Mafia's Revenge Or Love? ~ A Saga Of Love And Revenge

Chapter 22

*Midnight was coming.*

She had to be ready.

As she sat there, her eyes glanced at the clock visible through the glass doors—10:45 PM. Time was slipping away, and soon enough, her moment would come.

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Yuvaan lay in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The echoes of laughter from earlier in the evening still lingered in his ears. He had spent the night with his family, reuniting after months apart. Seeing Vihaan and Meera had brought a sense of comfort, a rare flicker of happiness. For a brief moment, Yuvaan had felt like the older brother again, smiling as they hugged him, their warmth a welcome respite from the constant storm raging inside him. But now, in the stillness of the night, that warmth faded, replaced by a familiar gnawing in his chest.

Something was wrong. Something was pulling at him, tugging at the edges of his mind, refusing to let him rest.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake the unsettling feeling that had crept over him. The room felt suffocating, the silence too heavy. He needed air. He needed to clear his mind. Without giving it much thought, Yuvaan stood and walked out of his room, his bare feet padding softly against the cold floor as he moved down the hallway.

The palace was quiet now, the only sound the faint pitter-patter of rain against the windows. Yuvaan's footsteps slowed as he reached Natasha’s room. His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he considered turning back. But something—a force he couldn’t name—compelled him forward. His hand hesitated on the doorknob before he pushed it open gently, stepping inside.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the pale glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. Yuvaan’s eyes swept the room, and a frown tugged at his lips when he realized she wasn’t there. The bed was untouched, and the air in the room felt cold, like no one had been in it for hours. A quick check of the washroom confirmed his suspicion—Natasha wasn’t there either.

He stood in the center of the room, his confusion deepening. Where could she be at this hour?

Then he heard it—the soft, rhythmic sound of rain hitting the floor, accompanied by the whoosh of the wind. His gaze shifted to the balcony. The curtains fluttered wildly in the breeze, and as he approached, Yuvaan’s breath hitched.

There, standing at the edge of the balcony, drenched in the rain, was Natasha.

She stood motionless, her back to him, her gaze fixed on the garden below. The roses—red and white—shook violently in the storm, their petals scattering as the rain poured down. Natasha didn’t seem to notice the storm or the fact that she was soaked to the bone. Her red saree clung to her slender frame, the fabric wet and heavy, outlining every curve. Her hair, thick and black, stuck to her face and neck, dripping with rainwater.

Yuvaan stopped at the doorway, watching her in silence. For a long moment, he simply stood there, captivated by the sight in front of him. It was strange—he had seen her many times before, but tonight she looked different. There was something about her, something that made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain.

He took a step forward, his gaze never leaving her. Natasha didn’t notice his presence. She was too lost in her own thoughts, too consumed by whatever turmoil swirled within her. Yuvaan’s eyes drifted over her, lingering on the delicate curve of her waist, exposed beneath the sheer fabric of her saree. This was the first time he had ever seen her in traditional Indian attire, and something about it took his breath away. She looked ethereal, like something out of a dream.

Without realizing it, Yuvaan had moved closer, his feet carrying him toward her as if drawn by an invisible force. He stopped just behind her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body despite the chill of the rain. The scent of wet roses filled the air, mingling with the fresh rain, and for a brief second, Yuvaan was overwhelmed by it.