Prologue

Diya Rawat wasn't a monster hiding in the dark. No, she was the fire that burned in plain sight, the storm that didn't pretend to be anything but destruction. She walked into his life the way lightning split the sky—brilliant, violent, and completely impossible to ignore. And from that moment on, she refused to leave.

He should have run. He should have fought harder, should have chosen a life untouched by the chaos she carried in her blood. But it was never that simple. Not with her. Not with the way she looked at him like he was the only thing in the world she wanted but couldn't control.

And now, standing in the ruins of the life he once knew, he could no longer recognize the man he used to be.

He wasn't supposed to be here. Not in this world, not in this darkness, not beside a woman whose hands were stained with more sins than she could count. But somehow, against every law of reason, every warning he had ignored—she had become his everything.

He could still remember the second time he had met her, though he had spent so long convincing himself it was a dream. A nightmare. A mistake.

It had been a normal night for him—sleepless, spent drowning in the sterile lights of the hospital, his hands saving a life he would never see again. He had walked out of the operating room, exhaustion weighing on him, when he saw her.

Diya Rawat.

Sitting in his office chair, her legs crossed, her violet-blue eyes locked onto him like she was deciding whether he was worth breaking.

"Dr. Arya," she had said smoothly, tilting her head, the sharp glint in her eyes sending something cold down his spine. "You've been avoiding me."

He had. And for good reason.

"That's because you're trouble," he had replied, sighing as he pulled off his surgical mask. "And I'm not interested in trouble."

She had only smiled. Dangerous. Unbothered. As if he had said something amusing rather than true.

"That's the thing, doctor," she murmured, standing up, her heels clicking against the tiled floor as she closed the distance between them. "I don't need you to be interested. I just need you to listen."

Her fingers had brushed against his shirt, just above his heart. He had been too exhausted to stop her, too caught up in the way her touch left heat in its wake.

"You're mine, Naitik," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. "You just don't know it yet."

And that was the moment everything changed.

Not the night she burned down the venue of his wedding to another woman.

Not the moment she forced him to put a ring on her finger.

Not the first time he kissed her out of pure fury, desperate to prove that she couldn't own him.

No, it was then, in that damn office, when she had looked at him like she had already won.

Because she had.

And now, as he stood beside the woman who had wrecked his world, the woman he hated, loved, and could never leave, he realized something terrifying.

He had never believed in monsters.

Until he fell in love with one.

Scene 1- (summary) 

Naitik knew Diya was insane. He had seen it in her eyes the moment they met, felt it in the way she invaded his life so effortlessly.

But he never expected her to set an entire wedding venue on fire.

His wedding.

To another woman.

He had been standing at the altar, the weight of a choice he didn't want to make pressing against his ribs. His bride, Viransha, stood beside him—beautiful, perfect, but not the woman he wanted. Not the woman he couldn't get out of his head.

And then the screams started.

Smoke curled into the air, flames licking the walls, chaos erupting as guests ran for the exits. In the center of it all, Diya stood at the doorway, a gun in one hand and a smirk playing on her lips.

"Oops," she had said, voice dripping with amusement. "Did I do that?"

Naitik's heart stopped.

She was insane. Absolutely, certifiably insane.

But God help him, he had never wanted anyone more.

"Marry me, Naitik," she had whispered against his ear that night, her hands gripping his shirt, her breath hot against his skin. "Or I'll burn down everything else you love."

And as much as he wanted to say no, as much as he wanted to fight—he already knew the truth.

Diya Rawat didn't make threats.

She made promises.

And this one? She fully intended to keep.

Scene 2- (summary) 

Naitik had been treating a patient when she appeared again.

It had been weeks since she first invaded his hospital and kept everyone hostage but he had foolishly convinced himself she was done with him. That she had been playing some reckless game and had already moved on.

But then, she walked into the emergency room as if she belonged there.

A black dress clinging to her curves, her wild curls cascading over her shoulders, lips painted the deepest shade of red. She had no wounds, no reason to be there—except for him.

Naitik had frozen, his hands stilling over the stitches he had been sewing. Her presence was suffocating, a force pressing into his chest, into his veins.

"You shouldn't be here," he muttered, not looking up as he finished his work.

Diya hummed, tilting her head. "And yet, here I am."

His patient—a man in his forties with a knife wound—nervously glanced at her, clearly aware of who she was. Naitik noticed the way the man tensed, eyes flickering toward the security guard standing at the door.

"Relax," she purred, fingers trailing along the edge of Naitik's desk. "I'm not here to kill anyone. Not tonight, at least."

The words were spoken so casually, like murder was an afterthought, something she did between breakfast and dinner.

Naitik sighed, removing his gloves. "What do you want, Diya?"

She smiled. Slow. Dangerous.

"You."

And before he could react, before he could even think, she was in front of him. Her hand pressed against his chest, her fingers sliding down his stomach, slow, teasing.

He inhaled sharply, his body betraying him.

The patient tried to look up at them, while Diya yelled in a high pitched voice, her gaze only fixed into Naitik's 'Keep your eyes close, if you don't want them to be plugged out today'. And the patient immediately shut his eyes in terror. 

"Why do you keep pretending, doctor?" she whispered, stepping closer, her lips brushing against his jaw. "You think I don't notice the way you react to me?"

His pulse thundered beneath her touch.

"You think I don't see the way your breathing changes when I walk into a room?"

He clenched his jaw. She was toying with him. She always was.

"You need help, Diya," he said through gritted teeth.

She chuckled, pressing a soft, featherlight kiss against his throat. "Then help me, doctor."

And just like that, she was gone.

Leaving him standing there, furious at himself for wanting more. 

Scene 3- ( Summary) 

Naitik Arya had faced sleepless nights, critical surgeries, and impossible choices that left blood on his hands—but nothing compared to this.Because his insane, possessive, absolutely unhinged wife had just kidnapped him.

Her own husband.

And now, she stood before him, violet-blue eyes burning with fury, desire, and something dangerously close to obsession.

"You were gone for twenty hours, Naitik," she said, her voice slow, deliberate. "Twenty."

He exhaled sharply, exhaustion pressing into his bones. "Diya—"

"Do you know what happens when you leave your wife alone for that long?" she continued, stepping closer, her sheer black robe slipping slightly off her shoulder.

His eyes flickered downward. A mistake. Because she noticed. Of course, she did.

"Nothing good," she murmured, tilting her head. Before he could react, she pressed a gun against his chest. His breath hitched. Not from fear. But from the way her fingers curled over the trigger like she was testing his pulse through the metal.

"Strip," she ordered.

"Diya—"

"Now."

Her voice was a demand. A punishment. A test.