Shayeli pov…

As we finished dinner, I stood up and reached for his plate.
"Give me," I said, watching him get up to help, but I was already on my way to the kitchen.

Tonight was freezing. The kind of cold that could bite through your bones. But well, that's American weather—moody like a poet, changing whenever it wants.

Leaning slightly to the side, I peeked from behind the kitchen counter. There he was, sitting at the dining table, head down, doing something on his phone.
All black. As always.
Does he have some secret vendetta against other colors? I mean—red? Green? Blue? Ever heard of them?

I couldn't help myself.
"Andrew," I said, aiming to get his attention while scrubbing the plates. I had to keep glancing over my shoulder like I was talking to a celebrity I couldn't look at for too long.

"Yes?"
His deep voice responded instantly, and when I turned slightly, his eyes were already on me—focused, intense, like I was the only thing in the room worth looking at.

Why is it suddenly so hot in here?
God, his voice. That husky, low drawl. And the faint glow of his phone screen reflecting off his sharp features—unfair. Totally unfair.

He was just sitting there, doing nothing special, and yet I was the one losing my breath like some teenage girl with a hopeless crush.

I quickly looked away and buried my attention in the sink.
Confidence? Gone.
Me? Melting.
Him? Still just staring—probably amused.

Ugh.

"Tell me what's in your mind," he said, voice calm but firm—the kind that didn't demand, just... invited.

I leaned again, just enough so only he could see me from where he sat.
"Well..." I started, pretending to focus on the water, "do you have an obsession with black? Like... I've only seen you in black. Every single time."

He didn't answer immediately. Just let out a low "hmm."

That's it? Hmm?
The great secretary of EXODUS 'Andrew'  and his grand answer is hmm?
I raised an eyebrow. Maybe he didn't want to answer. Or maybe he liked messing with me.

Whatever it was, it caught me off guard.

I shut the tap and wiped my hands. As I was done I turned to walk back ,He was just there.

Right behind me.

I gasped, my back bumping lightly against the slap. "God, Andrew! You scared me—"

But I didn't get to finish.

He leaned in.

Not hurried. Not forceful. Just... closer. Like the air between us wasn't enough for him anymore.

His hand braced on the slap beside my waist, his face only inches from mine. His breath warm, soft, intoxicating.

I could feel my heart pounding inside my chest like it wanted to leap out and confess everything I was too afraid to say.

His eyes dropped to my lips. Then back to my eyes.

But he didn't kiss me.

He just... looked.

Intense. Deep. Like he was searching for something. he leaned forward—just a little—and for a moment, our faces were closer than usual.

"You don't like black?" he asked, quiet but not cold. His eyes were watching mine, sharp, unreadable.

I blinked. "No! I mean... I do, but like... why only black? It's mysterious. It's... it's very you."
Great. Now I sounded like one of those girls who described a guy's wardrobe like she was in love with a color.

He tilted his head slightly, as if amused.
"I wear black because it doesn't distract," he said simply. "From who I am. From what I do. And because... it reminds people not to come too close."

I paused. That... felt layered.

"But I'm close," I said before I could stop myself. The words just fell out.

For a moment, silence sat between us like a held breath.

Then—
"You are," he said, voice low. "And yet... I don't mind."

Something fluttered in my chest.
Nope. Not blushing. Not now.

"Okay, Mr. Mystery," I said, walking past him with a nervous smile, "but one day I will get you in blue."

He chuckled under his breath—rare, soft.
"We'll see."

"Come, let's go," I said, twisting the doorknob of the main door gently.
He followed without a word, like he always did. Silent, calm, just present.

The walk in the park was peaceful—quiet enough to hear your thoughts but not loud enough to drown them. The winter breeze wrapped around us like a soft blanket, crisp and cold, but somehow I wasn't freezing. Not with him next to me. There was something grounding about his presence—like I didn't have to talk to be heard.

When we reached the end of the path, near the place where he usually parked his car, I slowed down.

I didn't want him to leave.

But I couldn't say that. Not out loud. Not yet.

He turned toward me, hands in his coat pockets, eyes darker than the sky above us.

"First you go," he said, quietly. "Today."

I blinked. "What?"

He tilted his head slightly. "I'll watch you till you're inside. Then I'll leave."

His voice was steady. Like it was just a normal thing. Like watching over me was part of the routine.

It made my heart ache a little.

I took a step back. "Okay," I whispered, barely meeting his eyes. "But don't leave right away."

my fingers pointing directly at him. "If you're going to see someone off—do it properly."

His brows lifted, amused, as if he hadn't expected me to call him out.

"I won't," he said, almost too quickly.

I smiled, turned around, and began walking toward the building. I didn't look back. Not even once.
But I felt it—his eyes on me, all the way to the door.

And somehow... that was enough for tonight.

Pumpkin was right beside me, his tail wagging like he understood that it was his duty to escort me to bed.

I opened the main door to my apartment, kicked off my shoes, and made my way toward the bedroom. My phone slid onto the nightstand with a soft thud. I started shrugging off my jacket, planning to pull the balcony curtain before crashing into bed.

But the moment I stepped toward the balcony—
Plop.

Something wet. Something cold. Something alive hit my shoulder.

I froze.
My eyes trailed down...
And I screamed.

"OH MY GOD! OH MY—EW EW EW EW!"

There it was. Fat. Pale. Creepy.
A lizard.
A full-grown, steroid-fed lizard sitting on me like it owned me.

I shrieked louder, flailing my arms in a panic.
"PUMPKIN DO SOMETHING!"

Pumpkin just sat there, tongue out, tail wagging. Traitor.

I yanked the jacket off and flung it across the room, running straight to the main door barefoot.

Author pov…

As Shayeli shut the door of her apartment, Andrew opened his car door. He was just about to sit down when his phone buzzed.

Another call.

His brows furrowed slightly as he answered, voice low and composed, "Yes?"

It lasted two minutes. But then—
A scream.

Sharp. High-pitched. Familiar.

His entire body stilled.

It wasn't just any scream—it was her.

Without a second thought, he dropped the call, slammed his car door shut, and sprinted toward the apartment. His mind was already listing possibilities—an intruder, a threat??

But nothing prepared him for what happened next.

The door flung open—hard.
And out came a flurry of panic and bare feet wrapped in a night throw blanket—

Shayeli.

She crashed into his chest, hugging him tightly like her life depended on it.

"Andrew—ander chipkali h, chipkali h, chipkali h," she said in one breath, her voice trembling.

["There's a lizard inside, a lizard, a lizard!"]

Andrew blinked. Arms automatically wrapped around her, one hand instinctively moving to the back of her head.

He didn't understand a single word.

"Shhh, hey—calm down," he whispered, steady and low, holding her close as she caught her breath.

She looked up, her eyes still wide. "Inside—there's a big lizard. Huge. Ugly. It landed on me!"

That's when it clicked.

Andrew stared at her for a second.

A lizard?

He blinked again, as if confirming with the universe that this was the emergency. And then—
He burst out laughing.

A real laugh. Deep, amused, and completely unguarded.

Shayeli stared at him like he'd betrayed her.

"It's not funny!" she pouted, hitting his chest lightly. "It was on me! Like, on my shoulder!"

"I thought someone broke in," he said between laughs, brushing her hair behind her ear. "You sounded like you were being kidnapped."

"Well, I was! Emotionally and psychologically by a reptile!"

Andrew grinned, his eyes crinkling slightly. "Alright, braveheart. Let's go kill your monster."

He scooped her closer with one arm and walked back into the apartment like he was heading to a battlefield, determined to rescue his woman from the fat, ugly invader.

As they made their way inside, Andrew closed the door behind them with a calmness he definitely didn't feel.

"Where is the lizard?" he asked, voice steady like he was in a negotiation meeting.

Shayeli, now standing high and mighty on the living room couch like it was her last safe ground, pointed dramatically, "It's in the bedroom. It ran somewhere behind the curtain or maybe the closet—I don't know! It's a mutant, I swear."

He glanced at her—disheveled, wrapped in her blanket like a survivor of war—and wanted to laugh again. But no. He had a bigger problem now.

Because what Shayeli didn't know...
Was that the great, dangerous, feared gang leader of the Black Syndicate—Andrew Smith—
was also afraid of lizards.

Not terrified. But deeply unfamiliar.

He'd never dealt with them. Never seen one up close. And definitely never had to chase one inside a closed room.

But he couldn't let her know. Not a chance. That was unacceptable.

"You wait here," he said smoothly, with a subtle nod, as if he were heading to take down a mafia traitor. "I'll show him—or her—the way out."

Shayeli nodded like he was her superhero. "Be careful. It jumps."

Jumps?
His spine straightened. "Good to know," he muttered.

As he turned toward the bedroom, his walk was casual—on the outside. But inside?

Panic.

His thoughts ran wild.
What if it jumps on him?
What if he miss and it disappears?
What if she walks in and sees him freeze like a statue?

Still, he pushed the door open, tension stiff in his shoulders, sleeves rolled up like he was about to fight someone with a gun—not a reptile.

"Alright, you little demon," he whispered under his breath. "Let's settle this."

From the living room, Shayeli called, "Do you need a slipper?!"

He stared into the room like it was enemy territory.

"...Maybe."

Shayeli tossed the slipper toward him like she was handing over a weapon of mass destruction, Andrew caught it and nodded like a soldier heading to war.

He stepped inside the bedroom and immediately shut the door behind him. Locked it, too.

No way he'd let her see him like this.

The silence was thick. Andrew exhaled and stared at the slipper in one hand—and the gun he quietly drew from his back holster in the other.

Yes. He brought the damn gun.

"Alright" he muttered, slowly crouching near the bed, "you've faced worse. Guns. Betrayals. Firefights. You don't lose to a goddamn reptile."

He started searching—under the bed first.

Nothing.

He turned to the curtain and slowly pulled it aside.

The moment the lizard darted across the wall like a possessed demon—he jumped back a whole step, nearly losing his grip on both the slipper and the gun.

"What the fu—" he stopped himself.

Breathed in.

"You're a gangster. You're a f**king gangster," he hissed under his breath, wiping a nervous hand on his pants. "Stop behaving like this."

Then he did the one thing no one—not even Daniel—would believe if they saw it.

He pointed his gun... at the lizard.

Finger hovered on the trigger. Eyes narrowed.

The lizard froze on the wall, staring at him like it knew his deepest secrets.

But just as he was about to pull it—

He stopped.

Click.

He re-safety'd the weapon and exhaled.

"If I shoot it and she walks in..." he imagined Shayeli screaming in terror.

Nope.

He dropped the gun softly onto the bed and picked up the slipper with renewed determination.

"This is not over," he whispered to the lizard.

Then, carefully—strategically—he began planning his next move.

Inside the battlefield—also known as Shayeli's bedroom—Andrew, the infamous gang leader, had now graduated from gun to wiper. Yes, a bathroom wiper.

He opened the balcony door, his shirt sleeves rolled up, slipper in one hand and wiper in another like dual weapons.

"Go," he ordered, nudging the lizard with precise swings.

But no.

This lizard—bold, stubborn, unshaken—was staring back at him from the wall, unmoved.

Like it had chosen this house. This room. And worse—him.

"Don't you dare fall in love with me," he growled at the lizard, pointing the wiper.

But the lizard blinked. Crawled a little closer.

" what is this obsession?" Andrew muttered under his breath. "Go. Out. Go find your own damn apartment!"

The lizard refused to move.

Meanwhile in the living room, chaos had its own script.

Shayeli, now calm enough to realize she was standing on the couch like a cartoon character, suddenly blinked. "Wait. Where's Pumpkin?"

Her head turned, scanning the room like a spy drone. She stepped down cautiously, whispering, "Pumpkin?"

No sound. No sign of him.

"The lizard can't come out, the door's locked," she muttered. "Then where the hell did this fluffy traitor vanish?"

She began searching: behind the curtains, under the couch, behind the flower vases, near the kitchen. Nothing.

Then, as she bent down near the dining table—there he was. Hiding like a thief during a raid.

"Traitor!" she hissed, gripping one of his legs and dragging him out slowly.

Pumpkin gave her a wide-eyed stare.

"Oh, don't you act innocent," she snapped.

The moment he was out, the dog wriggled—and went right back under the table.

"Is din ke liye toh nahi pala tha," she scolded, crawling a bit to glare at him, "ki jab musibat aaye toh tu apna muh chhupa ke bhaag jaaye!"

{"I didn't raise you for this day,"}

{ "so that when trouble comes, you hide your face and run away!"}

Pumpkin snorted and stayed put like a furry coward.

"Wah," she sighed, dusting herself off. "Ek chipkali ne poori izzat le li."

["A single lizard took away all the dignity."]

After nearly an hour of absolute silence, both Shayeli and Pumpkin sat on the couch like two detectives waiting for updates from the war zone—also known as the bedroom.

Pumpkin occasionally wagged his tail, clearly less concerned about Andrew than Shayeli was.

"Where is he, Pumpkin? Did he fall asleep or what?" she mumbled, narrowing her eyes at the bedroom door like it personally betrayed her.

Pumpkin's tail flicked again. No comment.

Just then—click—the door creaked open, and there he was.

Andrew Smith.

The man who just had a full-on showdown with a six-legged invader.

Andrew stood at the doorway, looking far too calm for someone who had just survived a silent war with a lizard. His shirt sleeves were still rolled up, collar slightly loose, a faint sheen on his temple betraying the chaos he had just faced. But in front of her—he stood tall, composed, and... strangely soft.

Shayeli blinked at him. "You did it?"

He simply nodded once, like a man of few words but heavy accomplishments. "Handled."

A smile broke on her lips, warm and childlike. "You're seriously my hero today."

His lips curved into a small smile—that smile. The rare one she secretly lived for. He walked past her, quietly picking up a bottle of water from the counter and taking a sip like nothing had happened. As if an hour of life-threatening emotional trauma hadn't just unfolded behind a wooden door.

She tilted her head, watching him with amusement, then stepped closer.

"You know..." she began playfully, "you were in there for an hour."

He glanced sideways at her. "I was being strategic."

"Strategic?" she laughed. "Andrew, even Pumpkin gave up and hid under the table."

He set the bottle down, now facing her fully. There was no irritation in his eyes—just a certain softness that always came when it was just the two of them. He stepped close, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers lingering slightly against her skin.

"I'm not scared of lizards," he said in that deep, quiet tone. "But if one gets anywhere near you again, I'll make it regret being born."

Her cheeks flushed at the sheer intensity masked in gentleness.

"I don't know how you managed all these years alone here," he muttered. "Didn't you ever get scared of things like this before?"

Shayeli shrugged, her tone casual. "I do monthly cleaning through outside professionals. That's why I never had a case like this."

He nodded slowly, still unable to believe he just faced off against a creature smaller than his palm—and nearly lost his mind doing it.

A beat of silence passed.

"Okay... I'll leave now," he said quietly, his voice back to its usual calm.

Shayeli smiled softly, nodding. "Okay."

But the warmth in her eyes—the one that lingered as she watched him walk toward the door—was far louder than any thank you.

Pumpkin, however, didn't move. Maybe he knew this wasn't over.

Not yet.

Pumpkin and Shayeli stood at the door like it was a farewell ceremony.

Andrew took one last look before sliding into his car, giving a silent nod that said more than words could. The engine roared to life, and Shayeli slowly closed the main door behind her.

She glanced down at Pumpkin, arms folded.

"He's scared of lizards," she said, her tone laced with mischief. "If he wasn't, why would it take him one whole hour for one lizard?" She shook her head, clearly amused, and walked back toward her bedroom.

With a flashlight in one hand and a slipper in the other—just in case—Shayeli thoroughly scanned every corner of the room. Under the bed. Behind the curtains. Even behind the mirror.

Nothing.

Feeling victorious, she jumped onto her bed and flopped down with a satisfied sigh. "Thank you, savior," she whispered to herself, eyes closing for a moment of peace.

Meanwhile—on the other side of the city—

Andrew Smith sat in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel like he'd just survived a warzone.

His jaw clenched.

His eye twitched.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he screamed inside the car, startling the security team parked nearby.

"Who designed that ugly thing?" he muttered, still trembling. "Oh God... today I really saw my life flash before my eyes. A minor heart attack, that's what it was."

Before he could mentally recover, his phone lit up.

ISABEL

Andrew picked it up, rubbing his temple.

"Andrew, are you coming," Isabel's sharp voice rang through the speaker, "or should we start without you?"

Only Isabel could talk like that to a man like him and survive.

She was dangerous, fierce, and didn't show mercy. But to Andrew—and a select few within the Syndicate—she showed something akin to respect. Especially to Andrew.

"Dare you to," he muttered. "I'm coming."

She hung up without another word.

Thirty minutes later...

The purple Ferrari purred into the underground garage of Andrew's private mansion. As the automatic lights flickered on, rows of luxury vehicles glinted under the soft glow—but none matched the dark authority of the man stepping out now.

Andrew adjusted the cuffs of his black shirt, straightened his jacket, and pressed his finger to the biometric scanner at the elevator.

Welcome, Mr. Smith.

The lift opened. Silence greeted him as he entered, apart from the low hum of the system scanning his presence.

He wasn't just returning home.

He was stepping into the command center of one of the most feared criminal empires in the world.

The Black Syndicate.

And tonight, the study doors would open for every top member.

And their king had just arrived.

To be continued…