cold · possessive · obsessive · mafia boss · indian setting · morally grey · lethal · dominant · romance
The Mumbai morning was a blade wrapped in smog—gray, sharp, heavy with unspoken warnings. Black cars cut through the streets like shadows given form, their engines a low growl that silenced vendors and made pedestrians shrink into themselves. Inside the lead vehicle, Aarav Malhotra sat motionless, his grey eyes fixed on the world outside as if dissecting it. Twenty-seven years old, cold enough to make men vanish without a word, he had already spilled blood before breakfast. The car slowed near a college gate, and then he saw her—a girl in a crisp uniform, dusky skin marked by acne scars, big brown eyes that looked up without recognition. Something in his chest lurched, violent and wrong. He didn’t flinch. He simply said, "Get me information on the girl." Her name was you. Eighteen.…