A 23-year-old woman playing joyfully with the children at the Royal's Orphanage, a place that had become her sanctuary after her own parents had abandoned her at the tender age of twelve.

Kritika, as she was called, was now the heart and soul of the orphanage, beloved by every child there. They clung to her like a mother, for she had become the youngest maternal figure they had ever known.

Her big light brown eyes sparkled with happiness as she watched the children play.

"Kritika, your friend's calling!" Tejaswi, the elderly woman who had rescued her years ago, shouted across the room.

"Yes, Maah, I'm coming," Kritika called back in her sweet, soft voice-one that could charm anyone.

She always called Tejaswi "Maah."

After taking Mahira's call, I walked toward my room in the orphanage.

"Hello, Mahira. What's up?" I answered, curious.

"I'm okay, dear. How about you?" she responded.

"Me too. So, what's the occasion? You rarely call these days," I inquired, knowing how infrequent our conversations had become since graduation.

"I'm throwing a party tonight! Some of our old classmates are getting together at Regency Club. It's been ages since we last hung out. You have to come," she urged, her voice brimming with excitement.

Parties were never my thing. My introverted nature made me avoid such gatherings, and during college, I'd only shown up for exams.

My heart was set on serving the orphanage, my true home.

"Mahira, you know I'm not comfortable at those kinds of events," I replied, hesitating.

"Please, Kritika! I'm going abroad next month. This might be our last chance to meet before I leave. I promise I'll have you back at the orphanage by 9 a.m. sharp," she pleaded, her voice laced with sadness.

I felt torn. As much as I disliked parties, I didn't want to miss seeing her.

"Alright, fine. I'll come," I relented.

"Great! I'll pick you up tomorrow evening. And please, wear something western!" she added, her excitement palpable.

I hummed in agreement before hanging up.

Mahira and I became friends in college when I used to help her with studies. Though she had other friends, I never liked them. They always looked down on me, and that had been one of the reasons I skipped most college events. Mahira was the only one I stayed in touch with.

Yet, as much as I wanted to meet her, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling about this party.

Later, I went to Maah's office to tell her about the invitation. I told her about the party. She seemed more excited than I was.

"It's a perfect opportunity, Kritika. Maybe you'll meet a nice boy there," she teased.

I scrunched my nose. "Maah, I'm going to meet my friend, not for some swayamvar!"

"You're going to die single at this rate. Get over that boy who abandoned you," she said, her tone filled with frustration.

"I'm over it, Maah! And I'm still young. If you bring up marriage again, I swear I'll leave this place!" I warned, though I knew I could never actually follow through.

She scoffed and said, "By the way, I have a beautiful midi dress which you can wear. I think it would look perfect on you."
She winked playfully.

I rolled my eyes, done with her daily matrimonial advice. Maybe she was fed up with me, wanting to send me off for good.

As night fell, the familiar nightmare returned.

"No, please! Don't abandon me! I'll do anything, just don't leave!" I cried out in my sleep, the recurring nightmare tormenting me yet again-especially when it rained.

I bolted upright, my breathing ragged, as the thunder rumbled outside. The fear was suffocating.

I grabbed the water bottle near the bed with trembling hands and took a long gulp, trying to calm myself.

The only clear memory of my childhood is my mother's face and their behaviour. I knew nothing about my father or where I came from.

Reaching for the small cotton cloth I always kept nearby, I stuffed it into my ears to block out the sound of the storm.

Next Day:

I slipped into the yellow midi dress Maah had given me. I kept my makeup minimal, applying just a bit of lip gloss and moisturizer. Since childhood, I have always adorned my forehead with a small black dot made from kajal, a practice I continue to this day.
My long hair cascaded down to my waist.

But when I glanced in the mirror, I noticed the dress's print-daffodil flowers.

A pang of sadness hit me, though I quickly dismissed it when Maah called out, "Kritika, you're getting late!"

I hurriedly adjusted the dress and left.

By 7 p.m., I was already outside, waiting for Mahira. When her car pulled up, she stepped out and hugged me tightly. I glanced over at the boy in the driver's seat.

"He is Atharva, my boyfriend," she said with a shy grin.

"Great," I mouthed. I am happy for her.

We got into the car, and after an hour, we arrived at the Regency Club.

As we stepped into the club, I couldn't help but notice the rows of sleek black cars lined up outside. I despise the arrogance of the famous, their constant need to flaunt. All I want is a simple life with an ordinary man.

We stepped into the party area, and immediately, the pungent scent of alcohol assaulted my senses. The crowd moved in a chaotic dance, bodies pressing against one another in a mess of flashing lights and loud music.

An uncomfortable unease settled over me-I wouldn't have come here at all if it weren't for Mahira.

The moment we were spotted, a group of classmates, notorious for their slyness, called out her name, their voices cutting through the noise. I've never liked them, and their judgmental glances only confirmed why.

They all had their boyfriends with them. I was the only one alone.

One of Mahira's friends exclaimed with excitement, "Did you all see the cars outside? They're from the royal family. I wish I could just catch a glimpse of him-he's such a hottie, though quite grumpy."

I had no idea who they were gossiping about.

Another chimed in, "You know, he absolutely hates being touched. I saw him at an event once, and he wouldn't even shake hands with a woman. Whoever ends up with him is going to be so lucky-imagine waking up next to him every day, and the, um, intimate moments with a man like that."
She spoke in a dreamy, almost reverent tone.

I couldn't help but feel a wave of disgust at their conversation. I've never been the type to swoon over men, and I couldn't fathom how they could fantasize like that.

Royals, of all people-I despised them. They rarely ever visit our orphanage, yet they take all the credit simply because it's their charity. Not that I would know; I've never actually seen them.

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted when the most cunning girl in the group, Nisha, sneered, "So, where's your partner?"

"I don't have one," I replied bluntly.

"We get it. It must be hard to find someone when you're an orphan," she said in a mocking, pitiful voice.

I felt a surge of anger but kept my cool. "Actually, I can have any man I want. I just refuse to settle for less, unlike you," I shot back with a smirk.

Suddenly, one of the boys chimed in, "Who'd marry you? Even for millions, I wouldn't take someone with nothing-no family, no looks, no confidence. Your parents knew you were useless; that's why they abandoned you."

His words cut deeper than anything I'd ever heard.

I slapped him hard across the face.

"How dare you speak to me like that?" I hissed. "I may not have a family, but at least I haven't slept around like your girlfriend. I'm waiting for the right person."

What hurt most was Mahira's silence. She didn't even stand up for me.

Her boyfriend intervened, trying to calm everyone down, but I felt utterly humiliated.

While the others paired off to dance, I stood alone.

A waiter approached with a tray of drinks. I took one, despite its bitter taste, and kept drinking, my mind swirling with anger.

From afar, Mahira whispered to Atharva, "You can take advantage of her now. I did what you asked. Just pay me afterward. She's such a fool."

Everyone laughed as they watched Kritika downing the spiked drink, unaware that it was laced with a high dose of alcohol. How could she know? She'd never tasted alcohol before.

Atharva approached her and gently took her hand. Her eyes, glazed and unfocused, tried to make sense of his face.

"Don't touch me. Go to Mahira. She's dancing alone," Kritika muttered, trying to pull her hand away.

Chuckling, Atharva replied, "No, I'm here to take you with me, my girl."

He tried to grab her, but she stumbled backward. "I'm not going anywhere with you! My Maah told me never to trust boys!" she said, her anger flaring even in her drunken state.

Realizing she wouldn't come willingly, Atharva grabbed her by the waist, trying to lift her.
But Kritika kicked his foot and began running through the crowded club, her mind hazy but still aware enough to know she needed to escape.

In her frantic rush, she bumped into someone's chest.

The man caught her to keep her from falling.

Without looking up, she muttered,
"Yeh deewar kahan se aagyi?"

(When did this wall get here?)

She rubbed her forehead.

Then she looked up-into the deep black eyes of a tall, intimidating figure.

Am I dreaming? she thought, blinking up at him in awe. This time alcohol dominated her mind.

"Are you for real?A Greek god walking on earth," she murmured, her voice soft while smiling.

She was completely unaware of her words, intoxicated and unfiltered. The same girl who had never once complimented a boy, who just moments ago boldly declared that she doesn't swoon over men-yet here she was, utterly captivated at the mere sight of one, simping without hesitation.

But then she noticed the guns pointed at her. She stiffened.

"Lower your weapons," came the man's deep, commanding voice.

"I'm not a Greek god. I'm the god of devils," he said, his voice deep and dangerous.

"Now, step aside, miss. I don't have time to entertain your flattery." His voice carried the arrogance of a man accustomed to women vying for a mere glance from him.

Before she could utter a word, he and his men brushed past her, continuing on their way. A cold emptiness crept into her as if the warmth within her was slipping away. She couldn't understand why she sought his help-he was a stranger, someone she had never even seen before.

Yet, without thinking, her hand reached out and grasped his wrist. He turned, his eyes flashing with surprise and curiosity. How could anyone dare to touch the King, the man whose mere presence sent shivers down the spines of those too afraid to meet his gaze?

But her tear-filled eyes locked onto his, pleading.

"Please... help me. I-I don't know the way home. Someone's chasing me. I beg you," she stammered, her voice trembling.

Her vision blurred as the alcohol clouded her senses, and she collapsed, unconscious, before her body could hit the ground.

In a swift, protective motion, he caught her in his arms. But just as he did, chaos erupted around them, with people scattering in every direction.

The story gonna began...any guesses