Trust is a luxury for people who have never looked at the bottom of a swimming pool and realized no one was coming to save them.

I stood on the balcony of my apartment, the humid Mumbai air thick with the scent of rain and exhaust. Below me, the city roared, but I was focused on the cold glass of champagne in my hand. I didn't drink to forget; I drank to celebrate the fact that I was still standing.

Ansh thought he had broken me. He thought he could slip into my bed, whisper sweet lies into my ear, and then dismantle Sharma Enterprises while I was busy falling in love.

He made one fatal mistake. I don't "fall" in love. I negotiate it. And the negotiation just ended.

I swiped a finger across my tablet, looking at the data I’d pulled from the Chauhan Empire’s servers. My heart didn't race. My hands didn't shake. I felt a cold, sharp thrill—the kind of adrenaline that comes right before a hunt.

Yashwardhan Chauhan.

The man was a myth carved out of ice. He was beautiful in the way a graveyard is beautiful—silent, expensive, and deadly. Everyone feared him. To me, he was just a man with too many secrets and a very punchable, handsome face.

He thinks he’s the one in control. He thinks that because he’s 6’2” and owns half the skyline, I’ll bow down like the rest of his mindless employees. He doesn’t realize that I’ve spent my whole life being ignored by people who were supposed to love me.

Being hated by a stranger? That’s easy. That’s home.

I’m going to use him. I’m going to let him think he’s the mastermind, the dark hero of this story. I’ll endure his cold stares, and his arrogant silence. I’ll be the "sarcastic bitch" he expects me to be, all while I'm wrapping a noose around Ansh’s neck.

And once Ansh is ruined? Once I have my company back and my vengeance served?

I’ll turn those files over to the authorities and watch the Ice King’s empire melt.

I took a slow sip of the champagne, the bubbles stinging my tongue. A small, wicked smile spread across my face as I caught my reflection in the glass. My black hair was a mess, my eyes were tired, but I looked like a woman who had nothing left to lose.

"Checkmate, Yashwardhan," I whispered to the dark skyline. "You just don't know the game has started yet."

The world is a game of chess, and most people are merely the dust on the board.

I sat in my office, the silence so absolute it would have driven a lesser man to madness. But I thrived in it. Silence is predictable. Silence is perfect. I adjusted the cufflink on my left wrist, ensuring the silver crest was aligned exactly to the millimeter. Control is not a habit for me; it is a survival mechanism. If you control every variable, nothing can ever crash.

Nothing can ever break again.

I looked at the silver flash drive sitting on my desk. It was an anomaly. An intrusion. Just like the woman who had left it there.

Mahira Sharma.

She was loud, chaotic, and wore arrogance like a second skin. She had walked into my sanctuary, smelling of jasmine and defiance, and threatened to dismantle the empire I had bled to build. She thought she had me cornered with her little hacking stunt. She thought she was the predator because she had found a few shadows in my ledgers.

She has no idea what real shadows look like.

I leaned back, my eyes tracking the slow, rhythmic movement of the clock on the wall. Tick. Tick. Tick. Her boyfriend, Ansh Mehta, is a fool. He stole from her because he thought she was weak. I will work with her to destroy him, not because I care for her vengeance, but because he is a messy variable that needs to be erased.

And Mahira?

She is a beautiful, sharp-tongued distraction. She thinks she is using me as a weapon to be discarded once the job is done. She doesn't realize that you don’t pick up a double-edged blade and expect to keep your fingers.

I will let her play her games. I will let her think she’s winning. I will even endure her pathetic, sarcastic barbs and her refusal to follow the order of my world. I will keep her close—close enough to study every crack in her armor, close enough to see what lies beneath that "bitchy" exterior she uses as a shield.

And when Ansh Mehta is a memory, I will turn that same cold precision on her.

I will take back my data, I will take her company, and I will make sure she never has the breath to threaten me again.

I picked up a fountain pen and placed it back in its velvet-lined tray, perfectly centered. My face remained a mask of stone, but inside, the calculation was already complete.

Welcome to the Chauhan Empire, Mahira. I hope you’re prepared to lose everything.