Song:- The Devil Has Come.

Sometimes the person you'd take a bullet for is standing behind the trigger.

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PAST
Third Person POV.

Kissing her felt so right.

Never in his wildest dreams had Vansh Ranawat imagined that a kiss could taste like this. It wasn't like the random hookups, the fleeting moments of lust he shared with countless others. This was different. She felt like heaven against his lips — untouched, untainted, a sin yet to be written.

His breath came out harsh as he reluctantly pulled back, the taste of her still lingering, addictive.

She stood frozen.

Her eyes were closed, lashes trembling, cheeks painted in a soft shade of crimson, and her small fists were clenched tightly by her sides as if she was holding herself together. Her nose was adorably red, but what seized his breath — those lips. Swollen. Red. Kiss-bruised. They looked sinful.

She looked... so damn desirable.

Vansh's jaw clenched, fighting the urge to pull her back and kiss her senseless all over again.

But then—

Pratiksha opened her eyes.

Those innocent brown orbs, which once gazed at him with warmth, now darted around, disoriented. Her mind was blank, her heart was racing. The world tilted on its axis when the realization hit her.

He had kissed her.

Without permission.

Without her readiness.

Without thinking.

Her palms pushed against his chest—weakly at first, then with a sudden urgency that shook him.

"Leave..." she whispered, her gaze dropping to the floor, her voice trembling like a cracked porcelain doll.

Vansh frowned, his ego pricked.

"Excuse me?" he asked, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. He wasn't used to this. No girl ever rejected Vansh Ranawat after a kiss. They'd beg for more, melt into him like wax. His reputation, his charm—it was a given. So what was wrong with her?

Didn't she feel the fire?

Didn't she enjoy it?

He raked a frustrated hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

"Look, if you're afraid about the kiss, don't be." He tried to rationalize it — for her sake... and maybe his. "This... this kissing and getting intimate is common between couples. We are a couple, right? So it's normal. Come on, it's not a big deal."

But what he failed to see was the storm in her eyes. The disappointment was deafening. She looked so small, yet so strong, as she composed herself, locking her emotions behind an invisible wall.

She met his gaze again.

The smile that curved her lips wasn't the one he knew. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't shy. It was... broken.

That smile... terrified him.

"Pratiksha," he began, his tone sharpening, "I've had many girlfriends before you. We did far more than just kissing, so I know how this works. You—you're new to this... I get it. But stop being a brat. Grow up."

Brat.

The word slapped her harder than the kiss ever did.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart shattering piece by piece.

For a moment, silence engulfed them. She stood still, fighting the lump in her throat. But it was useless. Her vision blurred as tears brimmed.

She wiped them away, refusing to cry in front of him.

A brittle chuckle escaped her lips, bitter and heartbreaking. "I'm sorry, Vansh. I'm sorry I'm a brat to you. I'm sorry I don't have experience like the other girls you... encounter with."

Her voice cracked, but she didn't stop. "I'm sorry I'm not enough for you."

He froze.

Her words pierced. She was apologizing. For what? For being pure? For trusting him? For being real?

Her walls were crumbling, yet she still gathered the pieces of her pride.

"Please leave," she whispered, turning her back to him, hiding the sob that escaped as she cupped her mouth with her palm, muffling the raw ache.

"Don't... don't come to me again, Vansh." Her voice was barely audible, but it sliced through him like glass. "Leave me the way I am."

Something inside him twisted, unfamiliar and suffocating.

He had hurt her.

Again.

He had belittled her, diminished her worth, all because he didn't know how to handle the chaos she ignited within him. He had done it countless times before, mocking her innocence, tainting her trust.

But she... she always forgave him.

Today felt different.

He wanted to say something, to explain himself, but his throat was dry, words stuck somewhere between ego and regret. His body stiffened when he noticed someone walking toward them. Instead of staying, instead of fixing the damage he had done, Vansh did what he always did best.

He walked away.

Coward.

She wiped her tears quickly, straightened her posture before anyone could witness her broken state, and went back to her work as if nothing happened. But her heart knew she had made the same mistake as her mother — giving her heart to a man who never knew how to love.

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It had been a week.

A week since she severed every tie with the Prince of Arrogance.

Pratiksha's routine had altered drastically. She went to college as usual, buried herself in the library for hours, but in the past seven days, she had also started working at a café during evenings. Their financial condition had been crumbling silently — her martyred brother's pension and Radhika's meager salary were barely enough to keep them afloat in the ruthless city.

Rohan had offered his help, like the best friend and the family he was, but she had refused. The Ahuja family had already done more than she could ever repay after her brother's death. She wasn't someone who relied on others. Self-respect was stitched into her bones, self-esteem was her armor.

She had to support Radhika.

She would support Radhika.

It was a promise.

Today was like any regular day. Her classes had ended, and she was making her way toward the café. Rohan had an extra class, so he wasn't going to drop her off today. It didn't bother her. She enjoyed walking alone — it gave her space to breathe, to think...to distract herself from him.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't pay much attention when a black BMW rolled beside her. But the sudden halt of footsteps in front of her broke her trance.

She looked up.

"You..." she whispered, confused, startled to see one of his friends standing in front of her. Bestfriend, if she remembered correctly.

Why was he here? Why now? She had never exchanged a word with him before, nor with any of Vansh's friends for that matter.

He seemed just as hesitant. His hand went behind his neck, scratching nervously. "Umm... I'm sorry to stop you like this, but... I need to talk to you. Just for a minute, please."

Her brows knitted. "Talk to me? But why? I mean, I don't think we've—"

"I know, I know. We've never talked. I just... it's something important. For me." His voice was genuine, not mocking like she had expected. He looked sincere.

She bit her lip, unsure. Against her cautious nature, she gave a small nod. "Okay. What is it?"

He gave a relieved smile. "Thank you," he said before surprising her by pulling her into a soft, friendly hug. It took her completely off-guard. He noticed her stiffen and immediately stepped back, his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. I just... I wanted to apologize. For that day in the canteen. For Raghav's behavior. For his behavior. You didn't deserve that."

Her eyes widened.

He went on, voice honest. "Not all of us are jerks, you know? Some of us actually have a conscience. I know you probably hate us, but... I just wanted you to know, not everyone in that circle supports what happened that day. I'm really sorry, Pratiksha."

She blinked. The apology — unexpected and heartfelt — eased something inside her. A faint, real smile curved her lips. "Thank you. That means a lot."

His grin widened. "I'll drop you at your café. Consider it my atonement."

She wanted to refuse, but his cheerful persistence made it difficult. The walk to the café was light, filled with random chatter that eased the heavy cloud looming over her head for days. For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel suffocated.

When they reached the café door, he gave her a bright, genuine smile. "Take care, Pratiksha. You deserve better people around you."

With that, he left.

She stood there for a moment, touched by his kindness, before stepping inside.

The small café was warm, comforting — much like the old lady who owned it. A war widow, she had known Pratiksha's brother and had given her this job without a second thought. The woman had no children, but she treated Pratiksha like her own granddaughter.

Today, Pratiksha's steps felt lighter. She worked with a soft hum under her breath, arranging cups, taking orders — unaware that a pair of enraged, bloodshot eyes had followed her all the way.

Vansh Ranawat stood across the street, his jaw clenched so hard it ached. His fists were balled so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, leaving angry red marks.

She had smiled.

At another man.

And not just smiled — she had let him hug her. Let him walk beside her, let him drop her off at this goddamn café as if he had the right.

Vansh's vision turned red. His lungs burned with every breath, rage coiling like a serpent inside him.

For a week, he had been following her like a madman. Restless. Furious. Uneasy. Nothing he did — not the fights he picked, not the bottles he emptied — could calm the storm inside him. Watching her in the library, keeping track of every step she took, had been the only thing keeping him sane.

But today?

Today, she crossed a line.

He had beaten up guys who dared to even look at her with extra friendliness. His friends were noticing his obsessive behaviour — the prolonged hours in the library, the random outbursts — but none of them dared to question him. They knew the devil too well.

But this?

This was beyond intolerable.

That smile — the smile she had stopped giving him — was given to another man.

He wanted to rip Salil apart.

No. First, he needed to confront her.

But he didn't.

He stood there, in the shadows, watching her work, his rage simmering into something far darker. Possession. Obsession. He didn't understand it, didn't want to understand it. All he knew was that she was his, whether she accepted it or not.

His friends might have thought he was losing his mind.

They had no idea how deep into madness he already was.

Pratiksha waved a soft goodbye to Mrs. Mathur, the café owner, a warm smile gracing her tired face as she picked up her sling bag and stepped out into the evening air. She inhaled deeply, letting the cool breeze soothe her worked-up nerves. Working as a part-time cashier wasn't glamorous, but it gave her a sense of responsibility — a way to stand on her own two feet.

She pulled out her phone, fingers tapping swiftly as she texted Rohan, narrating the unexpected conversation she had earlier with Salil. Her lips curled into a small giggle when Rohan's quirky reply popped up on her screen.

"I see you're happy..."

The voice was low, sharp, familiar, sending a jolt of alarm down her spine.

Before she could even register what was happening, a strong hand grabbed her wrist, yanking her with brute force. She barely had the chance to scream when she was dragged into a narrow alley that led to an abandoned, crumbling palace—one of the many forgotten corners of the city.

"Leave me! What are you doing?!" she yelled, desperately trying to free her wrist from the iron grip. Her struggles only made his hold tighten further.

The man wore a hoodie, his face obscured in the dimming light, his identity hidden. He shoved her into a darker corner, the sudden force making her stumble. Her back hit the cold stone wall. Tears welled up in her eyes, partly from the pain in her wrist and partly from sheer terror.

"Who are you?!" she demanded, wiping the tears furiously, her voice quivering as she clutched her sore wrist, "Why did you bring me here?!"

Silence.

Then came the sinister husk of a voice that sent a chill through her veins.

"Are you lost, baby girl?"

Her breath hitched.

No.

No, it couldn't be.

But her heart knew that voice. Knew it too well.

"Vansh..." she whispered, disbelief and a thousand emotions crashing into her at once.

He took a deliberate step toward her, the dim streetlight catching his face as he pulled the hoodie down. His eyes—wild, feral, hungry—locked onto hers.

She stumbled back, her back hitting the cold wall again as he stalked towards her, each step dripping with dangerous intent. The space between them shrank until she was caged, his arms bracketing her on either side, his face burying into the crook of her neck.

He inhaled.

God, how he inhaled her.

He didn't realize how much he had missed this scent, this soft, intoxicating feel of her skin against his. No girl had been able to satisfy him this past week. He had tried—oh, he had tried. He had slept with them, kissed them, touched them—but every moment, it was her face that haunted him. Nothing sated the storm within.

But right now?

Right now, in this exact moment, caging her trembling body, breathing her in, Vansh Ranawat was at peace.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice trembling with fear, frustration, heartbreak. She tried to push him away, but his hold only tightened.

"Leave me, please... I told you already that day. You and I belong to different worlds. I cannot... I will not be someone's dirty little secret. If being with me is a shame for you, then fine. But I cannot... I will not be anyone's hidden affair. I want a partner who stands beside me, Vansh. Someone who holds my hand when the world spits on me, not someone who walks away when I'm breaking apart..." her voice cracked, her throat tightening as she pushed at his chest.

He didn't move.

The fury that had been simmering within him for days burst to the surface.

"So that's what you want?" he growled, his lips brushing against her ear, his tone dripping with venomous sarcasm. "You want a public relationship. You want to flaunt your Prince to the whole college, don't you? You want the spotlight, you want to be famous, be seen hanging off the arm of Vansh Ranawat."

Accusation. Poison. He spat every word as if it was laced with betrayal.

She stared at him, her heart shattering into fragments.

"You still don't get it, do you?" she whispered, shaking her head, her eyes glassy but firm. Her disappointment in him was more lethal than any slap. "After all these months, you still don't understand me."

She took a deep breath, steadying her wobbling voice, and yet her words were soft, a mere caress of truth.

"I never wanted to be the girlfriend of some Prince. I never wanted status or luxury. I wanted you, Vansh. Just you. Without any conditions, without any boundaries. I wanted you to hold my hand in public not because it gives me attention, but because it gives me courage. I wanted you to tell the world that Pratiksha is yours—not because of some stupid college status, but because it was true."

Vansh stood frozen.

"I don't need a prince, Vansh. I don't need grand palaces, or rich-boy friends, or even a single rupee from your inheritance." She stepped closer now, her words sharp, slicing through him like a blade. "I just wanted you. Vansh Ranawat, the man—not the fucking title."

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as her voice dropped to a whisper. "Because I love you. Not the Prince. Not the name. Just you."

And that was it.

That single confession struck Vansh harder than any blow he had ever taken. His heart, his breath, everything inside him stilled.

She had said it.

She loved him.

But then came the blow that crushed him.

"But I guess," she smiled bitterly, wiping her cheeks, "we both can't give each other what we want."

She stepped aside, walking away, her fragile silhouette retreating into the mist of the evening.

And Vansh?

Vansh Ranawat stood rooted, aghast. Horrified. A man so feared by the world—reduced to a silent wreck by a girl who didn't even raise her voice.

She loved him.

She loved him.

And yet, he was the one losing her.

The Prince had won every war.

But Vansh—the man—was bleeding in defeat.

"Don't come to me again, Vansh. Leave me the way I am..."

Her words had been soft, but they had lashed him harder than any enemy's punch ever could.

He remembered how small she had looked, standing there in that hidden corner, her fragile figure trying to muster courage as she wiped her tears with trembling fingers. And yet, she had looked so resolute. So... distant.

As if she was trying to bury every trace of him from her heart.

It was infuriating.

Did she think it was that easy?

That she could erase Vansh Ranawat from her life like a scribbled mistake?

No.

No one walks away from him.

Especially not her.

He had let her go that day. Or maybe, he hadn't. Maybe a part of him had followed her—haunted her—in silence, lurking in shadows where she couldn't see but always feel.

He had kept track of every breath she took this past week.

He had watched her from afar as she smiled at that fucker Salil today.

Smiled.

She had no right to look so beautiful while smiling at another man.

And now, here he was. Drowning in this unbearable agitation that only she could soothe. His demons clawed inside his chest, but she—only she—could calm them. He was burning from the inside, and he knew... the only water that could quench this fire was the very flame that ignited it.

Pratiksha Singh.

His curse.

And his only redemption.

He looked at the blood-stained pendant again, running his thumb over it. It was hers. It always had been. Just like she was his.

The rage was becoming unbearable now. His possessiveness, his obsession, his... love — whatever it was — it was suffocating him.

He needed to see her.

Touch her.

Own her.

And this time, there would be no goodbye.

This time, she wouldn't walk away.

Not until she understood that there's no escape from him.

He stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the marble floor as his body trembled with adrenaline. His eyes, dark and untamed, flickered to his reflection in the mirror across the room.

He didn't recognize the man staring back.

But Pratiksha would.

Because that devil, that storm, that hurricane of destruction — was hers.

A knock at the door made him snap his head.

"Sir?" Dhruv's voice, hesitant.

"Tell the driver to ready the car," Vansh's voice was low, dangerous, lethal.

"But sir, it's almost midnight..."

"NOW, Dhruv."

Dhruv didn't ask further. He never did when Vansh's tone dropped to that deadly octave.

Vansh grabbed his jacket, his grip tightening over the pendant chain as he stuffed it into his pocket. His lips curled into a sinister smirk.

"Run, Pratiksha... Run as far as you want."

He strode out of his study, his long strides echoing with the promise of a storm.

"Because this time... the devil isn't coming to haunt you."

He paused at the threshold, his eyes gleaming with unhinged hunger.

"This time... he's coming to claim you."

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Hey guys,

So finally a glimpse of the past is unrevealed, let's see what is more to come.

Stay tuned. Please share your comments.

Do VOTE.

Thank you,

Author.