author pov.

People often said childhood was the purest part of life.

Samaira never believed that.

Her childhood did not smell like warmth or safety. It smelled like old orphanage walls soaked in rainwater, medicine, and silent tears cried into pillows at midnight. While other children learned bedtime stories, Samaira learned how to stop expecting people to stay.

The orphanage in Rajasthan was never cruel to her. It fed her, educated her, protected her. But no building, no matter how kind, could replace the ache of watching other children run into their parents’ arms during festivals while she stood near the staircase pretending not to care.

Because unlike the others, Samaira knew she was not abandoned.

Her father was alive.

That truth became the sharpest wound of her life.

As a little girl, she used to wait near the gate every evening after sunset. Every sound of tires outside made her heart race foolishly. Sometimes expensive black cars appeared, and hope would bloom inside her chest so quickly it almost hurt.

And sometimes… it was actually him.

Not a Chief Minister. Not a powerful politician feared by millions.

Just a father trying to love his daughter in secret.

He would bring chocolates she never asked for and books he thought she would like. He always smiled softly at her, but his eyes carried exhaustion so deep that even as a child, she could feel it.

“You’re brave like your mother,” he once whispered while fixing her hair gently.

That was the first and last time he ever spoke about her mother.

After that, silence returned between them again.

Samaira never understood why he loved her like someone afraid of losing her. Years later, she finally learned the truth. Her father’s political power had created enemies dangerous enough to destroy every person connected to him.

And Samaira—

was his biggest weakness.

After her mother’s death, he hid her inside the orphanage built in her memory. Far from politics. Far from cameras. Far from the blood-filled world he lived in.

He protected her by pretending she did not exist.

Maybe that was why Samaira stopped dreaming too much. She did not crave wealth despite being born into power. She loved ordinary things instead — rainy evenings, coding until sunrise, chai during winter nights, and the comfort of anonymity. Simplicity became her shield against a life she never chose.

Years later, she built her own identity as a successful software engineer. Nobody questioned her past. Nobody searched deeply enough to uncover the truth buried beneath her quiet smile.

And for the first time in years, life almost felt normal.

Almost.

That night, the orphanage garden glittered with warm lights during the annual charity event. Children laughed loudly while music echoed through the air. Samaira stood near the entrance wearing a simple white suit, checking her phone every few seconds.

He had promised he would come.

And somehow, she still waited for him like the same lonely little girl standing near the gate years ago.

Then finally—

a black car stopped outside.

Her breath caught the moment she saw him stepping out.

Older. Tired. Fragile.

But smiling at her.

For one tiny moment, Samaira felt something dangerous.

Happiness.

Then the gunshots shattered everything.

The sound ripped through the night violently. Screams exploded around her as her father’s body collapsed onto the ground before her eyes. Blood spread beneath him so quickly that Samaira’s mind refused to understand what was happening.

“Papa!”

She fell beside him, shaking uncontrollably, her hands covered in his blood as she begged him to open his eyes.

But death stood closer than mercy.

Then through blurred tears, she looked up—

and saw them.

Rajasthan’s royal family.

And beside them stood Abhinav Singh Razaid.

Cold eyes. Royal blood. A man raised only for revenge.

The man destined to destroy the last bloodline.

Her.

Rain poured heavily over Rajasthan the night Samaira disappeared.

By morning, the news channels spoke only about the assassination of the Chief Minister of Madhya Pradesh. Politicians called it a tragic attack. Media called it a conspiracy. Nobody spoke about the girl covered in blood beside his body.

Because officially—

she did not exist.

And maybe that was why disappearing became easy.

Three days later, Samaira sat near the window of a small apartment in Jaipur, staring blankly at the untouched cup of tea beside her. Her hands still trembled whenever she remembered the gunshots. Sometimes she woke up gasping in the middle of the night, hearing her own voice screaming for her father again.

Blood.

There was blood everywhere.

Closing her eyes only made it worse.

The orphanage had been burned down hours after the murder. Not publicly. Quietly. Like someone was erasing evidence that she had ever lived there.

And Samaira understood the message clearly.

Run.

She had changed her phone, her address, even her surname. Nobody could know who she was now. Nobody could know she was the last surviving bloodline.

But fear followed her anyway.

Every black car outside made her heartbeat uneven. Every unknown number felt dangerous. She stopped sleeping properly. Stopped smiling. Stopped living.

The only thing keeping her sane was work.

Coding became her escape from grief. Numbers were easier than emotions. Screens were safer than people.

Yet no matter how hard she tried, she could not erase the image of him from her mind.

Abhinav Singh Razaid.

She did not know his name yet. Only his face.

Cold eyes. Calm expression. Standing silently beside death itself.

A man who looked terrifyingly emotionless while her world collapsed.

Meanwhile, miles away inside the grand Razaid palace, silence ruled like violence.

Abhinav stood near the massive glass window of his office while rain struck the city below. His father’s voice echoed sharply behind him.

“She survived.”

Those two words were enough to darken the entire room.

Abhinav remained silent.

“The girl from the orphanage,” his father continued coldly. “The last bloodline is alive.”

A dangerous stillness settled inside Abhinav’s chest.

He remembered her face clearly.

The tears. The trembling hands covered in blood. The way she begged her father not to die as if her entire soul was breaking apart in front of everyone.

For the first time in years, something about revenge had felt… ugly.

“She needs to disappear permanently,” his father said.

Abhinav finally turned slowly. “I’ll handle it.”

Those words should have sounded like a death sentence.

Instead, they sounded personal.

Because something about Samaira refused to leave his mind.

She looked nothing like the monsters he had heard about since childhood. Nothing like the bloodline he was raised to hate. She looked soft. Broken. Human.

And somehow, that disturbed him more.

Later that night, one photograph landed on his desk.

Samaira entering an office building in Jaipur.

Alive.

Abhinav stared at the picture for a long moment before picking it up slowly. Rain shadows darkened his face while silence filled the room again.

Then finally, his lips moved.

“Find out everything about her.”

Not to protect her.

Not yet.

upcoming

They were born to destroy each other… yet somehow became each other’s weakness.

But somewhere deep inside the darkness he carried, hatred had already started turning into something far more dangerous.