Rudrang's office was a place full of secrets and shadows of his actions. He was sitting behind his desk, his face illuminated by the faint glow of light from the setting sun, highlighting his jawline.

He had a captivating presence. Every movement of his was slow, deliberate and carried an unspoken and unbeatable aura.

Even though he was dressed in a simple black shirt with his sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular and veiny forearms, he looked like a man of power.

In front of him stood three of his employees, their heads bowed and shoulders tense. They were excellent in their field, but in front of Rudrang, they seemed like naughty students caught by the school principal.

Rudrang didn't even look up from the file he was reading.

"Do you understand the value of time?"

He asked in a low, dangerous tone.

"Y-yes boss."

One of them stammered. Rudrang finally looked up. His eyes were dark, piercing, and completely devoid of emotions.

"Toh phir ye galti dobara nhi honi chahiye. I want results, not excuses. Agli baar agar kaam pura nhi hua, toh yaad rakhna...I don't believe in giving second chances."

(Then this mistake shouldn’t happen again….If work is not completed next time, remember…I don’t believe in giving second chances.)

The men nodded frantically. Rudrang gestured dismissively with a flick of his wrist.

"Get out!"

As they scrambled out, the silence returned, thick and suffocating. Rudrang leaned back, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

He was a man who took what he wanted, a predator who found peace in the chaos he created. He was ruthless, yes, but there was an undeniable, magnetic pull to his darkness, the kind that made people stare even as they trembled.

His phone vibrated on his desk. He picked it up on the first ring, his expression unreadable.

"Boss...it's done."

The voice on the other end said. A slow, victorious smirk spread across Rudrang's face. It wasn't a smile of joy, it was the look of a hunter who had finally cornered his prey.

"Good job."

He whispered. He hung up and went back to his work, unaware of the storm he had just set in motion.

At the other end of the city, Shambhavi moved through her small apartment like a gentle breeze. She was the kind of girl who would go out of her way to avoid stepping on an ant. 

Her life was simple, predictable, full of small moments she found immense joy in. She was a librarian, something she loved because it allowed her to be in silence and books all day. 

She never raised her voice, never argued, and had a heart that seemed too soft for a world so harsh. 

Her neighbours knew her as the girl who always had a kind smile and a helping hand. Whether it was helping the elderly woman next door carry her groceries or feeding the stray cats, Shambhavi's kindness was her identity. She didn't want much, just a peaceful life, her books, and the man she loved.

Anirudh was her anchor. He was loving, hardworking, and cared for her with a protective intensity. Their relationship was comfortable, built on years of friendship that had blossomed into love.

They were supposed to get married in three months, and Shambhavi spent her evenings looking at dresses, jewelleries and floral arrangements. Shambhavi didn't have any other family. She was raised in an orphanage.

She lived together with Anirudh.

"Shambhavi? Lost in your own world again?"

Anirudh called from the kitchen, his voice was teasing. She laughed and blushed.

"Just thinking something. Sab kuch kitna perfect hai na?" 

(Everything is so perfect, right?)

Anirudh walked over and kissed her forehead.

"Haan. Aur hamesha rahega. Mai hu na."

(Yes. And it will always be. I am there.)

The same evening Shambhavi realized she had forgotten to pick up the special fabric for her wedding veil from the tailor.

Anirudh had left his car keys on the coffee table, having taken a taxi to a meeting because his car had been acting a bit lately.

"Anirudh ki car le jaati hu."

(I will take Anirudh’s car.)

She thought to herself.

"Kaam jaldi ho jaayega."

(It will be quick.)

She climbed into his car and ignited the engine. 

As she reached the main highway, the roads were empty that evening surprisingly. Shambhavi hummed a soft tune, her mind wandering to the guest list and the color of the curtains for their new home. She was happy. She was safe. She was loved.

Suddenly, a massive truck in the opposite lane swerved violently to avoid a fallen crate. The heavy vehicle skidded, its tires skidding. Shambhavi saw it coming toward her. Her heart leaped into her throat.

"Shit! No!"

She gasped, her hands gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. She slammed on the brakes, but the car skidded on a patch of oil.

The world turned into a blurred frenzy of screeching metal and shattering glass. The impact was deafening.

The car spun like a toy, the side door crumpling inward as the truck slammed into it. Shambhavi felt a searing pain, a flash of white light, and then a heavy, crushing weight.

Then, there was silence.

The car lay overturned in a ditch, smoke curling from the engine. Inside, Shambhavi lay slumped against the steering wheel. The last thing she felt was the cold wind through the broken window, and then, the darkness claimed her entirely.