That evening, the city was dipped in warm amber light, street lamps blinking awake one by one as dusk stretched over the skyline. Shriya's hands rested lightly on the steering wheel as she drove toward MK's apartment. The routine had become second nature—weekdays at MK's place because of work, weekends at her own penthouse. They had never talked about it formally, but the pattern felt like its own quiet promise.
She was humming faintly, thinking about surprising MK with dinner. MK had a soft spot for quiet restaurants with dim lighting—places where the world felt far away and she could breathe without being looked at. Shriya scrolled through her contacts, ready to call the manager of a famous rooftop restaurant she knew; the kind of place MK usually avoided, but tonight Shriya wanted to make her smile.
Just as she tapped the call icon, her screen vibrated with an incoming message.
Unknown Number:
Lift my ban from M-Kent Paradise, or things won't end good for you or your girlfriend.
Shriya's vision went white around the edges.
She hit the brakes so hard the tires screamed across the asphalt. The entire car jerked forward, seatbelt digging into her chest. Behind her, horns blared as cars swerved in every direction—one veering so close she felt the wind of its passing slap her side mirror. Drivers rolled down windows, shouting curses that blurred into meaningless noise.
But Shriya heard nothing.
Her heartbeat roared like a drum in a cavern.
Her chest tightened, throat burning as the words repeated in her mind:
"…or your girlfriend."
MK's face flashed in her vision—her shy smile, her tired eyes last night as she finally broke down in her arms, the way she whispered I love you, MK so gently it almost cracked her own heart.
Someone dared to threaten her.
Someone dared to touch MK in their message.
Shriya's fingers curled on the steering wheel until her knuckles turned pale.
"You can mess with me," she whispered, her voice vibrating with fury so deep it felt ancient. "But if you dare—" her jaw clenched, breath trembling, "—if you dare touch MK…"
Her lips tightened into a cold, lethal line.
"…you're dead."
The honking behind her grew louder—drivers leaning over their steering wheels, gesturing wildly at her to move. It snapped her out of the haze, though the anger remained coiled like a living thing in her chest.
She blinked once, inhaled through her nose, and started the car.
Without looking back, she accelerated forward, leaving behind a furious crowd and a faint trail of burnt rubber. Her pulse stayed sharp, her mind already switching to strategy, scanning possibilities, enemies, anyone who would use something as petty as a club ban to rope MK into danger.
Someone thought they could intimidate her.
Someone thought she would beg.
They didn't know who they were dealing with.
And as the sky deepened into night, Shriya drove faster—not out of fear, but out of a cold, calculated determination.