The gate creaked faintly behind him as he entered the house, the silence of night welcoming him like an old friend. He never turned on the lights. Shadows were his allies, and darkness his comfort.

The floor remembered him.

The door creaked just slightly, as if announcing his return - but no light flickered on. It never did. Darkness was his old friend, and he preferred to meet her in its arms.

His eyes adjusted quickly.

He walked with deliberate steps down the narrow corridor, his long coat brushing against his legs.

Each breath he took was measured, as if even the air in this house belonged to her and he couldn't afford to disturb it.

He halted at the threshold of her bedroom - Maya's bedroom.

The door was ajar. She hadn't locked it. She never did.

He stood there for a moment.

Watching.

The pale moonlight streamed in from the half-open window, casting soft silver onto the bed. And there she lay, unaware... untouched by the darkness that lingered only inches away.

His Maya.

His obsession.

His chaos.

She slept on her side, curled like a child. A loose cotton vest clung to her body - a soft white that almost glowed in the moon's glow.

The fabric rode up ever so slightly, revealing the curve of her waist, the dip above her hip.

Her pajama string sat low, the fabric rumpled from her tossing in sleep. Her hair, wild and long, fell across her pillow in gentle chaos.

He drank in the sight like a starving man, knees nearly buckling from how beautiful she looked - vulnerable, peaceful, his.

He stepped inside, silently shutting the door behind him. The familiar thump of the latch echoed like a promise in the dark.

He moved toward the bed.

And sat down.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and Maya stirred slightly - just a sigh escaped her lips, her fingers curling beneath her cheek.

And then his gaze settled on her face.

That face.

Half of it was untouched - soft, calm, as if carved from gentle dreams. But the other half... bore the remnants of a cruel past. The skin was marred, uneven, where acid had melted away what the world called beauty.

But not him.

He loved her face. All of it.

Especially the parts others flinched from.

His breath caught in his throat.

His hand hovered near her cheek but didn't touch.

Instead, he leaned forward slowly, like he was approaching a shrine.

He started where most would hesitate.

The acid-scarred side.

He placed his lips gently against her temple-on the hardened patch that had melted into uneven ridges.

His kiss was impossibly soft, like a prayer whispered against a wound.

Then lower-down the edge of her brow, where the lashes were sparser, the skin tighter. He pressed his lips there too, lingering.

He kissed the shiny, discolored stretch of her cheek, where her skin folded differently now, where pain had reshaped her.

Not with fear.

Not with restraint.

But with fierce reverence.

He mouthed the hollow just near her ear, his breath warm, his lips slow.

"This face was meant to be kissed," his mind screamed. "Not scarred. Not ruined. And never rejected."

He worked his way down, not skipping a single inch. The uneven lines, the spots where the skin had darkened, where no makeup could hide the truth-it was all sacred to him.

His lips moved like he was sealing a vow into her flesh.

Soft, then firmer.

A kiss at her jawline, where the tissue was tight and slightly raised.

Another near her cheekbone, where the skin dipped.

Every press of his mouth was a refusal-a rebellion against the pain inflicted on her.

It was devotion.

It was a madness only he understood.

It was hunger too.

Possession.

An aching need to claim what was his. To erase every moment of rejection she'd ever felt. To show her, with every breath, that her scars were not flaws-but flames that burned him alive.

Then, he pulled back slightly and looked at her-at the whole of her face.

He leaned in again-this time toward the untouched side.

He kissed her temple, softer now. A kiss of balance.

He moved lower, trailing kisses down the curve of her cheek, this time with a hand cupping her head.

But when he reached her lips... he stopped.

Hovering just an inch away.

His voice dropped to a whisper, rough and intimate.

"That... I'll take only when you can see me. When you know who I am."

And then, as if leaving behind a piece of his soul, he lowered his head once more and kissed the center of her scarred cheek-slow and deep-as if branding her with every ounce of the love and rage he carried for her.

The person who did this to her had already begun to suffer.

And the pain would be endless.

Because he wasn't just punishing a crime...

He was avenging a goddess.

He slid down beside her, careful not to stir her. Just close enough to feel the heat of her body, to inhale her natural scent - a subtle sweetness, like sandalwood and soap and something he could never name.

He didn't sleep.

He just stared at her.

Breathing her in.

Memorizing the curve of her neck, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers curled near her cheek like a child.

His angel. His fire. His undoing.

The minutes slipped past like vapor.

Eventually, he rose, slowly, reluctantly, as if parting from her was a wound he had to stitch shut every time.

He leaned down one last time, brushing his nose softly against her shoulder. Then, with a breath full of longing and restraint, he slowly stood up from the bed.

Careful not to make a sound.

But just as he reached the edge of the room, he froze.

A faint shift behind him.

She had stirred-only slightly.

A small, unconscious sigh slipped past her lips, and her fingers twitched, brushing the space where he had been lying moments ago. Her brows knit briefly in sleep, as if her body already missed the warmth that had vanished.

But she didn't wake.

She remained wrapped in the cocoon of her dreams, unaware that someone had just kissed her scars like sacred verses, unaware that someone had already vowed revenge in the name of every tear she'd never shed aloud.

He watched her for one last second, eyes unreadable.

And then, like smoke-

He disappeared into the night.

Silently.

Secretly.

But with a soul raging in fire and a heart that now beat for one purpose only-

Her.

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The air in the room still held traces of the night-a faint warmth clinging to the sheets, a hush that hadn't lifted even as morning crept in.

The pale light from the curtained window touched her cheek, the one ruined by acid, now kissed tenderly by silence.

Maya stirred slowly. Sleep still clung to her lashes.

She sat up in bed, brushing back the strands of hair sticking to her neck, unaware of the ghost of lips that had pressed there just hours ago.

She didn't know.

She didn't know that in the thick, soundless veil of night, he had entered her home. Quiet as a shadow. Steady as obsession.

He had stood by her bed, his eyes hungrily soaking in the rise and fall of her breath, the way her vest clung to her slender frame, the tiny pinch of her waist visible as she shifted in sleep.

And then, as if drawn by an unseen force, he sat beside her, gaze locked on the face that haunted his nights.

That face... half beautiful, half destroyed. And yet to him, it was whole. Holy.

He had leaned down, his breath trembling. His lips met her ruined cheek with aching reverence.

A kiss of worship, not pity. A vow.

He kissed every inch of her face-every untouched patch, every scarred plane, skipping only her lips, murmuring to himself, "This, I'll save... until you know me. Until you belong to me."

She hadn't stirred. The quiet hum of the fan overhead was the only sound between the moments he kissed her temple, the curve of her jaw, the uneven skin near her brow.

He breathed her in-her faint rose soap, the bare scent of sweat from sleep, the warmth of her body.

The dark suited him. It let him drink her in without interruption.

And then-only then-he lay beside her, for a while. Watching. Wanting.

When the first hint of morning touched the sky, he left. As silently as he had come. No one saw him. Not even the wind stirred in his wake.

Now, Maya sat at the edge of the bed, confused by the soft warmth lingering on her cheek. Her fingers brushed it absentmindedly. Something about the room felt... different. A strange comfort.

But she didn't know why.

She didn't know that every kiss he gave was a claim, that every breath near her skin had been drenched in obsession.

That someone out there, hiding in plain sight, already considered her his-mind, body, soul... and scar.

And today, she would walk through Priya's cremation unaware, carrying his scent like an unseen mark-his shadow still clinging to her skin.

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The air was heavy with the scent of burning sandalwood and silence.

The electric furnace buzzed low in the background, the fire within flickering like the fragile emotions gripping everyone present.

Rachi stepped forward, her hands trembling as she placed a single rose on Priya's lifeless form.

Her lips quivered, releasing a final, choked goodbye. The tears in her eyes mirrored the others gathered-each face reflecting grief, confusion, and disbelief.

Maya stood beside her, hands folded tightly in front of her, her body still. Not a single tear escaped her eyes, yet the storm within her soul raged stronger than anyone could see.

She pressed her hand softly on Rachi's shoulder as the flames roared to life inside the furnace, consuming Priya's body slowly, irreversibly.

Ajit, along with Kavin and several staff members, offered their quiet respects. They stood in a straight line-heads bowed, faces solemn.

Their gazes were fixed on the small window of the furnace as Priya's form disappeared into flame.

Rachi broke down completely, clutching Maya's arm.

"She was right here... smiling... how did it come to this?" she cried.

Maya gently pulled her into a hug, her voice steady,

"We will find the culprit behind your death, Priya. We promise you."

The priest handed over the ashes in a small clay pot, wrapped in a red cloth.

Maya accepted it with both hands, her fingers tightening around it protectively, while Rachi wiped her tears with the edge of her dupatta.

As the crowd slowly thinned, Ajit approached the two girls, his face etched with grief.

"I am sorry for your loss," he said sincerely.

"I don't know what to say. It's not just your loss-she was a dedicated employee, and... a good person. I'll pray for her soul to find peace."

"What you said is true, sir," Maya replied quietly. "Now, all we can do is pray."

Ajit glanced at his watch. "It's getting late. Kavin will drop both of you home. I've some urgent work, so I'll take your leave."

He turned to Kavin, giving a firm nod. "Drop both of them safely."

"Yes, Sir," Kavin replied.

Ajit stepped into his car and was soon gone.

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Ajit didn't need a map.

He knew the road too well-each twist in the forest-lined path, each shadow that clung to the edges like a silent sentinel.

This wasn't just any route. It led straight into the kingdom of a man who ruled not just by fear, but by the cold legality of paper and seal.

This was Prashant's land. Entirely his-legally, politically, brutally.

The tall sal and neem trees loomed overhead like watchmen. The narrow road, cutting through the forest, belonged to no one else.

From the rustling leaves to the gravel crunching beneath Ajit's tires, everything here bowed to him.

As Ajit drove deeper, he could feel it-the shift in air, the weight of territory that didn't just know its master... it revered him.

Every bird call and branch snap seemed subdued, as though nature itself had learned silence under Prashant's rule.

A warning, almost.

The setting sun painted slashes of orange between the trees, but inside the forest, dusk had arrived early. Ajit tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his jaw tense.

The last time he came here, it had been different-friendly banter, shared drinks. But today, he wasn't here as a friend. He was here for answers.

Finally, the towering black gates came into view. Ornate, regal, and intimidating. No guards. No intercom.

Just the weight of unspoken surveillance. And yet, the gates creaked open slowly... almost as if he had been expecting Ajit.

The mansion revealed itself behind a row of mahogany trees. Grand, stone-clad, cloaked in ivy and mystery.

A fortress in the forest. Its tall, silent windows glared like eyes-watching, measuring.

Ajit pulled up, parked, and stepped out. The gravel crunched beneath his shoes.

Ajit exhaled deeply. He was inside Prashant's world now-where laws were signed in blood and loyalties were tested in fire.

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The dim amber glow of the fireplace spilled across the marble floor, catching in the crystal rims of two untouched glasses.

Shadows hung like whispers, unmoving, as if the room itself was waiting for something terrible to be spoken.

Ajit stood by the tall window, blazer tossed across the couch, sleeves rolled up, one hand in his pocket, the other gripping a glass of scotch.

His gaze followed the silhouettes in the distance.

A mother elephant and her calf, disappearing into the forest that HE had carved with care. Homes for those who could never build their own.

"That's Durga, isn't it?" he murmured. "She used to be the mischievous calf. Now... she's a mother."

Behind him, HE stood silent - an immovable figure in the shadows.

HE wore a plain black shirt tucked into matching black trousers, sleeves neatly buttoned at the wrists, no embellishments, no visible brand - and yet, HE looked like he owned the air around him.

The shirt clung to his tall, lean frame, outlining strength that didn't need to be flaunted.

HIS face was striking - a razor-sharp jawline, sculpted cheekbones, and jet-black hair that fell carelessly across his forehead.

HIS skin glowed faintly in the firelight, golden and smooth, and his dark eyes were steady, ancient, unreadable.

Next to HIM, even Ajit - in all his seasoned magnetism - looked like second light to a stronger flame.

Where Ajit exuded power, Prashant emanated command.

"Time doesn't wait," HE said. "Not even for innocence."

Ajit's jaw tightened. The softness in his voice vanished.

"Then tell me why she was punished."

"Priya."

"Yes. Priya." He turned fully now, eyes sharp.

"The board is seething. The media's out for blood. I've defended you. Like always. But I wasn't given the truth this time."

HIS glass clinked softly as he placed it on the table. HE moved like smoke and steel - fluid, unhurried, but every step carried the weight of a thousand consequences.

Opening the drawer beneath, HE pulled out a leather-bound file and tossed it onto the center table.

It landed with a quiet slap. But the tension that followed was deafening.

"She switched the pen drives," HE said evenly.

"During the Singhania presentation. Months of strategy- compromised. The company's future- gambled."

Ajit frowned.

"That wasn't confirmed. We assumed it was an internal breach-"

"She was the breach," HE said, voice like a sealed blade.

"But that wasn't the worst of it."

Ajit opened the file, revealing photos.

A dim, rundown house. A blood-soaked floor. A wheelchair overturned. A woman's lifeless eyes. A boy's neck slit clean.

"What is this...?"

"She wasn't Priya Dey"

HE said quietly.

"Her real name was Kavita Sen. From Bengal. She murdered her disabled mother. Slit her little brother's throat while he was sleeping. Then set the house up to look like a gas leak. Took the insurance money. Vanished."

Ajit reeled. "For money?"

"A few lakhs. That's all their lives were worth to her." HIS voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.

Ajit stared at the photos. The stench of betrayal clawed at him.

"How did this never come up during recruitment?"

"She created a new identity. Perfect records. False degree. Clean background. She was a ghost with charm."

HE turned slowly, the fire catching the edge of his cheekbone - sculpting him like a beautiful demon in stillness.

"But ghosts don't fool me for long."

Ajit swallowed hard. "Still... there were other ways to deal with her."

HIS voice dropped lower.

"She wasn't just a traitor to the company. She touched something she had no right to."

Ajit's gaze narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"She hurt someone precious to me,"

HE said.

"She humiliated her. Broke her. Mocked her scars. Made her feel like filth. All while pretending to be a friend."

There was no fury in his tone - only control. Terrifying, surgical control.

"My little siren," he added softly.

"She trusted Priya. And Priya used that trust to break her."

Ajit stilled. "Your... siren?"

Ajit's mind raced. The man who never even glanced at a woman. Who called emotions liabilities. Now speaking like a storm disguised as calm.

"You've never mentioned anyone," Ajit muttered.

"You never asked," HE replied, gaze fixed out the window again.

Ajit ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief.

"This wasn't just punishment then."

"No." Prashant's voice turned into steel. "It was a warning."

Ajit turned sharply. "To whom?"

A single word.

"Rudra."

Ajit's glass nearly cracked in his hand.

"That bastard-he bribed her?"

"Ten lakhs. To destroy our momentum. She was his pawn. Her death was the move that told him: I see your board. And I'm coming next."

Ajit's rage flared, eyes burning.

"We should've torn him apart already!"

"And we will," Prashant said, finally locking eyes with Ajit.

"But not until my siren is untouchable. Not until she is shielded by fire so fierce, even Rudra won't dare breathe her name."

Ajit looked at him. Truly looked.

Even in a simple black shirt and trousers, the man standing before him looked like power incarnate. Elegant. Dangerous. Unshakable.

This wasn't just about revenge.

This was declaration.

And Rudra's downfall had already begun - in silence.

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𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿..

Here Siren means -

A siren is a mythical creature, often depicted as a beautiful woman who lures sailors with her enchanting voice, leading them to shipwreck and doom.

"Little siren" means Maya silently captivated Prashant with her pain and strength - like a siren who enchants without trying. She's the only one who touched his heart.

Suggest by my sweet friend- Vijayalaxmi02