3.

♠KISSED BY A CRIMINAL ♠

Chapter -3

Clean the mess you created

A sharp, loud crash shattered the silence of the old house. It didn't come from the front door. It came from the back courtyard the sound of shattering glass followed by a muffled, very human curse.

Vedant didn't panic. He slowly reached into the desk drawer, his fingers wrapping around a heavy, cold iron rod he kept for "uninvited guests." He slipped out of his chair, moving like a shadow across the creaking floorboards of the high ceilinged house, completely killing the light of his monitors with a single keystroke.

He paused at the edge of the kitchen hallway. The smell of his dal tadka was still warm, but now it was cut by something else expensive, sharp French perfume, mixed with the metallic tang of fresh blood.

A figure was scrambling through the broken window of his pantry. The shadow of a figure scrambled through the broken window, In the dim moonlight, Vedant could see it was a woman. She was wearing a sleek, expensive blazer over dark jeans, now covered in dust, and her hands were frantically brushing away glass shards.

For one dangerous second, Vedant forgot to speak, Not because she was beautiful.

He had seen beautiful women before glamorous women wrapped around politicians, models dripping in diamonds, women who smiled like practiced lies. Beauty never impressed him.

But seeing her in real. Vedant stepped into the doorway, leaning against the frame with the iron rod resting casually on his shoulder. He tilted his head, letting the moonlight hit his face specifically, the milky, terrifying white of his right eye.

"You know, usually, people just use the doorbell," Vedant said, his voice dropping into that flat, unreadable tone. "Though I appreciate the dedication to breaking and entering. Very vintage."

The woman gasped, spinning around so fast she slipped on a glass shard, falling back against the kitchen counter. She didn't scream. Instead, she instantly put up her guard, her fists clenched, her breathing ragged but controlled.

As she looked at him, her eyes scanned his face. She didn't flinch away from his dead eye. Instead, her gaze dropped to his hands, noting the thick, jagged scars running across his knuckles, and a strange look of confirmation washed over her face.

"Vedant Chauhan," she said, her voice trembling slightly but carrying a sharp, stubborn edge.

Vedant's predatory smile faltered for a fraction of a second. He squinted his good eye, studying her sharp jawline, her defiant posture, and the unmistakable cold aura of elite Delhi wealth.

"Isha Rawal," Vedant said, a low chuckle escaping him. "Well, well. The rebellious princess of Rawal Pharmaceuticals. What's the matter? Did daddy cut off your allowance, or are you just testing out a new hobby?"

Everyone knew the Rawals. Her father, Alok Rawal, ran a massive pharma empire built on political favors and ruthless corporate backstabbing-a man just as cold as Vedant's own estranged father. The media always whispered about Isha, the estranged daughter who lived under her father's suffocating shadow but despised everything he stood for.

" I don't care about his money and fame!!," Isha snapped, wincing as she checked a small cut on her bleeding palm. She looked out the broken window into the dark alley, checking for followers, before looking back at him. "And I didn't come here for a chat. I need your help."

Vedant raised an eyebrow, tapping the iron rod against his palm. "I'm a convicted felon living in a house that smells like roasted cumin, Miss Rawal. I don't do charity, and I certainly don't do high society drama."

"I know exactly what you are," Isha said, stepping forward, refusing to be intimidated by his towering frame or his sinister glare. "I spent three weeks digging into your past. The court records, the street fights before you went to Tihar, the prison guards who said you took down four men in the yard without blinking. They call you a monster. A criminal."

"And yet, here you are, standing in my kitchen," Vedant grinned, a sharp, dangerous thing. "Not very smart for a billionaire's daughter, is it?"

"I don't need smart. I need ruthless," Isha said, her voice dropping into a fierce, desperate whisper. "My father is trying to force me into a proxy marriage to merge his company with Malhotra Enterprises. He's stripped my bank accounts, put guards at my door, and he thinks he can break me until I say yes. He thinks I'm weak."

She took another step closer, looking directly into his mismatched eyes.

"I tried playing by the rules, and I lost. So now, I want to fight back. I want to ruin him, and I want to make sure if any of his goons touch me again, I can put them in the hospital. My research says you're the best fighter, and the most dangerous man who hates the Delhi elite. Teach me."

The silence in the kitchen grew heavy. Vedant stared at her, his mind calculating a hundred variables a second. She didn't know about the three murders from seven years ago. She didn't know that her father's new partner, Vikram Malhotra, was the very man who had framed him. She was just a desperate girl looking for a weapon.

Vedant slowly lowered the iron rod, a dark, amused chuckle bubbling up from his chest.

"You want a criminal to teach you how to be dangerous, Miss Rawal?" Vedant asked, stepping into her personal space, his dead eye gleaming in the shadows. "My lessons don't come cheap.

Isha didn't back down. She squared her shoulders. "Name your price."

Vedant grabbed a clean kitchen towel and tossed it at her bleeding hand. "First, you clean up the glass you broke.

The smell of blood dripping from her hand after the slightest cut made its way on her plan. It made him think something very deeply....

The mockingly cheerful mask melted off his face, replaced by a cold, impenetrable wall of indifference.

"Clean your hand and get out," Vedant said, his voice flat, devoid of any humor.

Isha blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his aura. "What? Did you not hear me? I told you I can pay you whatever-"

"I don't care about your money, Miss Rawal," Vedant interrupted, tossing the iron rod onto the kitchen counter with a loud, metallic clatter. He turned his back to her, picking up a bowl to portion out his dal. "And I don't do pupils. You want to learn how to punch? Go join a high end MMA gym in Vasant Kunj. Tell them daddy's credit card is back online."

"A gym won't teach me how to survive men who don't follow rules," Isha said fiercely, stepping after him, her boots crunching on the glass shards. "They'll teach me how to sport fight. I need to know how to break a man who weighs twice as much as me. I need someone who doesn't care about the law. I need you to teach me that's it"

Vedant stopped stirring. He slowly turned around, leaning his lower back against the counter, crossing his scarred arms. He looked down at her, letting the silence stretch until it became suffocating. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet.

"Look at me," he murmured.

Isha didn't flinch.. She kept her gaze steady.

"You see a dangerous rogue. A weapon you can buy, dial up, and use to rebel against your father," Vedant said, tilting his head so the moonlight caught the eerie, dead white of his right eye. "The world looks at me and sees a freak. A washed up ex con who got lucky to survive Tihar. And you know what? I like it that way. I like this quiet house. I like making my dinner. I am a law-abiding, mundane citizen who pays his electricity bills on time."

He leaned forward, his face inches from hers, his good eye boring into her soul.

"I don't want your drama. I don't want your father's goons knocking on my door, ruining my neighborhood, or messing with my routine. I am done with that life. You are a variable, Isha. And variables cause chaos. I don't do chaos anymore."

It was a beautiful lie. For the world, for the police who tapped his phones, and for wealthy runaways like Isha, Vedant Chauhan was just a retired criminal trying to live a quiet, normal life. No one could know about the digital ghost network humming in his living room. No one could know about his obsession with the three murders from seven years ago. If Isha stayed, she would bring her father's security teams, the media, and Vikram Malhotra's eyes straight to his doorstep.

He couldn't let anyone especially a rebellious billionaire's daughter compromise his chess board.

Isha stared at him, trying to read the unreadable expression on his face. She saw the absolute finality in his posture. Her jaw tightened, a flash of bitter disappointment crossing her features.

"You're a coward," she whispered, her voice laced with venom. "You let them break you in there. You're just hiding in the dark, waiting to die of old age."

A sharp, predatory grin tugged at the corner of Vedant's lips, but he kept it contained. Let her think that, he thought. Let the whole world think that.

"Guilty as charged," Vedant said mockingly, stepping past her and opening the back door of the kitchen that led into the dark, narrow alleyway. "Now, please leave the way you came. Or use the door. It's much safer for the ankles."

Isha glared at him, wrapping the kitchen towel tightly around her bleeding palm. She walked toward the door, stopping right at the threshold. She looked at him one last time, her eyes burning with a stubborn fire.

"I'll figure it out on my own," she said coldly.

"I'm sure you will. Rawal grit and all that," Vedant replied smoothly.

As soon as she stepped out into the night, Vedant closed the heavy wooden door and locked it with three separate bolts. The silence of the house rushed back in.

He stood by the door for a moment, listening to her fading footsteps in the alley. Then, the cold indifference vanished from his face, replaced by a sharp, calculating intensity.

He walked back into the living room, his fingers instantly flying across the keyboard, bringing the three monitors back to life. He opened a new search algorithm, typing in two names: Alok Rawal*and Rawal Pharmaceuticals.

"A proxy marriage with Malhotra Enterprises," Vedant muttered to himself, watching the data streams begin to populate the screen. A dark, feverish gleam returned to his mismatched eyes. "So, Vikram is expanding into pharma. He needs Rawal's political supply chains."

He leaned back in his chair, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face as he watched the digital trap he had set earlier. He hadn't agreed to teach her, and he certainly wasn't going to protect her. But Isha Rawal had just handed him the missing piece of the puzzle.

"Thanks for the tip, princess," Vedant whispered to the empty room, the rhythmic click-click of his mouse resuming in the dark. "The game just got a lot more interesting."

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