Chapter 2: The Man the World Feared

Ekansh Verma did not walk into rooms.

He claimed them.

At twenty-seven, he was the youngest man to rule territory others had died trying to control. In the underworld, age meant nothing—only survival did. And Ekansh had survived everything meant to break him.

He was mafia.

Illegal power flowed through his hands—arms, money, secrets, blood. Cities slept because he allowed them to. Deals were signed because he watched. Lives were spared or erased depending on a single nod from him.

He was ruthless.

And deliberate.

Ekansh did not enjoy violence—but he never hesitated either. When he acted, it was precise. Clean. Final. His calm frightened people more than screaming ever could. Men who begged lived only if he decided they were useful.

Yet even monsters had rules.

Women.

Children.

The innocent.

Those lines were carved into stone. Anyone who crossed them didn’t get mercy—they got erased. Ekansh believed power without control was weakness. His empire was built on fear sharpened by discipline.

And then there was his face.

God had been unfairly generous with him.

Sharp jawline. High cheekbones. Eyes so dark they seemed unreadable—eyes that could strip a man of courage with a single glance. His presence was magnetic, dangerous, impossible to ignore. The kind of handsome that didn’t invite admiration—it commanded it.

Men feared him.

Women looked twice—and then looked away.

Because beauty wrapped around brutality was the most lethal combination of all.

Outside the underworld, Ekansh Verma wore tailored suits and a businessman’s smile. Investors trusted him. Politicians shook his hand. The world saw success. Power. Control.

They never saw the blood beneath the polish.

Inside the Verma mansion, the ruthless man softened—just enough.

His mother, Jyoti Verma, was the only one who touched his face without permission. She never asked where he’d been. She only waited. And Ekansh, no matter how late, always came home. Her silent faith grounded him more than any prayer ever could.

His father, Ravi Verma, had taught him authority without affection. Strength without apology. Ekansh never sought approval—but he carried his father’s lessons like a blade sharpened over years.

And Arav.

His younger brother was the only innocence Ekansh allowed to exist near him. Fifteen years old. Untouched. Protected. Ekansh never said he loved him—but Arav lived in safety because Ekansh ruled in darkness.

Every threat was removed before it came close.

Every danger died quietly.

That was Ekansh’s love.

Unspoken. Violent. Absolute.

The world called him heartless.

The underworld called him king.

Fate was about to call him obsessed.

Because somewhere beyond his territory, a girl existed who would make the most ruthless man alive forget how to breathe.

And when that happened—

Even Ekansh Verma would learn that power meant nothing against desire.

( it will be dark romance. So don't accept him to be a good boy, he will be ruthless, but soft for his madam. )

Get ready for the story my dear readers.