PROLOGUE: Part 3
~ MRITYUNJAY ~
Inside the dimly lit office, a man sat behind a sleek, ebony desk, his silhouette stark against the panoramic view of the city.
Mrityunjay Singh Rathore was a study in lethal perfection. His features were chiseled, a testament to years of rigorous discipline—a sharp jawline, a strong nose, and a pair of piercing, ice-cold green eyes that seemed to dissect the soul of anyone who dared to meet them.
His dark hair was styled in a classic side-sweep, framing a face that exuded absolute authority. The only flaw in his masterpiece was a faint, jagged scar near his left eyebrow—a permanent reminder of the violence he had survived. Dressed in a charcoal grey Armani suit, his broad shoulders and lean physique hinted at the raw, coiled strength beneath the silk.
A faint smirk played on his lips, not out of happiness, but out of calculation.
It had been thirteen years since he stepped into the blood-soaked world of the underworld. He had escaped the hellhole his sadistic father had thrown him into, but he hadn't come out unscathed. He had wanted peace. He had wanted to be normal—like his cousins, like the people walking freely on the streets below.
But peace was a luxury monsters, couldn't afford. And somewhere along the way, Mrityunjay had become the very thing people feared most.
I even fear myself, he thought, staring at the reflections in the glass. If I am let loose, I don't know where the man ends and the monster begins.
"What do you want?" Mrityunjay asked, his voice cutting through the silence of the room.
He was on a secure conference call with his inner circle: Kartik Kashyap, Agastya Singh Rajput, and Vidyut Malhotra. To the world, they were billionaire CEOs. In the shadows, they were the High Table of the underworld.
"The deal in Germany is a wash," Kartik's voice crackled over the line, sounding exhausted. "We can't take it. The local mob is trying to screw us over."
Kartik had left on short notice to investigate the German branch. On paper, these companies were independent. In reality, Mrityunjay owned the board. He was the Monarch, and they were his generals.
"I knew it," Vidyut muttered. "It was so bluntly obvious with the numbers they were faking."
"Well, why don't we give them a little surprise?" Agastya's voice was low and dangerous. He was the hothead of the group. "Let's swap the gun supply with the faulty batch. We needed a trash can to dump the defects... why not use them?"
Mrityunjay leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "Do it. And Kartik, since you are already there, cut off negotiations. Burn the bridge before you return."
"Done," Kartik agreed.
"Be back before Saturday," Vidyut teased, lightening the mood. "You have to attend the party your girlfriend is organizing."
There was a heavy pause on the line.
"She broke up with me," Kartik sighed, the frustration evident. "She blocked me on every social media platform in existence. No texts, no calls. Nothing."
"What did you do?" Agastya asked, amused. "Last time I checked, you two were in La La Land."
"Nothing! She thinks I'm cheating on her."
Mrityunjay arched a brow. "Are you?"
"NO!" Kartik shouted, losing his composure. "Of course not. Fuck this!"
If it were anyone else, Mrityunjay would have hung up. But Kartik was unraveling.
"Are you done?" Mrityunjay asked, his voice calm but icy.
"Sorry," Kartik muttered.
"That's it for today," Mrityunjay stated, ending the call with a tap of his finger.
The silence returned, suffocating and heavy. Sometimes, he felt like a dead man walking.
A rhythmic knock on the door broke his trance.
"Enter."
Shreya, his assistant, walked in, looking like she was walking the plank. She kept her eyes on her tablet, avoiding his gaze.
"Sir, your schedule for tomorrow is ready. And the meeting with the Russians is in five minutes; the video conference is set up."
She was efficient. No nonsense. He appreciated that.
"Done for the day. You can go now," he dismissed her.
"Thank you, sir." She practically fled the room.
Mrityunjay turned back to his screen, but another knock interrupted him.
Knock Knock.
He didn't look up this time. "What?"
The door creaked open, and a head popped in.
"Bhai, hum kab jaa rahe hai Haveli? (Brother, when are we leaving for the palace?)"
It was Vivan, his cousin and the only person in the family who dared to be this casual with him. Vivan worked as an intern, fully aware of the dark dealings of the company, yet somehow remaining annoyingly cheerful.
"You go first," Mrityunjay said, his eyes glued to a file.
"Par Bhai, sath chalte hai na? (But Brother, let's go together?)" Vivan asked, stepping fully into the office with a hopeful grin.
Mrityunjay slowly lifted his head. He didn't speak. He just looked at Vivan with those cold, green eyes.
Vivan's smile faltered. He took a step back.
"Ha... ha, main chala jaunga. (Ha ha, I'll go by myself,)" Vivan laughed nervously, walking backward toward the door. "Goodnight, Bhai."
The door clicked shut.
Mrityunjay stared at the empty space for a moment longer, then picked up his pen. The monster had work to do.