In Asia’s modern age of glass towers and digital thrones, power no longer lived only in palaces.
It lived in boardrooms, in hidden corridors, in whispers behind art galleries, and in blood-stained alleys where no law dared to exist.

Two empires stood undefeated.

Two rulers sat on different thrones.

And both were alone.

Maharaj Arjunveer Rathore ruled a kingdom built on tradition and rebirth.

By day, he wore tailored suits instead of ceremonial robes. He signed laws with one hand and reshaped futures with the other. Cameras loved him. Newspapers worshipped him. His people admired him.

But none of them knew the truth.

Every night, when palace lights dimmed and the world slept, he locked himself inside a private studio hidden under centuries-old stone walls.

There, he became someone else.

No crown.
No kingdom.
No expectations.

Just a man drenched in paint and silence.

Under the name A.V. Rath, he painted with fury, with pain, with dreams he could never speak out loud. His art hung in the world’s greatest galleries — nameless, faceless, priceless.

Because the world admired the artist.

But no one loved the man.

He was a king surrounded by people…
and starved of touch.

Across the same continent, in a city that never slept peacefully, darkness had its own ruler.

Nayra Rajput .

Her name was not printed in newspapers.
It was whispered in fear.

They called her Crimson Veil in the underworld — the woman who rose from abandoned streets, broken childhoods, and bloodstained survival.

She had no crown.

She had no palace.

Yet every crime lord bowed when her shadow passed.

She owned ports, shadow routes, intelligence networks, and silent empires. Her word was law, where even governments trembled to interfere.

Her life was war.

But her heart?

A locked battlefield.

She trusted no one. Loved no one. Slept with light and weapons close enough to draw blood in a breath.

Because trust had once almost killed her.

They did not know each other.

They did not belong in the same world.

But fate has a cruel sense of timing.

A storm was rising between governments.
A cartel that thrived on destroying strong empires had placed both their worlds on a single target list.

A royal king.
A secret artist.
A mafia queen.

Both are about to be pushed into the same night.

Both are about to be trapped in the same darkness.

And when they finally met…

It would not be love.

Not weakness.

Not softness.

It would be war, fire, and the beginning of a story that would change their legacy forever.

Because some love stories begin with kisses.

Theirs began with survival. 🖤