The motel was the kind of place where you paid cash and didn't ask questions. The neon sign outside flickered, casting jagged shadows through the worn curtains, while inside, the room reeked of mildew and regret. Ishan lay on the bed, half-asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. But Shubman was far from restful.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the tension that clung to his skin. He’d been in worse situations, more dangerous ones—hell, he’d made a career out of navigating them. But this? This was different.

Ishan wasn’t just another hostage. He was something else—something that gnawed at Shubman in ways he wasn’t ready to admit.

Outside, the world carried on, unaware of the storm brewing between these four walls. Shubman’s fingers twitched toward his pack of cigarettes, but he stopped himself. Not now. Not with Ishan here. He hadn’t smoked around him since the first night, and now it felt like too much of a risk. As if lighting a cigarette might ignite something more dangerous than nicotine.

He got up and paced the room, barely noticing the creak of the floorboards. His mind was racing. A part of him wanted to leave the room, get some fresh air and some perspective. But another part—the part he tried to ignore—kept glancing back at Ishan.

The guy wasn’t supposed to matter. Shubman had been in this game long enough to know the rules: don’t get attached, don’t care, and definitely don’t make things personal. But watching Ishan curled up under the thin blanket, he could feel his carefully built walls beginning to crumble.

And that terrified him.

Shubman had built his life around one simple truth: emotions get you killed. He’d learned that lesson the hard way—back when Ansh was still alive.

Ansh.

The name twisted like a knife in his chest. Shubman had tried to bury that memory deep, but tonight, for some reason, it bubbled to the surface, refusing to be ignored.

It had been five years since that night—the night everything changed. Back when Shubman was young, reckless, and stupid enough to think he could trust anyone. Ansh had been his world, his little brother, the one bright spot in a life that had been dark for far too long. They had plans, big plans. Get out of the slums, make something of themselves, leave the crime and chaos behind.

But life had other ideas.

A deal had gone wrong. Guns had been drawn. And Ansh had been caught in the crossfire. Shubman had watched him die—watched the light in his eyes flicker out, just like the neon sign outside this damn motel.

It was his fault.

The guilt had never left him. He’d channeled it into his work, making a name for himself as one of the most ruthless enforcers in the underground. No one messed with Shubman Gill. He was a ghost, a shadow that moved in silence and disappeared before you even knew he was there. He had no weaknesses.

Until now.

Shubman looked back at Ishan, his jaw tightening. The guy was getting under his skin, and that wasn’t just dangerous—it was fatal. He couldn’t afford to care, couldn’t afford to let his guard down. Not again.

But the more time he spent with Ishan, the harder it became to keep his distance. There was something about him—something defiant, something raw. Ishan didn’t just accept his fate like so many others would have. He fought. Every step of the way, he fought back, challenging Shubman in ways that no one else dared.

And Shubman found himself respecting it. Admiring it, even.

He cursed under his breath and moved toward the door, his hand on the knob. He needed space, needed air, needed anything that wasn’t this suffocating tension threatening to consume him.

As he stepped outside, the cool night air hit him like a slap in the face, clearing his thoughts just enough to remind him of the reality he was trying to ignore.

He fished out a cigarette, lighting it with the flick of his zippo. The burn of smoke in his lungs felt good, grounding him. But it didn’t solve the problem.

The problem was Ishan.

This whole mess was spiraling out of control. The job was supposed to be simple—deliver Ishan to the people who paid for him, collect the cash, and move on. But things were never that simple, were they?

Shubman took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. He’d been in tight spots before. But this? This felt different. And not just because of Ishan. The whole operation stank. The people behind the deal were shady, even by his standards. Something about it didn’t sit right.

He had tried to ignore the nagging feeling that something was off, but now it was impossible to push away. There were too many unknowns, too many variables. And the worst part? He didn’t know if he could trust anyone. Not even himself.

Because the truth was, he was starting to care.

And that was the biggest mistake of all.

Dammit.

Shubman flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot. He couldn’t afford this. Not now. Not ever. But as much as he wanted to walk away, he couldn’t. Not without Ishan.

He turned and re-entered the room, shutting the door behind him quietly. Ishan was still asleep, his face softened in the dim light. Shubman stood there for a moment, just watching him. He looked so vulnerable, so different from the sharp-tongued, stubborn guy who had been pushing his buttons all week.

Shubman sighed, running a hand through his hair again. This was a mess—a mess he couldn’t clean up with guns or money.

Suddenly, Ishan stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He squinted at Shubman in the darkness, confusion written on his face.

“You’re still here?” Ishan’s voice was groggy, barely above a whisper.

“Where else would I be?” Shubman muttered, turning away to hide the emotion he couldn’t quite keep off his face.

“I thought… I thought you’d leave,” Ishan said, sitting up slightly. “You looked like you were ready to bolt.”

Shubman’s lips twitched into a humorless smile. “Yeah, well. I’m still here.”

For a moment, there was silence between them. Then, Ishan spoke again, his voice soft but steady.

“You’re not like them, are you?”

Shubman stiffened, not sure how to respond. He could lie, brush it off like he always did. But something in Ishan’s eyes, something raw and real, made him pause.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to Ishan. For a long moment, he said nothing, just staring at the floor, feeling the weight of his past pressing down on him like a stone.

“No,” Shubman finally whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m not like them.”

Ishan didn’t say anything, but the silence between them spoke volumes. In that moment, something shifted—something unspoken but undeniable. They were both trapped in this mess, both caught in a game neither of them wanted to play.

But maybe, just maybe, they didn’t have to play by the rules anymore.

As the night wore on, Shubman knew one thing for certain.

There was no turning back.

[A/n:So the tough guy finally starting to fall in love.What to do you guys think will happened next?]