The arena was drenched in blood and silence.

Hundreds watched as the undefeated champion pressed cold steel against the masked warrior’s throat — one breath away from execution.

Then came the voice that made the world itself freeze.

“Stop.”

King Vikram Shardul descended into the arena like a god of wrath. Every heavy footstep echoed like a death sentence. The most feared conqueror in existence stopped before the kneeling fighter.

The Reaper immediately dropped his sword and bowed low.

But Vikram’s piercing grey eyes never left her.

Slowly — shockingly — the Devil of the Battlefield knelt on one knee before the masked soldier. The entire crowd gasped. Never had he knelt for anyone.

He caught her chin with firm yet careful fingers and lifted her face to his. Their eyes locked through the slits of her mask.

A violent, electric current passed between them.

Vikram’s voice came low, dark, and dangerously possessive — meant only for her ears:

“Now… you belong to me.”

He leaned in and pressed a slow, burning kiss to the side of her neck.

“You are mine.”

Aria’s breath hitched sharply. For the first time in years, her iron control cracked. She jerked away, eyes blazing with fury and disbelief.

“I will not marry you,” she snarled.

Vikram rose to his full, terrifying height. A dark, predatory smirk curved his lips. In one swift motion, he pulled her hard against his chest, one hand gripping her bare waist possessively.

His breath brushed her ear as he whispered with lethal certainty:

“I am not asking, my Siren.”

His voice dropped even lower, sending shivers down her spine.

“I am telling you.”

The Devil had finally found the one soul capable of breaking him.

And he would set the world on fire to claim her.