She was his weakness. He was her nightmare. Aanya Verma is a quiet, soft-spoken girl from a small town who moves to the city for college. With dreams of becoming a teacher and making her late mother proud, she keeps her head down and avoids trouble. Rafael "Raaz" Singh is the ruthless, feared leader of the Black Viper Syndicate. Cold, calculated, and dangerously charming, he has built his empire on blood, fear, and loyalty. Somewhere in the chaotic heart of Mumbai… The rain poured relentlessly, blurring the neon lights and drowning the sound of a city that never truly slept. People rushed by, umbrellas clashing, shoes splashing in muddy puddles. No one noticed the black SUV parked in the alley. No one dared. Inside, Raaz was bleeding. His vision blurred as he gritted his teeth, pressing a trembling hand to the gunshot wound in his side. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. The deal was secure, the traitor already buried—or so he thought. But someone had known. Someone had planned. He staggered out of the vehicle, trying to disappear into the narrow street before the next wave of attackers came. His footsteps echoed as he leaned against a wall, strength fading, pulse slowing. And that’s when he saw her. She didn’t belong in that part of the city—wide eyes, drenched salwar-kameez clinging to her frame, books held tight to her chest as she ran toward the bus stop. She paused as her gaze met his, hesitated… and then, against all logic, walked to him. "You’re hurt," she whispered. Raaz tried to growl out a warning, but the pain silenced him. He was losing too much blood. Without asking, she slipped beneath his arm, supporting him. “There's a clinic near the station. You won’t make it unless someone helps you.” He wanted to snap at her—to push her away, threaten her, anything. But she moved fast and spoke even faster, like fear and kindness were fused in her veins. She called a rickshaw, talked the driver into taking them with a story about a drunk uncle, and wrapped her dupatta around his wound to slow the bleeding. In fifteen minutes, she dropped him at the clinic door and vanished into the crowd. No name. No number. No idea who she had just saved. But Raaz never forgot. Not the softness of her voice. Not the determination in her eyes. Not the warmth of her hands soaked in his blood. He survived that night. And the only thought that haunted him afterward wasn’t vengeance—it was her. The girl who saved a monster. And now, he would find her. At any cost.