PRATISHTHA POV

The night smelled of power, money, and well-aged sin.

I stepped out of the sleek black car, my stilettos clicking against the marble driveway of the Volkov estate. Golden chandeliers spilled light over the grand entrance, where guards in tailored suits watched the guests like trained wolves.

I adjusted my mask—a delicate creation of gold and obsidian lace, framing my eyes like a whisper of danger. Beneath it, my lips curved into a smirk. The world knew me as Russia’s golden girl, the untouchable queen of high society. But tonight? Tonight, I was no one. Just another shadow in a ballroom of masked strangers.

Isha looped her arm through mine. “You look like you’re about to commit a crime,” she murmured, amused.

I let out a low chuckle. “Maybe I am.”

A live orchestra played a haunting waltz, the melody weaving through the air like a spell. Waiters in crisp uniforms glided through the crowd, offering champagne and whispered invitations to the after-parties that would follow.

I took a flute of champagne, my fingers grazing the cold crystal. I wasn’t here to flirt or play pretend like the rest of them. I was here because Isha had practically begged, and because… well, even a queen gets bored of her castle sometimes.

Isha leaned in, eyes sparkling behind her mask. “So, tell me, Pratishtha,” she said, voice dripping with mischief, “are we here to dance, drink, or destroy someone’s night?”

I took a slow sip of my champagne, the bubbles fizzing against my tongue.

“Why not all three?”

♠♠♠

As I started to enjoy myself a little listening to the hauntingly beautiful music played by the orchestra. Music has always been my escape, a hidden talent that I intend to keep hidden.

A shiver ran down my spine, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t because of the cold

A presence coiled around me, dark and unrelenting, drowning out the chatter, the music, the very essence of the masquerade. My fingers tightened around my champagne glass as an unfamiliar sensation curled in my stomach—something primal, something dangerous.

I turned to find no one. It's okay Pratishtha. Just another trick of my mind. As I turned back to my previous position. And I saw him.

A man stood a few steps away, his face covered by a black Venetian mask carved with intricate patterns, covering everything but his mouth and jaw—sharp, chiseled, the kind that belonged to men who made gods nervous. He was tall—too tall, too broad, too powerful—wrapped in a tailored black suit that fit him like sin itself. The crowd parted for him without a word, not because they saw him, but because they felt him.

Power. Pride. Dominance.

He wasn’t just a man. He was the man.

And then—those eyes.

They weren’t special. Black. Ordinary. Forgettable.

Except nothing about the way they devoured me was forgettable. He looked at me like I was the only thing in this goddamn ballroom. Like he could strip me bare with a glance, unravel every inch of me without ever touching me. A thousand unspoken, forbidden promises lingered in the air between us—ones that tasted of possession, ruin, and something far worse.

A look of recognition passed between us. Not because we knew each other. No, that would have been easier.

It was the way a predator recognizes another predator.

But the real question was—which one of us would bite first?

A slow, almost lazy smirk curled his lips, as if he had heard my thoughts. As if he already knew the answer.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure if I was the hunter or the hunted.

"Careful, princess," His deep voice rolled over me like whiskey over ice. "You keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you want something."

I turned, already prepared to deliver a sharp retort, but the words dissolved on my tongue the moment my eyes met his.

Up close, he was even more intimidating. His mask covered the upper half of his face, but I didn’t need to see his features to he must be heartbreakingly handsome. Keep your hormones in check Pratishtha. He is just another stranger.

I lifted my chin. "And what if I want something? Will you give it to me? " I asked as if my pulse wasn't racing.

His smirk deepened, slow and knowing. "Itne khubsurat aakhon pe toh jaan bhi kurban hai."

What? What did he just said? I know that language is Hindi but I don't understand Hindi well though I know bengali.

My face must have given my confusion away as his smirk deepened but he didn't had the courtesy to translate it for me. Huh. Such a gentleman.

He extended a gloved hand toward me, palm up—an invitation. The orchestra swelled, the beginning notes of a waltz filling the grand hall. "May I have a dance with you, Sirenneta?"

For a moment, I hesitated. Every instinct screamed at me to walk away. To put distance between myself and this stranger who felt too familiar in ways I couldn’t explain.

So, with a slow, deliberate smirk, I placed my hand in his.

He pulled me to the dance floor with a dangerous gentleness.

As we reached the dance floor he kept his palm on my waist and draped my hands around his neck pulling me closer. His grip tightened just enough to make me aware of his strength, to let me know that if he wanted, he could break me.

His scent of smoke, leather, musk and something masculine filled my senses, clouding my judgement.

We moved effortlessly, my body molding to his as if we'd done this before. His hand on my waist sends an annoyingly comforting warmth to my stomach. And it's annoying as he is a stranger.

He twirled me around so that now my back was firmly pressed against his chest. The crisp fabric of his shirt caressing my half bare back, thanks to my backless gown, sending shivers down my spine.

"Who are you?" I found myself whispering.

His lips brushed against my ear as he murmured, "Someone who shouldn’t want you."

A shiver raced down my spine.I pulled back, meeting those black, unreadable eyes. Green against Black. Like Forest drowned in darkness.

He shouldn’t want me.And yet—he did.

♡♡♡♡♡♡⁠♡♡⁠♡♡♡⁠♡

Hey lovely readers, hope you liked their first meet. Vote and comment please if you liked it.

♡ Your Author