The morning air carried the familiar scent of dust, petrol, and street-side chai as I stepped out of the house.
For a moment, I stood at the gate and looked back.
Mother was still near the doorway, pretending to adjust the flower pots while secretly watching to make sure I left safely.
Riya stood behind the curtain on the first-floor window.
Kavya had her phone in hand, probably ready to message me the moment I was five minutes late.
Ananya leaned against the wall near the entrance, arms folded, trying to look stern.
And father—
he simply stood in the hallway.
Silent.
Observing.
His calm eyes followed me until I turned the corner.
That gaze lingered in my mind longer than it should have.
He noticed something.
I was sure of it.
But what?
I exhaled slowly and continued walking.
The city was fully awake now.
Cars moved along the road.
Students in uniforms and college wear filled the streets.
Shop shutters opened one by one.
Yet every sound reached me with unnatural clarity.
A bike accelerating two lanes away.
A street vendor counting coins.
A dog barking from the next block.
This body had become terrifyingly sharp.
I almost missed the silence inside me.
The old killer's instinct.
The voice that had once guided every mission.
Now it simply watched.
Waiting.
College.
The word itself felt strange.
In my past life, I had infiltrated universities, government buildings, and embassies.
Never as a student.
Always as death.
But today—
I was returning as Aarav Malhotra.
The weak bookworm.
The easy target.
The boy everyone mocked.
I smiled.
That reputation was about to die.
The college gates stood tall and crowded with students.
Laughter.
Chatter.
Groups of friends.
Motorcycles lined near the parking area.
The building itself rose in pale cream stone, with banners hanging across the entrance for the upcoming cultural festival.
Memories surfaced automatically.
Aarav used to arrive early.
Head down.
Books clutched to his chest.
Avoid eye contact.
Avoid trouble.
Avoid Armaan.
Today, I walked through the gate with my head high.
The difference was immediate.
People noticed.
Whispers spread like ripples.
"Isn't that Aarav?"
"He looks… different."
"Wait, was he always this tall?"
"No way. That's definitely him."
Interesting.
The transformation was visible enough to draw attention.
Good.
Let them look.
I stepped into the main corridor.
The scent of perfume, paper, and polished floors filled the air.
Every face around me seemed sharper.
Every expression clearer.
Then—
a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Well, look who finally decided to show up."
I stopped.
Three boys stood near the lockers.
Expensive clothes.
Arrogant expressions.
The one in the middle wore a smug smile that made the host's memories stir with resentment.
Armaan Khanna.
Rich heir.
Campus bully.
The reason Aarav often returned home bruised.
His eyes narrowed as he approached.
But then something flickered in his gaze.
Confusion.
Because I wasn't lowering my head.
I wasn't avoiding eye contact.
I was looking straight at him.
Armaan stopped in front of me.
A slow smirk spread across his face.
"What happened, bookworm?"
He looked me up and down.
"Trying a new look?"
His friends laughed.
One of them bumped my shoulder deliberately.
In the old memories, Aarav would have stepped back.
Apologized.
Maybe even dropped his books.
Today—
I didn't move.
The boy frowned.
He had expected weakness.
Instead, he looked like he had just walked into a wall.
Armaan noticed.
His smirk faded.
"What?"
I tilted my head slightly.
"You done?"
Silence.
The corridor quieted.
Students nearby slowed their steps.
Watching.
This was public humiliation territory.
Exactly where bullies liked to dominate.
Perfect.
Armaan's jaw tightened.
His hand shot forward and grabbed my collar.
"Don't forget who you are."
For a moment, I looked at his hand.
Then at him.
Cold.
Calm.
The assassin inside me measured everything.
Weight distribution.
Dominant hand.
Blind spots.
Three ways to break his wrist.
Two to dislocate his shoulder.
One to make sure he never touched anyone again.
I smiled.
Then my hand moved.
Fast.
Too fast for his eyes.
I gripped his wrist.
Hard.
A sharp crack echoed through the corridor.
Armaan's face twisted.
"Ah—!"
His knees almost buckled.
His friends froze.
The students around us gasped.
I leaned closer.
My voice dropped low enough that only he could hear.
"Touch me again."
My grip tightened.
He winced.
"And next time, I won't stop at your wrist."
His face turned pale.
Fear.
Good.
For the first time, the predator and prey had changed places.
I released him.
He staggered back, clutching his arm.
The corridor was dead silent.
Then—
soft footsteps approached.
The crowd parted.
And she walked through.
Long black hair.
Crimson eyes.
Black fitted uniform blazer.
Elegant.
Cold.
Beautiful.
Seraphina Noir.
7
The entire corridor seemed to hold its breath.
Even Armaan forgot his pain for a second.
Because everyone knew her.
The most untouchable girl on campus.
Beautiful.
Brilliant.
Untouchable.
And completely out of Aarav's league.
At least, that was what everyone believed.
Seraphina walked straight toward me.
Stopped.
And looked directly into my eyes.
The corner of her lips lifted.
"Good morning."
The corridor erupted into whispers.
Armaan's expression froze.
He looked between us in disbelief.
Seraphina ignored everyone else.
Her voice was calm.
"But we need to talk."
Her crimson gaze flickered briefly toward the rooftop access stairs.
Danger.
Urgency.
I understood immediately.
This wasn't casual.
Something had happened.
I glanced once at Armaan.
His face had gone from arrogance to humiliation.
Good enough for now.
I turned back to Seraphina.
"Lead the way."
She nodded and began walking toward the staircase.
The entire corridor watched.
Students whispering.
Girls staring.
Armaan burning with silent rage.
Interesting.
This would spread through the entire college by lunch.
Perfect.
As we climbed the stairs, Seraphina's expression changed.
The moment we reached the rooftop and the door shut behind us, her calm mask vanished.
Her crimson eyes sharpened.
"The other houses know."
I frowned.
"About me?"
She nodded.
"Not just them."
Her voice lowered.
"One of the nine wives has already arrived."
The wind blew across the rooftop.
Cold.
Sharp.
And then—
a new scent reached me.
Sweet.
Like roses mixed with blood.
Not Seraphina.
Someone else was here.
A second female voice drifted from behind the water tank.
Smooth.
Amused.
And dangerous.
"So this is the king?"
A woman stepped out.
Silver hair.
Golden eyes.
A smile too beautiful to trust.
Another wife.
And the game had just begun.