The story of DEVIKA, a young woman who haunts her enemies by tearing their soul apart, but haunted by her secrets. She could never imagine that love could reach her breaking through the darkness around her. But when it succeeds, she has to answer th...
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Eesha's POV :
"I've heard a lot about you, Miss Raj."
The voice was deep, steady—holding an authority that didn't demand attention but commanded it effortlessly.
Yashwardhan Rajvanshi.
Eesha looked up, forcing a polite smile as she met his gaze. He was calm, confident, the kind of man who knew his place in the world. But what he didn't know—was her.
She tilted her head slightly. "Good things, I hope."
Viraj chuckled, oblivious to the weight of the moment. "Of course! Tum dono toh ek jaise ho—kaam ke time serious aur baaki waqt cool."(You both are the same—serious about work, cool otherwise.)
Eesha's grip on her coffee mug tightened for a second before she relaxed her fingers. The irony was almost laughable. She and Yashwardhan weren't the same. Not at all.
One of them was clueless. The other was hunting.
She met his gaze again, watching for any flicker of recognition. Nothing. He had no idea.
Good.
_____________
Breakfast continued, conversations flowing, but Eesha barely heard them. She observed Yashwardhan instead—how he sat, how he spoke, how his eyes scanned the room even when he was pretending to be engaged in conversation.
He wasn't reckless. He wasn't impulsive. He was calculating.
Then, something unexpected happened.
"Interesting piece."
I felt his gaze before I even looked up.
Yashwardhan Rajvanshi's eyes were fixed on my wrist, his expression unreadable. It wasn't just casual curiosity—he was observing, analyzing, and that alone made something shift inside me. I ignored the feeling, choosing instead to trace my fingers over the cool metal of my bracelet, letting its familiarity ground me.
Viraj, ever the curious one, followed his gaze. "Haan, tune yeh custom-made banwaya tha na?"(Yeah, you got this custom-made, right?)
I nodded, my fingers tightening slightly around the metal. "It was a gift."
Yashwardhan tilted his head slightly. "From someone important, I assume?" His tone was even, but I caught the way his eyes lingered on my expression rather than the bracelet itself.
I exhaled slowly. "Someone who knew my dream."
Viraj leaned forward. "Dream?"
A humorless smile touched my lips. "Jo main pura nahi kar paayi."(One I couldn't fulfill.)
Viraj frowned, his curiosity deepening. "Toh kya hua?"(Then what happened?)
I hesitated, my grip on the bracelet tightening for just a fraction of a second. Then, I let out a soft chuckle, masking the bitterness beneath it. "Ek insaan ki wajah se nahi ho paya."(Because of one person, it couldn't happen.)
Viraj's brows furrowed. "Kaun?"(Who?)
I lifted my gaze, meeting his eyes directly. "Mere dadaji."(My grandfather.)
A fleeting silence.
It lasted less than a second, but I noticed it—the flicker in Yashwardhan's expression. Brief, almost imperceptible, but there. His fingers tightened around his teacup just slightly before he loosened his grip again, smoothing out his features so quickly that anyone else wouldn't have caught it.
But I did.
And that was enough to make my instincts sharpen.
Then, just as effortlessly, he masked it with a small smile. "That must mean it's very special to you."
I returned the smile, but inside, my mind was running in a hundred different directions.
Why had that name made him react?
Why did I feel like I wasn't the only one carrying ghosts from the past?
