Raghavendra X Saraiyaa
He is the , the God of Shadow, rules the underworld with ruthless power. Feared by many and loved by none, his heart is as cold as the darkness he commands. But when Sarai Mehra, a woman as pure as the light he's forsaken, ent...
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The night was cool, almost too cold for the thin silk blouse I’d thrown on before heading out, but I didn’t care.
I needed to escape the endless chaos of the office, the meetings that bled into each other, the constant demands of being the Sarai Mehra—the CEO of a fashion empire at just twenty-five years old.
I loved my job. I loved the power, the creative control. But sometimes, it was suffocating.
Tonight was one of those nights. My body ached from sitting too long, my mind weary from the endless deadlines.
I just needed to breathe, to clear my head, to be somewhere other than in my designer office chair surrounded by people demanding my attention.
So, I took to the streets.
New York City was never quiet, even at night. It buzzed with life—horns blaring, voices echoing, lights flickering in the distance.
I let the chaos of the city drown out my thoughts as I walked, my heels clicking against the pavement. The streets were slick from a recent rain, the scent of wet asphalt filling the air.
I hadn’t meant to wander so far, but now, as I stood near the edge of the block, I found myself lost in thought.
My feet paused at the corner of an intersection, the faint glow of the streetlamps casting long shadows across the pavement.
I wasn’t paying attention to the people passing by, wasn’t thinking of the cold air biting at my skin or the late hour.
My mind drifted, thinking about the dark romance novel I’d been reading the night before.
The dangerous allure of the mysterious stranger, the kind of man who could ruin your life with a single glance and make you beg for more. It was the kind of escapism I craved.
Suddenly, a low rumble broke through my thoughts—the sound of an engine, loud and deep, vibrating through the air. I turned instinctively toward the noise and froze.
A motorcycle.
But not just any motorcycle. The bike gleamed under the streetlight, all matte black and chrome, sleek and menacing. It cut through the night like a predator stalking its prey, rolling slowly down the street as if it owned the city.
My gaze shifted upward, and that’s when I saw him.
The rider was a towering figure, dressed head-to-toe in black leather, his powerful form practically radiating danger. A black mask obscured his face—a ghostly, haunting thing that sent shivers down my spine.
It was as if he had stepped straight out of one of the dark romance novels I loved so much, the kind where the hero wasn’t a hero at all but something darker. More dangerous.
I shouldn’t have stared. I should’ve looked away, continued walking, gone about my business. But I couldn’t. I was mesmerized. My heart raced, and an unfamiliar heat bloomed in my chest as I took in the way he moved—graceful yet predatory, as if the world around him didn’t matter. As if it belonged to him.
