Chapter 1
PROLOGUE
Kabir Rathore was a name that made the underworld hold its breath. A god of death, a predator cloaked in human skin, he moved through life without conscience or remorse. Killing was a game, cruelty his art. He didn’t just take lives—he toyed with them, dismantled them, left ruin in his wake. Fear followed him like a shadow; whispers of his deeds spread like wildfire, yet no one dared challenge him. He was cold, calculating, and utterly untouchable—a storm of darkness that left nothing but silence behind.
When it came to women, he was no less merciless. They were objects, tools, toys to feed his desire and satisfy his whims. He looked at them with a predator’s gaze, stripping them of dignity and reducing them to trembling, willing prey. Girls lined up for a chance to feel his touch, his dominance, to bend infront of him, to get fvcked by him, knowing full well that when he was done, they would be discarded, broken, forgotten. Desire and fear intertwined wherever he went, and those who met his gaze understood one truth: Kabir Rathore took what he wanted, and nothing could save them from his dark, unrelenting grasp.
The house never felt like home. The air always carried the scent of disdain, thick with unspoken judgments. Krishnaa moved through the halls like a shadow—silent, unseen, yet painfully aware of every sneer, every whispered comparison. She was dark-skinned, plain by society’s shallow standards, and an orphan in a family that had no place for someone like her. Every day, she scrubbed floors until her hands ached, cooked meals she barely ate, and absorbed insults that pierced deeper than any knife. Her uncle’s sharp tongue, her aunt’s constant cursing, and the cold beauty of their daughter—Krishnaa bore it all.
Yet, even in the darkness, a flicker of hope remained. A quiet voice in her heart whispered that life could be more than servitude and pain. That maybe, one day, light would find her.
