The peaceful atmosphere of Mooncrest Villa was far behind him now.
This was his world.
The real one.
Cold.
Dangerous.
Unforgiving.
The Manhattan Port stood silent beneath the dark evening sky.
Massive cargo containers stretched across the docks.
Ships rested on the black water.
Rain clouds still covered the city.
And in the center of it all—
Stood Ivaan Mehra.
Black shirt.
Black overcoat.
One hand inside his pocket.
The other holding a cigarette.
Around him stood dozens of armed men.
Waiting.
Watching.
Nobody dared speak unless spoken to.
Because their king was present.
A few feet away stood Zyan.
Checking shipment documents.
Giving orders.
Making sure everything ran smoothly.
"The third container has arrived."
Ivaan nodded once.
"Check it."
"Already done."
"And the route?"
"Clear."
For several moments, only the sound of waves hitting the dock could be heard.
Then a man approached nervously.
Very nervously.
"Capo."
Ivaan's eyes shifted toward him.
The poor man immediately regretted existing.
"The buyers are waiting."
Ivaan took a slow drag from his cigarette.
Then exhaled.
"Let them wait."
The man instantly lowered his head.
"Yes, Capo."
And disappeared.
Smart decision.
Beside him, Zyan smirked.
"You scared him."
"He should be scared."
"Fair."
The shipment operation continued.
Orders were given.
Documents were signed.
Security teams moved around the port.
Everything looked perfect.
Yet somehow...
Ivaan wasn't fully focused.
Something felt missing.
Zyan noticed immediately.
Unfortunately.
Because Zyan noticed everything.
"You miss her."
The statement came out of nowhere.
Ivaan slowly turned toward him.
Dangerously.
"What?"
"I said—"
"I heard you."
"Good."
Zyan grinned.
The grin of a man who enjoyed risking his life.
Far too much.
"You've checked your phone six times in ten minutes."
Silence.
"I was working."
"No."
"I was."
"No."
The argument lasted exactly three seconds.
Because both knew Zyan was right.
A notification suddenly appeared on Ivaan's phone.
His gaze instantly moved toward the screen.
Zyan saw it.
And immediately started laughing.
"See?"
The message wasn't from a business partner.
Or a mafia associate.
Or a politician.
It was from Kiara.
"She took her medicine."
That was all.
One sentence.
Yet Ivaan's shoulders relaxed slightly.
A detail only Zyan noticed.
"Oh my God."
"Shut up."
"You actually asked someone to update you."
"Zyan."
"You are finished."
The glare that followed could have killed lesser men.
Zyan simply laughed harder.
Because for the first time in years—
The Devil of Manhattan wasn't thinking about money.
Or power.
Or rivals.
He was thinking about a stubborn girl sitting in Mooncrest Villa surrounded by enough chocolate to open her own store.
And somehow...
That fact was absolutely hilarious.
The laughter disappeared from Zyan's face.
Business mode.
Immediately.
"The location is secured," Zyan said as he straightened his coat.
Ivaan gave a short nod.
"Good."
A few minutes later, both men stepped into separate black SUVs.
Their convoy left the Manhattan port and headed away from the city lights.
The roads became emptier.
The buildings disappeared.
Soon, only dark forest roads surrounded them.
Almost an hour later, the vehicles stopped outside a large abandoned warehouse hidden deep in the woods.
The place was heavily guarded.
Men stood at every entrance.
Nobody entered without permission.
Nobody left without it.
Ivaan stepped out of the SUV.
The cold night air greeted him.
His expression remained unreadable.
Zyan walked beside him as they entered the warehouse.
Inside, several men were already waiting.
And in the center of the room sat Ethan.
His hands restrained to prevent him from leaving.
He looked angry.
Confused.
And more than a little nervous.
The moment he saw Ivaan, his expression hardened.
"So it was you."
Ivaan didn't answer immediately.
He simply walked forward.
Slow.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
A chair was placed nearby.
Ivaan sat down calmly.
As though this were just another business meeting.
Zyan leaned against a table nearby, watching silently.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The silence itself felt like pressure.
Finally, Ethan broke it.
"What do you want?"
Ivaan rested one arm on the chair.
His gaze never leaving Ethan.
"I want answers."
"About what?"
"About certain decisions you've been making."
Ethan frowned.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
A faint smirk appeared on Ivaan's face.
Not a friendly one.
"You do."
The warehouse fell silent again.
Outside, the wind rattled against the metal walls.
Inside, everyone waited.
Because when Ivaan Mehra spoke in that calm voice...
It usually meant he already knew more than he was saying.
And Ethan was beginning to realize that this meeting wasn't about anger.
It was about information.
And that made it far more dangerous.
The warehouse was silent.
Only the sound of distant wind echoed through the metal walls.
Ethan sat across from Ivaan, his jaw clenched.
Now he understood exactly why he was there.
"This is about Ishira."
A faint smirk appeared on Ivaan's face.
"So you are capable of understanding simple things."
Ethan's expression darkened.
"What gives you the right to interfere?"
Ivaan slowly stood from his chair.
The movement alone made several men in the warehouse straighten.
"I don't like repeating myself."
His voice was calm.
Far too calm.
"And I don't like people crossing lines."
Ethan laughed bitterly.
"You think you own everything."
"No."
Ivaan adjusted the cuff of his sleeve.
"Just the things that matter."
The atmosphere instantly became heavier.
Even Zyan stopped smiling.
Ethan looked directly at him.
"And what exactly are you going to do?"
For several moments, Ivaan simply stared at him.
Then he stepped closer.
Not angry.
Not shouting.
Which somehow felt more dangerous.
"Nothing."
Ethan frowned.
"What?"
"I said nothing."
A cold smile appeared on Ivaan's face.
"Because right now, you're not worth my time."
The words hit harder than any threat.
Ethan's jaw tightened.
"You brought me all the way here for that?"
"No."
Ivaan looked toward Zyan.
"I brought you here so you'd understand something."
The warehouse fell silent again.
"If you have a problem with me, bring it to me."
His eyes turned cold.
"But leave Ishira out of it."
For the first time, Ethan didn't have an answer.
Because the warning wasn't loud.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was certain.
And certainty was always more dangerous.
Ivaan took his coat from one of his men.
The conversation was over.
As far as he was concerned.
He began walking toward the exit.
Then stopped.
Without turning around.
"Zyan."
"Yeah?"
"Handle the rest."
A grin appeared on Zyan's face.
"Got it."
Ivaan continued walking.
"What does that mean?" Ethan demanded.
Neither man answered.
At the warehouse door, Ivaan finally glanced back.
His expression unreadable.
"Think carefully about your next decisions."
Then he left.
The large metal doors closed behind him.
Leaving Ethan alone with his thoughts.
And with Zyan's amused smile.
Which, somehow, was almost as unsettling.
The city was asleep.
Or at least trying to be.
Manhattan's skyline glittered beneath the midnight sky as Ivaan's car stopped in front of BlackThrone, the towering headquarters of the Mehra Empire.
The warehouse meeting was over.
The port operation was complete.
Most people would have gone home.
Not Ivaan Mehra.
Work came first.
It always had.
A few minutes later, he entered his private office at the top of BlackThrone.
The room was dark except for the city lights pouring through the massive glass walls.
This place was silent.
No unnecessary conversations.
No interruptions.
No expectations.
Just peace.
Exactly how he liked it.
Removing his coat, he draped it over a chair and loosened the top button of his black shirt.
Then he sat behind his desk.
The laptop immediately came to life.
Emails.
Contracts.
Meeting schedules.
Financial reports.
A normal night.
For the next two hours, he worked without pause.
One call ended.
Another began.
Business partners.
Investors.
Lawyers.
Then an international meeting.
His cold voice filled the office.
"No."
Silence.
"That's not negotiable."
Another pause.
"Either accept the terms or leave."
The call ended.
Just like that.
Ivaan rubbed his temples briefly before reaching for the coffee beside him.
Cold.
He didn't even notice.
A notification appeared on his screen.
Then another.
Then another.
Meetings scheduled for tomorrow.
University matters.
Blackwood documents.
Trustee approvals.
The amount of work would have exhausted anyone else.
Not him.
He was about to open another file when his phone suddenly vibrated.
A message.
The screen lit up.
And for the first time that night—
His attention shifted immediately.
Not because it was important.
Not because it was business.
Not because it involved money.
The sender's name simply read:
Kiara.
Ivaan frowned.
Opening the message.
A picture appeared.
And there was Ishira.
Fast asleep.
Half buried beneath her blanket.
Chocolate wrappers scattered around her bed.
A heating pad still beside her.
The message underneath read:
"Your stubborn Butterfly finally slept."
For several seconds, the office remained silent.
Then a faint smirk appeared on his face.
A very small one.
Gone almost instantly.
He locked the phone.
Placed it beside the laptop.
And returned to work.
Yet somehow...
The office inside BlackThrone didn't feel quite as cold anymore.
And miles away, inside Venus Tower, the Devil's home remained dark and empty.
Because for tonight, Ivaan Mehra had chosen work over sleep.
Just as he always did.
Or at least...
Until a certain Butterfly started changing his routine.
The clock inside BlackThrone showed 2:17 AM.
Most of Manhattan was asleep.
The city lights shimmered outside the massive glass walls of his office.
Yet Ivaan remained exactly where he had been for hours.
Working.
A file lay open on his desk.
Several meeting reports waited for approval.
Three missed calls from investors.
Two international contracts.
And one stubborn girl somehow occupying a corner of his mind.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
He was reviewing a document when the office door opened without a knock.
Only one person was stupid enough to do that.
Zyan.
"You know normal people sleep."
Ivaan didn't even look up.
"You know normal people knock."
Zyan dropped onto the couch anyway.
"How romantic."
Silence.
"I wasn't being romantic."
"Sure."
Another silence.
Then Zyan noticed something.
"Wait."
Ivaan continued reading.
"You still haven't gone home?"
Nothing.
"Oh my God."
Ivaan finally looked up.
"What?"
"You spent the entire evening taking care of Ishira."
Silence.
"Then handled the port."
Nothing.
"Then handled business."
Nothing.
"And now you're here."
Zyan leaned back dramatically.
"You're getting old."
That earned him a glare.
A dangerous one.
Unfortunately, Zyan was immune.
Before either could continue—
Ivaan's phone vibrated.
Both men looked down.
The screen lit up.
And for the first time all night...
The cold expression on Ivaan's face shifted.
Just slightly.
The caller ID displayed only one word.
🦋 Butterfly
Zyan immediately saw it.
Then looked at Ivaan.
Then back at the phone.
Then back at Ivaan.
A huge grin appeared on his face.
"No way."
"Shut up."
The phone continued ringing.
Ivaan answered.
"Butterfly."
On the other side came a sleepy voice.
"Ivaan?"
The irritation in his eyes disappeared instantly.
Zyan nearly choked.
"I can't sleep."
Ivaan leaned back in his chair.
"Why?"
A pause.
Then—
"My chocolates are finished."
The room went completely silent.
For three whole seconds.
Then Zyan buried his face into a cushion to stop laughing.
The great Ivaan Mehra.
The Devil of Manhattan.
Feared by half the city.
Currently receiving emergency calls about chocolate at two in the morning.
Life was truly unbelievable.
Ivaan closed his eyes briefly.
"You're joking."
"I'm not."
"You finished all of them?"
"Maybe."
"Butterfly."
"What?"
"That was enough chocolate to feed a small country."
A tiny laugh came from the other side.
And somehow...
The sound eased a tension he hadn't even realized he was carrying.
Meanwhile, Zyan was still trying not to laugh himself to death on the couch.
And for the first time that night...
Ivaan didn't care.
Because hearing her laugh was somehow far more peaceful than the silence of BlackThrone.
A tired sigh escaped him.
"Butterfly."
"What?"
"You finished all the chocolates."
"They helped."
"They were supposed to last at least a week."
"Not my fault."
"It is literally your fault."
A soft laugh came from the other side of the call.
And for a brief second, Ivaan forgot about the files scattered across his desk.
Forgot about the meetings.
Forgot about the business waiting for him.
Unfortunately, Zyan was still sitting there.
Watching everything.
Grinning like an idiot.
Ivaan ignored him.
Barely.
"What are you doing awake anyway?" he asked.
A pause followed.
Then Ishira answered quietly.
"My stomach still hurts."
The amusement immediately vanished from his face.
"Did you take the medicine?"
"Yes."
"The heating pad?"
"Yes."
"Food?"
"Yes."
Another pause.
"Then why aren't you sleeping?"
"I don't know."
Her voice sounded softer now.
Sleepier.
And somehow smaller than usual.
Ivaan leaned back in his chair.
His gaze shifting toward the Manhattan skyline outside.
"Close your eyes."
"What?"
"Close them."
"Ivaan."
"Close them."
On the other side, Ishira rolled her eyes.
He could practically picture it.
Still—
She obeyed.
"They're closed."
"Good."
Silence.
For a few moments neither spoke.
The line remained connected.
The only sounds were her slow breathing and the distant hum of the city outside BlackThrone.
Zyan watched the scene with pure disbelief.
The feared Devil of Manhattan was basically putting someone to sleep.
Nobody would ever believe this.
Not if he told them himself.
Then suddenly—
"Are you still there?"
Ishira asked softly.
"Yes."
"Good."
Something about that single word made the room quieter.
Even Zyan stopped smiling.
Ivaan glanced at the time.
Nearly three in the morning.
"You should sleep."
"Hm."
"Butterfly."
"Hm?"
"Sleep."
Another few seconds passed.
Then he noticed something.
No reply.
Only soft breathing.
Steady.
Peaceful.
Ivaan remained silent.
Listening.
Waiting.
Until he realized—
She had fallen asleep during the call.
A faint smirk appeared on his face.
Rare.
Very rare.
He lowered the phone slightly.
Still hearing her quiet breathing from the other side.
Zyan looked between him and the phone.
Then whispered dramatically,
"She's asleep, isn't she?"
Ivaan shot him a warning glance.
Zyan immediately raised both hands.
"Okay, okay."
Carefully, Ivaan ended the call.
For several moments he stared at the screen.
At the contact name.
🦋 Butterfly
Then he locked the phone and placed it beside his laptop.
The smirk disappeared.
The Devil returned.
Meetings.
Contracts.
Business.
Work.
Yet somehow...
The office of BlackThrone felt a little less empty than it had an hour ago.
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