His Warmth, My Ruin

“You became his ‘mumma’ so easily… I didn’t realize when you became mine.”
.....
“I didn’t marry you for love. I married you because my son wouldn’t stop asking for you… but somewhere along the way, I stopped pretending.”

In the underworld, the name Atharva Kayastha is spoken in whispers.

At thirty-one, he is a cold, calculating mafia king whose silence is more terrifying than gunfire. He does not shout. He does not threaten. He simply decides — and people disappear. To him, emotions are weaknesses, love is a liability, and marriage was nothing but a political alliance that ended the night his wife died giving birth.

He never loved her.
But he respects the dead.

The only soft thing left in his ruthless empire is his two-year-old son, Ahaan Kayastha.

Ahaan is sunshine in a world made of shadows — innocent, affectionate, and painfully unaware that his father rules a kingdom built on blood. Atharva does not know how to smile, but he knows how to protect. And for his son, he would burn the entire city.

So when Ahaan returns from the park in tears, clinging to his second-in-command and sobbing

>“Baby want mumma… baby want him… daddy, baby want him…”

Atharva does not hesitate.

Find him.

The “him” in question is Anvay Mehra, a twenty-year-old college student with soft eyes and a softer heart. Gentle, kind, and far too innocent for the darkness he is about to be dragged into. His crime? Comforting a crying child in a park. Smiling. Letting tiny fingers wrap around his hand.

He never thought a simple act of kindness would chain him to a mafia empire.

He never imagined he would be forced into a marriage contract signed in blood.

Atharva doesn’t believe in love.
Anvay doesn’t understand fear.

One is a man carved from stone.
The other is warmth trapped in winter.

What begins as an arrangement to soothe a child slowly turns into something far more dangerous — a silent war of glances, restrained touches, power struggles, and a tension neither of them wants to name.