Hello, My Rosies 🌹

Chapter 2 is finally here!
This chapter is around 3k words, so grab your favorite snack, get comfortable, and enjoy the ride.

I hope you love reading it as much as I loved writing it. 

Happy Reading.

In the warehouse, a room drowned in the deep silence of the night, was as cold and quiet as a grave. A terrifying darkness stretched across all four corners, clinging to the walls as if it were alive. The only escape from this absolute void was a large glass window, through which a crescent moon shone in the distant sky.

Outside, the pale, white moonlight and the stark yellow glow of a streetlamp melted into one another, spilling into the room. This light did not erase the darkness; it only made it look more menacing.

Heavy iron chains hung from the walls, shivering slightly with every faint breeze, sending a chilling rustle through the entire space. In a far corner, an array of sharp, ruthless weapons lay arranged—a silent testimony to the purpose of this room.

In that dim, fragmented light, several men dressed in jet-black attire stood like shadows around the perimeter. They held guns with the precise, unflinching posture of professional soldiers. Their eyes held no mercy, and their faces were completely blank and lifeless, as if they were not humans, but executioner dummies.

Right in the center of the room, a man knelt on the floor, overcome by his ordeal. His body was broken and battered, showing the signs of a brutal struggle. His hands were bound tightly behind his back. With every single breath, his frame shuddered violently from the pain, yet his voice failed him, his cries trapped in his throat.

And sitting directly in front of him was the one in control.

Ishvaan Malhotra.

He was not just a man; he was the master of this darkness. A living, breathing nightmare.

His face was half-hidden in the shifting shadows of the pale yellow and white light, yet his eyes held a strange, haunting serenity.

Without a single movement, he watched the suffering man with absolute composure. His aura carried a devastating pull—a magnetic authority that forced you to fear him, and a cruel beauty that promised destruction. The atmosphere itself seemed to be waiting for Ishvaan’s command.

Then... He spoke. His voice was calm. Low. Almost gentle. Which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying.

"Do you know..." He tilted his head ever so slightly. "...how many years I spent chasing a ghost?"

Silence. The man's breathing grew heavier with every passing second. Ishvaan's storm-grey eyes never left him.

"Every witness disappeared."

"Every document vanished."

"Every road that could have led me to her..."

His jaw clenched.

"...someone erased it before I could reach it."

He leaned forward just enough for the dim light to catch the cold steel hidden inside his eyes.

A brief pause.

Then, in a voice devoid of emotion, he finished— "...and that someone was you."

The man's face drained of color.

For a long moment… Ishvaan said nothing. He simply stared. As though deciding whether the man deserved another breath. When he finally spoke again, his voice had changed. It was softer. Quieter. Almost... distant.

A faint, bitter smile appeared on his lips. "Do you know what's ironic?"

His gaze drifted past the walls. Past the room. Past the present. As though he was looking at memories only he could see.

"I don't even know what she looks like anymore."

A long silence followed.

"I don't know if her eyes is still the same..."

"...if she still smiles the way she used to..."

"...or if she'd even recognize me... if I stood right in front of her."

His fingers curled slowly into a fist.

"I spent years searching for a face...a face that time kept stealing from my memory." His voice dropped to a whisper. "...and you made sure I never found it."

The man let out a weak laugh. Broken. Bitter. Blood trickled from the corner of his lips. "You think you're the only one who lost something?"

He looked straight into Ishvaan's eyes. Hatred burned stronger than fear. "You destroyed my life first. You took away the only purpose I had left." His chest rose sharply as another cough escaped him. Blood splattered onto the floor. "So why would I ever let you reach yours?" A cruel smile spread across his bruised face.

"Your destination..." He coughed again. "...became my revenge."

Silence. No one in the room moved. Not a single guard shifted. Not a single breath dared become loud.

Ishvaan slowly rose to his feet. Measured. Unhurried. The polished soles of his shoes echoed across the marble floor until he stopped inches away from the bleeding man. He looked down at him. Expressionless.

Then… He smiled. A smile so small… It was far more terrifying than rage.

"If you had come after me..." His voice was barely above a whisper. "...I might have understood." He crouched until they were eye level.

"Agar tum badla Ishvaan Malhotra se lete..." A brief pause. "...to shayad main muskrakar seh bhi leta." His storm-grey eyes darkened. "Lekin tumne meri mohabbat ko meri saza bana diya.” Another pause. Long enough for every heartbeat in the room to become audible.

[If you had taken revenge on Ishvaan Malhotra, I might have even smiled and endured it. But you turned my love into my punishment.]

"You stole the only person..." His voice remained calm. Yet every word felt heavier than the last. "...who could've made this cursed life worth living."

Silence. For the first time that night… His voice faltered. Only for a heartbeat. Barely enough for anyone to notice.

"Tumhe laga tum use mujhse chheen loge…" He looked the man dead in the eyes. "...Jise maine Saans ki tarah jiya ho… use koi waqt bhi nahi chheen sakta."

[You thought you could snatch away from me the one I have lived with every breath- someone whom not even time itself could ever take away]

The room fell into absolute silence. Even the air itself felt too afraid to move.

And for the very first time… Every man standing in that room realized something terrifying.

The King of the Underworld wasn't searching for a woman.
He was searching...for the only piece of himself that had ever been human.

With a silent, rhythmic precision, Ishvaan extended his hand. From the obsidian shadows behind him, a loyal guard stepped forward, placing the heavy, cold weight of a matte-black axe into his palm.

Ishvaan didn't look at the weapon; his eyes remained fixed on the man trembling at his feet—a pathetic silhouette of a once-daring rival. He knelt slowly, his movements possessing a lethal, predatory grace. When he spoke, his voice was a low, velvet whisper that carried the chilling weight of an inescapable sentence.

"Wrong move," Ishvaan murmured, the words laced with a dangerous softness. "You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have dared to challenge my existence. And for that, a simple end would be far too merciful."

The atmosphere in the warehouse shifted, the suspense thickening until it was nearly impossible to breathe. Ishvaan’s gaze drifted to a heavy iron tool he was holding in his hand, its jagged edge catching the light. He didn't need to use it to project the absolute terror of what was to come. The psychological weight of his gaze was enough to break the man's spirit entirely.

"I want you to remember this moment," Ishvaan continued, his voice cutting through the silence like a razor. "I want you to carry the fear of my name into every shadow you encounter. By the time I am finished, even the darkness will offer you no sanctuary."

Without a shred of hesitation, Ishvaan’s fingers closed around the axe. It looked innocent, almost delicate in his palm, yet it was about to become an instrument of absolute ruin. He leaned over the man seated before him, his shadow swallowing the other's trembling form.

In a blur of motion, Ishvaan used the object in his hand to deliver a swift, devastating strike. He removes both of the man’s hands using the axe.

The room was instantly filled with the man’s sharp cries of agony, a jarring melody of pain that seemed to only fuel the dark electricity crackling between the walls.

He still wasn't satisfied with that. He picks up a knife from a nearby table and plunges it into his eyes, causing his eye to pop out completely. A lot of blood starts flowing from his eyes, and that man starts screaming even more in pain.

Ishvaan watched the man’s struggle with a detached, haunting calm. There was no flicker of regret in his gaze, only the cold satisfaction of a predator who had asserted total dominance.

Standing up, Ishvaan adjusted his tailored cuffs, his expression returning to a calm, aristocratic serenity that contrasted sharply with the chilling promises he had just made. He casually pulled a pristine silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiping blood from his hand before tossing the cloth aside as if it were worthless garbage.

Ishvaan looked at the broken man lying at his feet. His storm grey eyes held rage and years of silent suffering. He adjusted the cuff of his bloodstained shirt before speaking.

“Jis ladki ki yaad tak ko maine sambhal kar rakha.. Tum use apni ankho ke saamne dekhte rahe.” His voice dropped even lower.

[You kept watching the very girl- whose memory I had cherished and held onto- right before your eyes.]

He crouched one last time. Close enough for the man to hear every single word. “Yaad rakhna… Jis ladki ko mujhse chhipakar tumne jeet samjha tha…” His eyes turned impossibly dark. “Usi ladki tak pahuchne se ab poori duniya bhi mujhe nahi rok payegi.”

[Remember, not even the entire world will be able to stop me from reaching the girl you thought you had won by hiding her from me.]

And just before disappearing into the darkness, he spoke one last sentence- “Ab meri baari hai… Use waps apni jindagi me laane ki.”

[Now it's my turn… to bring her back into my life.]

Without a backward glance at the broken man, Ishvaan walked out into the cold night air. The heavy iron doors groaned shut behind him, sealing the fate of his prey within the silence of the warehouse.

Ishvaan walked through the dimly lit corridor with the same unnerving composure he had walked in with. Not hurried. Not slow. Measured. Every step echoed against the cold concrete walls like the countdown to someone's death.

The warehouse doors slid open. A gust of freezing air swept across the abandoned dockyard.

Outside… The entire compound had transformed into a fortress. Rows of matte-black SUVs stood in perfect formation beneath the pale moonlight.

More than hundred armed men guarded every possible entrance, their rifles resting against broad shoulders. Dressed entirely in black tactical gear, they stood motionless, their expressions stripped of every trace of humanity. They weren't soldiers anymore. They looked like shadows that had learned how to breathe. No one spoke. No one even looked directly at him.

The King of the Underworld had walked out. That alone demanded silence.

Ishvaan ignored every pair of lowered eyes as he made his way toward the sleek black Rolls-Royce parked at the centre of the convoy. He stopped beside it. Leaning one shoulder casually against the polished door, he slipped a silver cigarette case from the inside pocket of his tailored three-piece suit.

The flame from the lighter flickered briefly before illuminating the sharp contours of his face. He took a slow drag. Smoke escaped his lips in a lazy stream, disappearing into the darkness above. His storm-grey eyes remained fixed somewhere far beyond the warehouse… As though his body stood there… But his mind was already searching for someone else.

Footsteps approached. Fast. Disciplined. A tall figure emerged from the line of guards before stopping a respectful distance away.

Zayden Khanna.

Six feet two. Lean, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed in a charcoal-grey suit that fit him with military precision. His neatly combed dark hair hadn't shifted despite the cold wind, and the wire-frame glasses resting on the bridge of his nose only sharpened the intelligence hidden behind calm brown eyes.

Unlike the men carrying rifles… Zayden carried information. And in Ishvaan's empire… Information was deadlier than bullets. He had served Ishvaan long enough to understand one thing. The quieter his boss became… The closer someone was to dying.

"Boss." His voice was steady. Professional. Yet even he couldn't ignore the invisible tension hanging in the air.

Ishvaan took another slow drag before finally turning his head toward him. His expression revealed nothing. Which somehow made it worse.

"Three hours." His voice was calm. Almost conversational.

"I don't care where she is."

"I don't care whose protection she's under."

"I don't care how many doors you have to break... or how many names you have to bury."

The cigarette rested effortlessly between his fingers as ash fell silently onto the concrete.

"I want every single detail." His eyes settled on Zaiden's.

"Where she lives."

"Who she's with."

"What she does."

"What she eats."

"Who she smiles at."

"What makes her cry."

A dangerous pause followed.

"I want information so complete...that by the time you're done...I'll know her better than she knows herself."

The night fell eerily silent. Only the distant sound of waves crashing against the docks remained. Ishvaan stepped closer. Close enough that Zayden could smell the cedarwood cologne mixed with cigarette smoke.

"Three hours." His voice dropped lower. "If you fail..." He stopped. The sentence remained unfinished. It didn't need an ending. Not in this empire. Everyone already knew what waited beyond those three words.

Zayden swallowed almost imperceptibly. His heartbeat thundered against his ribs, but his face betrayed nothing. "Understood, Boss." Without wasting another second, he turned sharply and strode toward the convoy of waiting vehicles, already barking orders into his earpiece.

Within moments, engines roared to life. 

The hunt had begun.

Ishvaan remained where he was. His cigarette had almost burned down to the filter. He stared into the endless darkness ahead. Somewhere… In a city of millions… The girl he had spent years mourning was breathing beneath the same sky.

He crushed the cigarette beneath the heel of his polished shoe. Opened the rear door of the Rolls-Royce. And disappeared inside. The convoy rolled into the night. Not like a fleet of cars… But like a kingdom going to reclaim what had always belonged to its king.

…..

The gates of the Malhotra Mansion slowly parted.

A convoy of black luxury SUVs glided through the entrance with silent precision, disappearing into a driveway lined with towering cypress trees and perfectly sculpted hedges.

At the end of the path stood the mansion. No… Mansion wasn't enough to describe it. It looked less like a home and more like a kingdom carved out of darkness. Built from black stone and polished marble, the estate stretched endlessly beneath the moonlight. Floor-to-ceiling glass reflected the city lights like fragments of shattered stars, while towering pillars framed the grand entrance with intimidating elegance.

Every inch of the architecture whispered wealth. Every shadow screamed power. This wasn't a place people visited. It was a place they were summoned to.

The massive doors opened before Ishvaan could even reach them. A line of staff members stood on either side of the entrance, heads bowed, eyes fixed on the marble floor. No one greeted him. No one dared. Silence had become the first rule of serving Ishvaan Malhotra.

He walked past them without slowing down. The polished Italian marble beneath his shoes reflected every measured step. Crystal chandeliers hung high above the cathedral-like ceiling, their warm golden glow doing little to soften the coldness that lived inside the estate. Rare paintings, centuries-old sculptures, and priceless antiques decorated the halls, yet somehow the mansion still felt empty.

Beautiful.

Luxurious.

Soulless.

Almost like the man who owned it.

As Ishvaan crossed the enormous hall, one of the male attendants hurried forward with a crystal glass of water resting on a silver tray. The young man's hands trembled. Not because of the tray. Because of what he saw.

Despite washing away most of it… Dark crimson stains still marked the cuffs of Ishvaan's white shirt. Tiny droplets had dried near his knuckles. A faint smear of blood remained along the edge of his tailored black coat. Not enough to look messy. Just enough to remind everyone where he had come from.

The attendant instinctively lowered his gaze. His throat tightened. The tray shook ever so slightly in his hands.

For one terrifying moment… He wondered whose blood it was. He didn't want the answer. No one ever did.

Without sparing him a single glance… Without even acknowledging the offered glass… Ishvaan walked past. His expression remained unreadable as he ascended the sweeping marble staircase leading toward the private wing of the mansion.

Each step echoed through the silent hall. Slow. Measured. Unhurried. Until his figure disappeared behind the corridor above.

Only then... Only after the sound of his footsteps had completely faded… The attendant released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His shoulders slumped. The trembling in his hands finally stopped.

Around him, the rest of the staff quietly returned to their work, pretending nothing had happened.

Because in the Malhotra Estate… Fear wasn't an emotion. It was part of the routine. And everyone who served the King of the Underworld had long ago learned the same lesson— The quieter Ishvaan Malhotra was...The more dangerous the night had been.

Thankyou for reading My Rosies!🌹

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Until then... take care, My Rosies. 🌙

With love,
Heaven rose🖤