Zillat

Author

Throwing the financial documents angrily on the table, Sagar Rathore barked at his secretary.

"With this fund, you'll participate in the election?" he asked, seething with anger.

It was election season again, and Rajdhani Lucknow could feel the pressure of the UP elections in every pore.

Everyone wanted that powerful post - Chief Minister.

Well, people wanted to run Lucknow, but Sagar Rathore? He wanted to own Lucknow.

Right now, that old man, clad in a white kurta-pajama and beige vest, was fuming as he stared at the financial ledger.

His accounts were so weak that most of his opponents could spend that much money just on advertising - their lies, their fake promises.

"Sir... Shanaya Malik is not ready to fund our party. You know, without her signature and public support, we can't-"

Before the secretary could finish, Sagar slapped him hard in rage.

" Madarchod, Shanaya Malik? Bheek mein mil gayi hai use ye post? Pehle Shahjahan aur Daneen kaafi nahi thi jo ab- haramzadi" he seethed, while everyone in the room stood with their heads lowered.

"Rudra ko bulao!" he commanded, sitting heavily on the sofa, his furious eyes fixed on the papers as though they might burst into flames.

Loud moans and groans echoed from down the hall when one of Sagar's men stopped in front of Rudra's room, trembling, afraid of his temper.

He was a certified bastard , a complete manwhore- Rudra Sagar Rathore.

But his only privalge is his father's name is enough to hide that man whore in him...for Lucknow he is perfect religious son and capable of being a leader..

"Chhote Malik..." the man knocked with shaking hands.

But Rudra and the servant girl inside were too busy to hear.

The man returned, trembling, and reported to Sagar that Rudra wasn't opening the door.

Sagar's temper snapped.

He was burning with anger - there was no way in hell he would let Shah Nawab win the election.

He would do anything for Shanaya Malik's support.

He could handle that "little bitch" who had gotten such a powerful position like a lollipop.

Politics wasn't a joke. Sagar had already put in great effort to know about Taniya Malik after her official announcement, but now that Shanaya Malik was working under Taniya's name - it boiled his blood. Sudden death of shahjahan's only son and after few months shahjahan's death haunted lucknow like a ghost,

Many questions, many secrets but no answer... And now in the official name of Taniya malik, Shanaya is working, he didn't have an issue before because he thought Shanaya will be easier to manipulate but that bitch in early forties playing with his nerves,

He knew the system was corrupt, and once people tasted power, they never wanted to lose it.

" behnchod Shahjahan Malik, marne ke baad bhi chain nhi lene deri madarchod" he cursed under his breath and stood up, his rage enough to burn down the haveli that night.

He barged into Rudra's room.

The naked servant startled and covered herself with a sheet.

Sagar's glare made her tremble.

Rudra groaned - he hated being interrupted during his "business."

He stood up from the bed without saying a word and snatched the sheet from the servant, wrapping it around his waist, making that young girl naked for hungry eyes,

"Dad... what makes you-" Before he could finish, Sagar's hand rose and landed across his cheek like a whip.

The slap didn't physically hurt Rudra - how could an old man's hand hurt him? But being slapped in front of everyone , fucking servants,bruised his ego.

Everyone in the hall trembled and lowered their heads.

Rudra's eyes turned bloodshot red.

He clicked his tongue and stared coldly at his father.

His glare alone was enough to make everyone leave - except Sagar's secretary, who stood there holding the ledger, trembling under Rudra's gaze.

"Jab power chali jaayegi na, to koi Randi tumhara bistar garam karne nahi aayegi" Sagar said mockingly.

Rudra gave a dark chuckle and looked at the secretary.

"We don't have enough funds, Chhote Malik," the secretary said quietly, feeling the tension in air,

Rudra's expression changed for a second before turning to his father.

"Shanaya Malik is in favor of Shah Nawab's party. It's not officially announced yet, but sources-" He stopped, catching the dangerous look in Rudra's eyes.

"That Muslim bitch will not decide anything, Dad. Why are you even panicking? Seriously - for this, you barged into my room and didn't let me finish my pleasure?" he said, unbothered.

"Tumhare randibaz harkaton se tang aa gaya hoon main!" Sagar snapped. "She can decide everything. Her signature is required on the documents. You can't run politics without bureaucrats!"

"We'll do something with the EVMs, Dad," Rudra said lazily, ruffling his hair like he was bored.

Sagar laughed mockingly.

"EVM? Cheel ki tarah nazar rakhti hai Daneen Malik in sab par. Law and order uske haath mein hai," Sagar said bitterly.

"That retired IG?" Rudra mocked, looking bored.

"She's not just a retired IG. She's part of this corrupt system. She has deep political ties. That British Residency incident and Randhir Khurana's killing made her untouchable. Even the CM is her friend - her ex-husband killed Randhir and Ranvijay, who were planning a blast at the Residency when children were present. She saved the CM from a political scandal. She's not a weak woman, Chhote Malik," the secretary explained nervously.

"Are you fearing her, Dad?" Rudra asked, lighting a cigarette.

Sagar clicked his tongue. "I'm fearing losing the election! We don't even have enough funds for a single day's advertisement. How will we run the campaign? You need to do something, Rudra. I can't lose this election - I can't see that Nawab ruling Lucknow!"

"What do you want me to do, Dad? Beg Shanaya Malik? 'Please, Muslim bitch, support my party, I can't afford to lose?'" he mocked, laughing.

"Beg her, threaten her, sleep with her - I don't give a damn! I just want her official support before the enrollment date," Sagar declared.

"You want me to sleep with that Muslim whore?" Rudra mocked in disbelief.

"I said do whatever the hell is possible to make her agree to our terms! You have four months. By the enrollment date, I want Shanaya Malik's name written in our favor. You're responsible for these low funds! You're too busy chasing women-"

Before he could finish, Rudra muttered darkly, "Aap par gaya hoon, Priya Pitaji," and stormed toward the bathroom, his footsteps heavy.

That slap - in front of the servants - echoed in his mind.

You bloody whore Shanaya Malik...

Rudra slammed the bathroom door shut so hard the mirror trembled in its frame. The echo of that slap still burned in his skull.

His reflection stared back - the sheet barely clinging to his waist, his jaw tight, his eyes bloodshot with humiliation. He could still feel the sting, not on his cheek, but in his pride.

"Old bastard," he muttered, spitting into the sink. "You think you can humiliate me in front of them?"

The tap squeaked as he twisted it open, splashing water over his face - but the cold did nothing to calm him. His breath came harsh, uneven, like a growl trapped behind his teeth.

He punched the mirror once. It cracked instantly, the lines splintering like veins of his rage. Tiny shards glittered over the marble counter, catching drops of his blood.

Rudra leaned forward, gripping the edge of the sink until his knuckles went white. His voice dropped into a dangerous murmur.

"Shanaya Malik..." he whispered, the name rolling off his tongue like venom. "That whore has everyone dancing around her name - even him."

He laughed under his breath, the kind of laugh that chilled the air.

"Beg her. Threaten her. Sleep with her," he repeated mockingly, looking at his reflection - or what was left of it. "You really think I'll go begging, sagar Rathore?"

His hands trembled, but not from fear - from the urge to destroy something, anything.

He swept the glass off the counter with one motion, shards scattering across the tiled floor. His blood dripped over them - a twisted red constellation.

"You hit me in front of servants," he whispered, voice trembling between fury and disbelief. "You'll regret that."

His reflection - fractured and bleeding - smirked back at him.

"You want her support? Fine," he hissed, pacing like a caged animal. "I'll get it. But on my terms."

He dragged a hand through his hair, leaving streaks of blood on his temple. "You'll see, Dad. You'll all see what Rudra Rathore is capable of when you corner him."

He kicked the door open, stepping out shirtless, the cut on his hand still bleeding. His secretary flinched back, and Sagar's eyes flickered toward him - wary, but silent.

Rudra didn't look at him. He just said coldly,

"Arrange a meeting with Shanaya Malik."

The tone wasn't a request. It was a threat.

Rudra had barely stepped out of the bathroom, hand still bleeding, when Sagar's bitter laughter cut through the tense air.

"Oh, look who decided to grace us again," Sagar said, voice laced with poison. "The prince of Rathore Haveli, half-naked, half-brained-just like his mother."

Rudra froze mid-step. His jaw clenched so hard the vein on his temple throbbed.

Sagar leaned back on the sofa, that same mocking smirk curling his lips.

"You think Shanaya Malik is one of your party girls? That she'll run to meet you the moment you snap your fingers?  Chutiya."

He said it slowly, deliberately - letting each word pierce.

"You're exactly like your mother," Sagar continued, voice low and cruel. "Emotional. Impulsive. Always chasing attention instead of power. She thought beauty could bend politics. You're proving her right."

Rudra's nostrils flared. His fingers twitched at his sides.

"Don't," he said, voice flat but dangerous.

Sagar ignored the warning, pushing harder. "She used to sit in  that  house, crying over her broken dreams. You were just a kid then, but I remember - the way she used to defend you, that same idiotic fire in her eyes. That softness ruined you and her."

"Enough," Rudra muttered, taking a step closer.

"Softness," Sagar repeated louder, as if savoring the word. "That's what you inherited from her. Useless softness. You think people like Shanaya Malik respect softness? That woman will eat you alive before she signs a paper in your favor!"

The secretary shifted nervously, eyes darting between the two. The tension was electric - a slow-burning fuse waiting to explode.

Rudra's breath hitched, a flash of pain crossing his face, then anger - pure, consuming anger. He stepped closer until he was inches from his father.

"Don't ever compare me to her again," he said quietly, voice trembling from restraint.

Sagar laughed - a dry, cruel sound. "Why not? You came from her womb, didn't you? Same blood. Same stupidity."

That did it.

Rudra's hand shot out before his mind could stop him - the same bleeding hand - gripping his father's collar and dragging him forward.

"Say her name again," Rudra hissed through gritted teeth, eyes blazing. "Say her name one more time, and I swear I'll make you remember what that softness can do."

For a moment, Sagar looked startled - really startled - by the rage in his son's eyes. Then, slowly, that smirk returned.

"Finally," he whispered, almost pleased. "There's the fire I wanted to see."

Rudra released him with a shove so hard the older man stumbled back onto the sofa.

"You want Shanaya Malik's support?" Rudra spat. "Fine. I'll get it. But not your way."

He turned, snatched his shirt from the chair, and walked out - his footsteps echoing through the hall like the start of something dark.

Sagar watched him go, wiping blood from his collar, a thin smile playing on his lips.

"Let's see," he muttered under his breath. "How far this  mother's son can go before he burns himself, for my benifit"

The night had fallen thick over Lucknow - a velvet darkness stitched with the hum of traffic, streetlights flickering against the marble gates of Rathore Haveli.

Rudra sat in his thar, door half-open, cigarette glowing between his fingers. His face was expressionless now - the kind of calm that came only after a storm.

The wound on his knuckle had dried into a rusty stain. His father's words still echoed, each one sharp enough to reopen it.

"Just like your mother... emotional, soft, useless... Stupid"

He exhaled a slow plume of smoke and said under his breath,

"Softness never ruled Lucknow. Fear did."

The passenger door opened. His aide, Ravindra, slid in - a lean man with cautious eyes, loyal more to money than blood.

"Sir, you called?"

Rudra flicked ash out the window, then turned to him.

"I want Shanaya Malik's full profile - personal, political, private. Every damn thing."

Ravindra hesitated. "Sir, her circle is tight. She's under security detail twenty-four hours. She barely meets anyone outside official engagements. Even her calls are monitored."

Rudra's lips curved into a half-smile.

"Then find the ones who aren't monitored - her people. Driver, assistant, secretary, maid, gardener - someone talks. Everyone talks."

Ravindra nodded, swallowing. "Yes, sir."

"And Ravindra," Rudra added, his tone suddenly soft but laced with threat, "if you fail to get me what I want within seventy-two hours, I'll make sure your family knows what failure costs in this  field."

Ravindra froze, nodded quickly, and stepped out.

Rudra leaned back, staring out at the night - his reflection glinting faintly in the glass.

"Not one of my friends, huh?" he murmured, remembering Sagar's mockery. "She'll meet me. One way or another."

He took a slow drag, letting the smoke burn his throat. "No woman says no to Rudra Rathore for long - not even a Malik."

The car engine hummed to life, slicing through the still night as he drove toward the city.

He wasn't going to beg.

He wasn't going to charm.

He was going to break her wall - piece by piece - until Shanaya Malik would have no choice but to look him in the eye and acknowledge what power really looked like.

Somewhere in the distance, the clock tower of Hazratganj struck midnight.

The game had begun.

The night was heavy with mist, the streets of Lucknow glimmering faintly under the amber hue of old lampposts. Somewhere in the distance, the muezzin's call echoed through the silence - haunting, beautiful, and distant.

Rudra's car swerved to a lazy halt near Rumi Darwaza. He leaned against it, the bottle of beer half-empty in his hand, his mind fogged with anger and alcohol. The slap. The humiliation. His father's voice - "You're just like your mother."

He took another swig, eyes bloodshot, breath reeking of bitterness.

That's when he saw it - a black luxury car slowing near the monument. Its tinted window rolled halfway down, and a glimpse of silk and silver shimmered under the streetlight.

Rudra squinted.

For a second, the world seemed to still.

Out stepped a woman - petite, graceful, her long dark hair tumbling like midnight. The shawl around her shoulders - soft pashmina - fluttered lightly in the cold breeze. Her wrists glinted with silver bangles that chimed faintly as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

Then she turned slightly.

Grey eyes.

Calm, unbothered, composed - yet luminous in the dim light.

Rudra froze. His heartbeat staggered in his chest.

Shanaya Malik.

That was his first thought.

That elegant detachment, that quiet power in her stance - she looked like the woman who'd ruined his father's peace. The woman who, with one signature, could decide whether the Rathores survived this election or were crushed by the Nawabs.

Maybe because of intoxication or similar features,

He crushed the bottle in his fist, glass cracking under pressure.

"So... this is the queen everyone bows to," he muttered, his voice thick with intoxication and rage.

She spoke to the driver softly - that voice like honeyed command - and turned to walk toward the monument's archway. The shawl slipped slightly off her shoulder, revealing smooth skin touched by the faint chill of night.

Rudra's jaw tightened. His thoughts twisted.

In that instant, his anger shifted - melted - then reshaped into something darker.

Not politics.

Not strategy.

But possession.

He didn't know she wasn't Shanaya Malik.

He didn't know she was Dilan Malik, Shanaya's niece- the one who avoided the limelight, the one untouched by the venom of politics.

All he saw was the reason his father slapped him.

The reason he was humiliated.

The reason his pride bled tonight.

And now - his inner devil wanted to hunt.

He stepped closer, his boots crunching against gravel, eyes never leaving her form as she turned to take a call, the faint sound of her laugh cutting through the quiet.

That laugh - soft, almost innocent - made something primitive in him stir.

"You'll pay for that slap, Dad," he whispered, gaze fixed on her. "And she'll be the price."

His lips curved into a dangerous smirk, the kind that didn't belong to a politician but a predator.

Rudra Rathore had found a new obsession that night - one draped in pashmina, wrapped in silver, and entirely unaware of the storm watching her from across the street.

Rudra didn't move at first.

He just stood there - half-hidden behind the banyan tree near the arch - his cigarette burning low between his fingers as his gaze followed the woman draped in pashmina.

The night felt almost too still, the kind of silence that sharpened every sound - her bangles, her faint breath, the soft thud of her heels on the cobbled path.

Dilan had no idea she was being watched.

Her driver stood at a distance near the car, scrolling through his phone, waiting. She had told him she'd only take five minutes. But that five had stretched into twenty. She didn't care. She just wanted to breathe, to exist without pain, without hurt, without sorrow.

Rudra tilted his head slightly, studying her - the way she looked at the monument as if searching for something lost, the fragile stillness that wrapped around her frame. It irritated him, that softness. That calm.

His father's words replayed in his head - "You're just like your mother... soft, emotional, useless."

He smirked bitterly.

And now, here she was - the so-called Shanaya Malik - standing in her power, untouched, unaware, everything he wasn't. But he Saw her before why she is looking so enchanting and new , young today? He thought still staring at her,

He flicked the cigarette onto the pavement, crushed it beneath his boot, and leaned against the side of a parked motorcycle. His eyes never left her.

In his mind, the lines between hate and hunger began to blur.

When Dilan's shawl slipped again, and she reached to fix it, the movement caught his attention in a way that made his pulse throb. The wind carried a faint whiff of rose from her perfume - subtle, expensive, too elegant for the simplicity of her demeanor. Why this early forties bitch is looking so enchanting to him? He thought looking at her without blinking..

He noticed every detail - the silver rings, the faint scar on her wrist, the calm grace of her fingers.

And something dark coiled inside him.

"This is the woman who decides my fate?" he whispered under his breath, voice low and mocking. "Let's see how long your peace lasts." some  sensible part of his brain knows she is not Shanaya, she didn't seem like her but her grey eyes blur his mind.....

Dilan finally turned, walking back toward the car. Her driver straightened, opening the door for her. She gave one last glance at the Rumi archway - as if leaving something behind there - then stepped inside.

Rudra watched as the car door closed, the engine purred to life, and the black vehicle merged into the foggy road.

He followed - not close enough to be noticed, but near enough to trace its route.

His lips curved into a faint, calculating smile as he whispered to himself,

"Let's the hunt began "

The game wasn't about politics anymore. It was personal.

Because now, Rudra Rathore's humiliation had a face.

A woman with grey eye, silver bangles , woman with grey eyes, silver bangles, and a shawl that smelled faintly of Rose - the ghost who didn't even know she'd just awakened a monster.

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