The air in Mumbai shifted.

After weeks of lurking shadows, Riaz Malhotra stepped into the sun again—but this time, not as the business mogul. Not even as the mafia king.

But as a husband.

A protector.

A man whose empire was now tied to a woman whose blood carried just as much fire.

The next morning, Aashika was in his office. She’d replaced the shattered glass vase with one of black roses.

Riaz entered, bruised knuckles hidden under his cufflinks. Her gaze dropped to his hands, then returned to his eyes.

"You killed him."

"He earned worse."

She crossed the room and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Then thank you. For protecting me from what I couldn’t see."

He pulled her close. "We’re in this now, Aashi. There’s no pulling back."

"I don’t want to pull back. I want to burn with you."

Later that day, Aryan delivered another piece of news.

"Raichand’s planning a public hit. Something loud. He’s trying to break your image and your defenses."

Riaz’s eyes sharpened. "Where?"

"At the unveiling of the Pandey Fashion Line. Aashika’s mother is the face."

Riaz turned to Aashika. "He’s baiting you. Using your mother’s guilt."

Aashika squared her shoulders. "Then let him try. I’ll wear my mother’s sins like armor."

The fashion event glowed under the chandeliers of Mumbai’s Grand Sapphire.

Celebrities. Reporters. Investors.

But beneath the glam, every exit had a man with a gun.

And every eye, a hidden threat.

Aashika wore crimson silk and a diamond choker. She walked the stage with confidence—Riaz watching from the shadows, gun holstered, fury caged behind cold eyes.

Then it happened.

A waiter stumbled too close.

A glass shattered.

Screams erupted.

But it wasn’t Riaz who pulled the trigger first.

It was Aashika.

Straight through the man’s knee, before he could even reach for the concealed knife.

Gasps filled the room. Cameras flashed. But all she saw was Riaz, charging toward her, pulling her behind him.

"One day, they’ll learn," he said through clenched teeth, "you’re not just a queen. You’re a weapon."

She whispered, "Your weapon."

He smiled, gun cocked.

"Always."

That night, every news channel roared with headlines.

‘Mafia Princess Shoots Would-Be Attacker at Gala’ ‘Malhotra Empire More Dangerous Than Ever’ ‘Love and War, Bullet by Bullet’

And in their penthouse bedroom, with the blood of war drying on his hands, Riaz kissed her.

Not gently.

Not sweetly.

But like a man who would shatter the world just to keep her name safe.