Maya
"Oh God… what was that?" I whispered to myself, voice trembling as I stared at the blank wall ahead, the echoes of the confrontation with Utsav still crashing through my mind like relentless waves.
It had been over an hour now since he left my room—yet my heart hadn’t stopped pounding, nor had my hands stopped shaking. My bathrobe clung to my body like a second skin, damp with sweat and fear. I was curled up on my bed like a beggar left in the ruins of a storm. A storm named Utsav Mehrotra.
He was waiting for me in my room—sitting like a king, exuding dominance and control, as if he owned not just the space, but me. I had walked in with the illusion of control, but it vanished the moment our eyes met. His presence devoured the air, stole my breath. I knew I was playing a dangerous game… but I hadn’t anticipated just how dangerous.
The way he rose from the couch—slow, deliberate, terrifying. The way he gripped my wrist, twisting it with enough force to send pain shooting up my arm. The cold blade pressed to my throat, his voice nothing short of venom:
"I could slit your throat, burn your corpse, and no one would dare question me. Don’t provoke the devil when you walk in without armor."
Those words… they were etched into me now, branded beneath my skin. And still, I had the audacity—the insanity—to look him in the eye and say I want to date you.
Maya Shekhavat, threatening a mafia kingpin to love her. How utterly insane.
And I fucking knew it. Every cell in my body screamed run, but something deeper—darker—anchored me there. Maybe it was obsession. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was a soul reawakening to the man it once burned for.
He stripped away my power in seconds. Almost literally. The moment his fingers reached for the ribbon of my bathrobe, I froze. Not because of shame. But because of the truth—
I was entirely at his mercy.
And yet, something in me still believed I wasn’t just another pawn.
I sat motionless now, knees drawn up to my chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. My trembling fingers reached toward the drawer beside my bed. I fumbled until I found the small white bottle—my anxiety pills. With a shaky hand, I popped one into my mouth and swallowed it down with the glass of cold water on the nightstand. The chill slid down my throat and grounded me, barely.
I looked like hell. A rich and reckless Bollywood singer reduced to a broken mess in a bathrobe, eyes hollow and wild, hair clinging to my face, breath shallow. No camera would dare capture this side of me—this is the real Maya, the one no one knows.
My therapist told me to avoid high-stress situations.
Guess what? I just invited a devil into my life and threatened him with evidence.
Brilliant, Maya.
But I can't back down now.
Not after what I’ve seen in his eyes—the fury, yes, but something else too. Pain. Depth. Shadows that mirrored mine. We’re more alike than he realizes.
He can burn cities, but I’ve burned bridges long before he ever walked into my life.
He is chaos cloaked in suits.
And I? I am fire in sequins.
This war I started might just consume me.
But I’ll be damned if I walk away now.
Thanks to the footage I managed to capture earlier—the explosion at the warehouse, the fire devouring everything in its path, and the man groveling at his mercy—I had the audacity to threaten Utsav Mehrotra. I used that as leverage. Blackmail, even.
Seriously, Maya?
He’s not just some powerful man. He could buy out the entire media industry, erase the footage with a snap of his fingers, and rewrite the headlines before they’re even printed. Then, he’d burn me alive like that man—slow, deliberate, merciless—and the world would never know I existed.
Still… I dared. I pushed him. I threatened him.
Maybe the only reason I’m still breathing is because I had proof. But then again, that can’t be it. This is Utsav Mehrotra. He doesn’t need a reason. If he wanted me gone, I’d already be six feet under, my name wiped from every file, my memory scattered with the ashes.
No. He’s not sparing me. He’s toying with me. Like a lion circling a gazelle just for amusement.
I know what this is. I’m not naïve.
But despite all that, here I am—safe, for now—and riding the thrill of it all like a madwoman. The adrenaline, the danger… the fantasy. The truth is, I’m dancing on the edge of a knife. But damn it, I’ve always had a flair for recklessness.
Maybe it’s madness, or maybe it’s blind confidence, but there’s a voice in my head that whispers,
You’ll survive this, Maya. Not just survive—you’ll win.
Because I’m Maya Shekhavat. And Maya never fails.
If I say you’ll fall for me, Mr. Utsav Mehrotra… then eventually, completely, irrevocably—you will. I’ll break through your steel heart, no matter how long it takes. You might be the devil in a surgeon’s coat, but even devils can bleed when the right storm hits.
And me?
I’m the storm.
I can already feel the rush—the fantasy of being married to a mafia king. Dark, dangerous, twisted, and addictive. I’m spiraling in my own delusional sky, floating like I’m the heroine in some dramatic Wattpad story.
Maya & Utsav: A mafia love story.
God. Someone slap me back to reality.
"Shaks!" I muttered, shaking my head and laughing bitterly. "Hawa se zameen pe utro, Maharani."
This isn't some fictional romance. He’s not some misunderstood villain with a tragic backstory and a soft heart hidden beneath the cold exterior. No. He is real—flesh, blood, and lethal precision. He will cut me into pieces without blinking if I cross a line too far.
And yet…
The thought of him—his power, his fire, his scars—draws me in like a moth to the flame.
I know it’s foolish. I know it’s dangerous. But every beat of my heart screams one thing:
Utsav Mehrotra, you’re mine.
Not today. Not tomorrow.
But one day—you will be.
I don’t care how long it takes.
I don’t care how many games we play.
I’ll make you mine. And I’ll never let you go.
As all those chaotic thoughts spun in my head, my phone buzzed, breaking the heavy silence in my room. I glanced at the screen. It was lighting up with messages from the girls’ group chat. Of course. How could I forget? Today was Aditi’s wedding. And I was supposed to be there—by her side, being the perfect best friend—not hiding in a bathrobe like a mental patient after surviving a mafia’s wrath.
I hadn’t told any of them about the fire I was voluntarily walking into. About him. About the devil that nearly stripped me down—physically and emotionally—in my own room an hour ago. No. I didn’t want to ruin Aditi’s day. I didn’t want to invite chaos where there should only be joy.
Besides, I reminded myself for the hundredth time, Utsav can’t kill me. Not as long as I have the video.
The footage of that burning warehouse. The man begging for his life. The explosion.
My only safety net. My only weapon.
But still… I knew better than anyone—threats can only protect you for so long.
The thousand racing thoughts in my mind were all trying to calm me down. None succeeded.
My screen blinked again with Aditi’s panicked voice message:
Aditi: Babe, where are you? Come down! I’m panicking.
Ishanvi: Aur kaha hogi... khoyi hogi Utsav ke pyaar mein.
Shravni: Guys—who the hell is Utsav?! Spill the damn tea. I’ll be there in two hours, I’m on the way.
Aditi: It’s a long story, Avni. First you come, then we’ll tell you everything.
A crooked smirk tugged at my lips. Even in my emotional turmoil, my girls never failed to amuse me.
I typed back quickly before the drama exploded any further.
Me: Calm down, ladies. I’m coming, just getting ready. And Avni—we’re waiting for you. Come soon.
I didn’t bother waiting for their replies. My eyes drifted toward the mirror across the room.
Time to face the storm again.
With a deep breath that felt heavier than the moment deserved, I peeled off the bathrobe and forced myself to get dressed—mentally bracing for round two with him.
I slipped into a black tank top, paired it with matching tailored pants, tied my hair into a messy-yet-aesthetic bun, and swiped on just enough makeup to look alive. My signature matte red lipstick was the final touch. It gave me that dangerous, boss-lady vibe that I desperately needed to believe in right now.
Was this what people wore to wedding functions? Not exactly. But I didn’t care.
The wedding ceremony was scheduled for the evening. I wasn’t about to drape myself in a heavy lehenga from morning like some bejeweled floor cleaner, dragging fabric across every inch of this giant mansion.
I know it sounds a little... stingy. But come on—I may be a successful singer now, but I’m still Indian at heart. And if there’s one universal truth about us, it’s this: Indians are a little kanjoos when it comes to money and clothes. Especially when no one's going to see the full outfit until sunset.
And besides, I needed to conserve my strength.
Because in a few hours… I’d be standing in front of him.
After everything that happened in my room.
It was reckless.
It was foolish.
It was completely and utterly me.
God help me.
As I reached Aditi’s room, the first thing I saw was her—curled up on the edge of the bed, sobbing like a little girl. Her soft pink kurti paired with matching palazzos and a white dupatta gave her that ever-innocent, delicate vibe she always carried. She looked like the embodiment of softness, the kind of woman who believed love was a fairytale and men were its gallant knights.
Beside her, Ishanvi sat cross-legged, stroking her back gently, trying to calm her down. Dressed in a sleek brown sari that hugged her curves perfectly, her long hair cascading down her back, she looked like she’d walked straight out of a Vogue magazine. Her dark brown lipstick completed the look. Of course—what else could one expect from Ishanvi, one of the top fashion designers in Bollywood?
Each of us was a different flavor of drama. My friend circle? A circus. The glamorous kind.
I sighed, walked in, and closed the door behind me softly. “What happened, Aditi? Why are you crying on your wedding day, sweetheart? You should be glowing with happiness, not soaked in tears.”
Ishanvi answered before Aditi could. “Perhaps Aadi scolded her for hanging out with Dhruv again.”
My jaw clenched. Hard.
Of course he did.
I walked over, crouched in front of Aditi, and gently wiped a tear off her cheek. “Hey. It’s okay. I know he’s a little... possessive. But he has no right to scold you like this. Not today. Not on your wedding day. If he thinks he can ruin your moment and just walk away, he’s wrong. We’ll make him regret it.”
Aditi looked at me, eyes wide and tear-filled. “How, Maya?” she asked in a soft, broken voice.
I tilted my head, a slow smirk curving on my lips. “Do you remember something we never got around to doing?” I glanced between her and Ishanvi. “The bachelorette party.”
Ishanvi’s eyes widened. “Maya, no. You know Aditya strictly said no women are allowed at the bachelor party. It’s just the guys—he made that very clear.”
I gave her a look, full of mischief and steel. “So what? Aditi is the bride. If the groom gets to celebrate, so does she. If Aditya thinks he can act like a caveman, then we’ll show him how queens behave. Today, 4 PM. We’re making our grand entry into that party—and trust me, he will regret making her cry.”
Aditi whimpered softly, fear lacing her voice. “But what if he gets even more angry? What if he shouts at me in front of everyone? I know he loves me, Maya... he’s just... a little possessive. He doesn’t know how to control his anger sometimes. He’s Utsav Mehrotra’s cousin, after all…”
I took a deep breath, then gently placed my hands on her knees and looked her in the eyes.
“I know he loves you. But loving someone doesn’t give him the right to control you. You’re not his property. You’re his partner. His equal. And if he doesn’t understand that now, we’re going to teach him. Don’t ever, ever think of yourself as less than him. Not in love, not in life.”
She gave a soft nod, her fingers reaching up to dab at her eyes with a tissue. Ishanvi smiled, a glint of rebellion twinkling in her expression as she added, “Then it’s settled. The boys want to play games? We’ll show them how it’s done.”
I stood up and extended my hand toward both of them. “Exactly. Today, we’re setting the stage on fire—not with anger, but with power. We won’t be quiet. We won’t be small. We’ll make them see who they’re messing with.”
The three of us hugged tightly—shoulders pressed, hearts syncing in solidarity.
In that moment, everything else faded away. Utsav. Aditya. The pressure. The danger. Even the haunting fear that had gripped me an hour ago.
This moment was ours.
Aditi’s heartbreak. Ishanvi’s quiet, restrained life. My dangerous obsession with a man who could destroy me. For once, none of it mattered. In each other’s arms, we found peace. Strength. Solidarity. The unspoken kind that only women who’ve been pushed, broken, and burned could understand—and still rise from.
And maybe… that’s why I couldn’t back away from Utsav either.
Maybe I saw in him the same fire I’ve been fighting my whole life.
People think I’m insane for falling in love with a man like him. They call it reckless, foolish—even suicidal. Maybe they’re right. But I’ve spent my whole life refusing to be afraid. Refusing to submit. To me, love isn’t about safety. It’s about fire. The kind that consumes, yes—but also creates.
And if I have to walk through flames to reach him… then so be it.
Because Maya Shekhavat doesn’t run away from fire.
She becomes it.
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