The sky over New York City didn't just rain tonight,it bled shadows. The neon signs of the city blurred into distorted streaks of crimson and blue against the asphalt. Inside 'The Golden Bean' cafe, Aira wiped a patch of condensation from the window, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. It was 11:45 PM. Her shift had ended twenty minutes ago, but the cold dread pooling in her stomach kept her glued to the safety of the indoor lights.
For the last three nights, she had felt it a heavy, invisible gaze following her from the subway terminal to the front door of her cramped apartment. It wasn't just a feeling; it was a presence, thick and suffocating like a storm about to break.
"Aira, you still here? You look like you've seen a ghost," Mark, the night manager, called out as he locked the register. Mark was kind, but his kindness couldn't protect her from what lurked in the dark.
"Iam just waiting for the rain to let up, Mark," Aira lied, forcing a frail smile. She couldn't tell him she felt like a marked target in a hunter's crosshairs.
Pulling her thin, worn-out hoodie over her head, Aira finally stepped outside. The icy wind bit into her skin like a thousand needles. The alleyway behind the cafe was the only shortcut to the subway. During the day, it was just a grimy passage, but at midnight, it felt like the throat of a hungry beast.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed behind her. Aira didn't look back. She quickened her pace, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard it hurt. The footsteps behind her quickened too. She began to run, her sneakers splashing through oily puddles.
Suddenly, a powerful hand shot out from the shadows, grabbing her upper arm and spinning her around. Aira's scream was cut short as her back slammed against the cold, damp brick wall. Two men, reeking of cheap gin and stale tobacco, blocked her path. The taller one flicked open a switchblade, its silver edge glinting under the flickering streetlamp.
"Where's the rush, pretty girl?" the man sneered, his yellowed teeth bared in a predatory grin. "The night is young. Why don't you stay and play with us for a while?"
"Please I don't have any money. Just let me go," Aira whispered, her voice cracking with pure terror.
"We don't want your money, sweetheart," the other one growled, his hand reaching for the hem of her hoodie with a disgusting chuckle.
Aira closed her eyes tight, bracing for the worst. She prayed for a miracle, for a way out of this nightmare. And then, the world went terrifyingly silent.
The sound of the rain was suddenly eclipsed by a sickening crunch the unmistakable sound of bone snapping under immense pressure. Aira opened her eyes to a sight that made her blood run cold.
A man had emerged from the darkness. He was a towering figure, dressed in a long, black trench coat that seemed to swallow the light around him. He hadn't just hit the attackers; he had dismantled them with a lethal, surgical precision. One man lay unconscious in the mud, while the stranger held the other one against the wall, his feet dangling inches off the ground.
"I warned you once before," the stranger's voice was a low, vibrating growl dark, dangerous, and utterly devoid of mercy. "If you ever lay a finger on her again, I won't just break your bones. I'll erase your existence."
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the man aside like a bag of trash. The attacker didn't look back; he scrambled to his feet and vanished into the night as if the devil himself were on his heels.
Aira stood frozen, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The mysterious savior turned toward her. He wore a brimmed hat that masked the upper half of his face, but she could see a sharp, aristocratic jawline and a faint, jagged scar near his lower lip. He moved closer, his presence so overwhelming that the air around them seemed to crackle with electricity.
"You're safe now, Aira," he said, his voice softening just a fraction.
Aira's breath hitched. "How do you know my name?"
The stranger didn't answer. He reached out, his gloved fingers grazing her cheek to brush away a stray raindrop. The contact lasted only a second, but it sent a jolt of heat through her entire body. It was a touch that felt both like a promise and a threat.
"Go home. And don't look back," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Before she could utter another word, he turned and melted back into the shadows of the alleyway. Aira didn't wait. She ran all the way to her apartment building, her lungs burning, her mind a chaotic blur. Once inside, she locked her door with every bolt she had and collapsed against it.
Trembling, she crept toward the window and peeked through the curtains. Down on the street, parked under a dying lamppost, sat a sleek, black SUV. Leaning against its hood was the man in the black coat, calmly lighting a cigarette. He looked up, his gaze locking onto hers through the glass as if he could see right into her soul.
He didn't move. He didn't wave. He just stood there a silent, lethal guardian in the storm.
Aira pulled the curtains shut, her heart still racing. Who was he? And why did it feel like being protected by him was more dangerous than the men in the alley? She didn't know it yet, but Aryan Khan didn't save people out of the goodness of his heart. He saved her because she was his and he wasn't ready to let the world destroy his favorite obsession.