The silence in the room was deafening, the tension thick enough to suffocate anyone who dared breathe. The leader of the terrorists stood with his hand now again hovering near Samaira’s neck, the knife glinting under the flickering light. Samaira’s calmness had already unnerved him, but her laughter, soft as it was, had rattled him beyond belief. But now, as the minutes ticked by, a new realization hit him like a cold gust of wind.

One of his men, hurried and clearly out of breath, rushed into the room, his face pale.

“Sir… we’ve figured it out,” the man panted, eyes wide with shock. “It’s… it’s Dark Aegis. Their group is here. And worse…” His voice trailed off, as if the next words were too dangerous to speak.

The leader’s brows furrowed, confusion overtaking his anger for a moment. “What do you mean, Dark Aegis? What are they doing here?”

The terrorist’s voice was thick with disbelief. “Their leader, the King, is here. With them.”

The room went still at the mention of the King. Everyone knew the stories, the rumors, the dangerous myths surrounding him. But to hear that he was in the vicinity—this close to the situation—left the leader struggling to comprehend what was unfolding.

“But… why?” The leader’s voice shook, the tension in his throat rising. “If they’re here, why? What does the King have to do with us? To them?” His thoughts were running wild. Few knew the true identity of Dark Aegis’s King. A shadow in the underworld, a master manipulator who orchestrated everything from behind the scenes. He didn’t get involved in petty matters, certainly not in something like this.

“Arrange a meeting,” the leader barked, his confusion boiling over into frustration. “Bring him to me. Now.”

Without waiting for a response, the man scrambled to obey. The air in the room thickened with anticipation as the minutes passed like hours. The leader’s eyes never left Samaira, his frustration building with every second. What the hell is going on?

Moments later, the door creaked open, and a tall figure stepped inside—his face hidden behind a sleek, dark mask. The figure moved with an air of controlled menace, his every step calculated and deliberate, as though he was always in control of every situation.

The room fell silent. The terrorists, who were already on edge, stiffened at his presence. Samaira, however, felt an unfamiliar sense of calm wash over her. Her heart skipped a beat as recognition struck her. She didn’t need to hear a word from him to know who he was. His mere presence was enough.

The leader’s tone shifted immediately. The arrogance and fury in his voice evaporated, replaced by a strange, almost reverent politeness. He straightened, eyes wide with a mix of confusion and awe. “What is this? Why are you here? Are you here to help?”

The masked man didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze flicked to Samaira’s neck—where a small cut had already begun to bleed. His eyes locked with hers, and that instant was all it took for her to know that he was the one who had come for her.

A small, warm smile tugged at her lips, one that the others in the room couldn’t see but that the masked man caught in an instant.

Without another word, he took one fluid step forward and, before anyone could react, kicked the leader of the terrorists to the ground. The force was enough to send him sprawling, his face slamming against the cold concrete floor.

The men around the leader stood frozen for a split second, their shock palpable. Then, with desperate urgency, one of them shouted, “Attack! Get him! Now!”

But it was already too late. Before they could even raise their weapons, the masked man’s men had already descended upon them, their movements swift, efficient, and deadly. The terrorists who had once been in control of the room were now reduced to nothing more than bodies on the ground, incapacitated without a single hostage harmed.

Samaira watched in awe as the leader, now pinned beneath the masked man’s boot, struggled weakly. But the masked man wasn’t done yet. He leaned down, his voice a low growl that sent a chill through the room.

“How dare you touch her?”

The room seemed to hold its breath as his voice resonated, dark and deep, filled with an intensity that made even the bravest men hesitate. His gaze was fixated on the leader, whose face contorted in terror.

The King’s words were slow, deliberate, and filled with venom. “You made the worst mistake of your life.” His voice was so calm, so precise, that it was impossible to ignore the deadly weight behind every syllable. “You should’ve known better than to lay a finger on her.”

He stood up, taking a step back, giving the leader one last look before raising his hand. The terrorists who had been so eager to fight suddenly went silent, their eyes wide with fear as they realized who they were up against.

Without another word, the masked man, the King, snapped his fingers. One of his men immediately approached the leader, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt. And with one swift, clean motion, the King’s blade was buried deep into the leader’s throat. The leader gurgled, his body twitching in its final moments, before he collapsed to the floor.

The room went still. The blood pooled around the leader’s lifeless body, and Samaira, for the first time since everything had started, felt no fear. Only relief.

Her heart raced, but it wasn’t from panic. It was from a strange sense of safety. This man—this terrifying figure—was here, and he was doing what needed to be done. And he had come just in time.

The masked man turned away from the now-dead leader and walked toward Samaira. His movements were deliberate, controlled.

“Take the hostages out,” he ordered, his voice cold and calculating. His gaze shifted briefly to Samaira before turning to his men. “And make sure no one tells anyone anything about this. Not a word.”

The hostages were quickly escorted out of the room, but Samaira noticed something strange. Anay, Aahana, and Naksh, who had been standing to the side, didn’t move. Their eyes were fixed on her, as though they refused to leave without her.

The King’s eyes darkened slightly. He nodded to one of his guards, who immediately stepped forward and blocked the doorway.

“If they wish to stay, they may,” he said, his voice like ice.

Samaira felt a strange sense of respect for him then—how he had ensured no one had been harmed in the chaos, how he had orchestrated everything with such precision. His ruthlessness was undeniable, but there was something about the way he controlled the room, kept everyone alive, that resonated with her in a way she didn’t expect.

He wasn’t just a monster. There was a method to his madness. A darkness she was beginning to understand.

As his men took the hostages away, the King turned his attention back to Samaira. He leaned in, his fingers brushing gently against the cut on her neck. His touch was almost tender, but there was something in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat.

“Does it hurt?” His voice was low, soothing.

Samaira shook her head, her lips curling into a faint smile. “No.”

He then looked down at her arm, his gaze softening as he examined her injuries. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, her voice steady.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the room still silent, as the rest of the terrorists remained incapacitated on the floor.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” the King whispered, so quietly that only Samaira could hear him. His voice was low, almost apologetic.

Samaira chuckled softly, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Heroes always make their entrances at the climax, don’t they?”

The King’s lips twitched upward, just the slightest hint of a smile. “Is that what I am? A hero in all this?”

Before Samaira could respond, Naksh’s voice cut through the moment. His tone was sharp, possessive, as he stormed forward, his protective instincts flaring.

“I’m grateful to you for saving my sister,” he said, his voice tense, “but you should know something. She’s married.”

The masked man’s head snapped to Naksh, but before he could respond, Naksh stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he whispered to Samaira, “I know you hate Advait. I’ve known for a while. But you can’t let some random stranger, someone you’ve just met, stand so close to you like that.”

Samaira’s gaze flickered between Naksh and the masked man, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She wasn’t scared. Not anymore.