, Dev Raichand?” she asked, voice trailing like smoke. “Another ambitious contractor? A spy with good cheekbones? A con with better lines?”“I’m whoever you want me to be,” he replied, holding her gaze. “But I came here for a reason.”Rani circled him. “Let me guess. You’re curious. About the Queen who doesn't play fair.”“No,” he said, smirking. “I came here to warn you.”She stopped behind him. “Oh? Do go on.”“People are plotting. Not just ministers. Not just rivals. People close to you.”“And you expect me to believe you’re some noble informant?”He turned slowly, facing her. “I expect you to keep me alive long enough to prove it.”There was a pause. The kind that cuts through oxygen and logic.Then Rani stepped forward — close enough that he could smell the wine on her breath and the danger in her silence.“You’re reckless,” she murmured.“So are you,” he said.Her smile was slow, curious, almost cruel.“I haven’t decided whether I want to bed you or behead you.”Dev didn’t flinch. “That’s half the fun, isn’t it?”Later that night, as the moon slanted through the carved jharokhas and shadows curled like whispers along the floor, Rani watched Dev through the security feed.He sat in the guest room, shirtless, bleeding from a fresh cut on his shoulder, sipping whisky like it was water.He was either stupid.Or very, very good.Rani didn’t know which one she preferred.But she knew this much:She wasn’t done with him.Not yet.(Nxt)