Prologue

Prologue

—the city breathes in silence, and exhales sin.

There are cities that never sleep.

And then there are cities that never forget.

Mumbai, cloaked in gold dust and grime, remembers every whispered betrayal, every bloodied handshake, every vow stitched in silence. Its streets echo with the footsteps of ghosts—some long dead, others still walking in tailored suits and thousand-watt smiles.

In this city, he reigns.

Vikram Singhania.

Billionaire. Heir. Phantom King.

A man carved from glass and gunpowder, with a gaze that could dismantle kingdoms and a heart long buried beneath marble and ash. His empire stretches farther than the eye can see, but it is not built on cement. It is built on fear. On precision. On the kind of silence that speaks louder than war.

He does not seek redemption—he is the reason it was lost.

And then… her.

Parineeti Gupta.

Criminal lawyer. Fire-starter. A woman who drips defiance like perfume and walks into danger as if it were destiny. She wields truth like a blade and justice like a dare. In a world where men gamble with blood, she bets her soul every single day. And wins.

She does not bend. She breaks the rules instead.

They are not lovers in a poem.

They are not heroes in a myth.

They are storm and flame. Control and chaos.

Fated not to fall in love—but to fall through it.

And when they do, the world will not witness a romance.

It will witness a reckoning.