The meeting in London had ended.
But the tension hadn't.
Aryan Sharma's warning still lingered in the air as Ivaan walked through the private corridor of the skyscraper.
His expression remained unreadable.
Cold.
Calm.
Dangerous.
Beside him, Zyan adjusted his coat and finally broke the silence.
"You know..."
Ivaan ignored him.
"Aryan was one wrong sentence away from throwing that glass at your head."
Nothing.
"He was literally warning you away from his sister."
Still nothing.
Zyan sighed.
"You laughed."
This time Ivaan glanced at him.
"And?"
"And?!"
Zyan almost stopped walking.
"That's your response?"
The elevator doors opened.
Both men stepped inside.
Ivaan slipped his hands into his pockets.
"If Aryan wants to protect his sister, that's his problem."
Zyan stared.
"No."
"What?"
"That's definitely your problem."
The cold glare he received immediately shut him up.
The private jet cut through the night sky on its way back to Manhattan.
Most of the cabin was quiet.
Zyan was half asleep with a coffee in his hand while Ivaan sat across from him, reviewing reports on his tablet.
A few minutes later, Ivaan switched to the security dashboard connected to properties under his protection.
One feed caught his attention.
Mooncrest Villa.
The camera showed the upstairs lounge near the large window.
And there she was.
Ishira.
Sitting alone on the window seat.
A cigarette resting between her fingers.
Lost in thought.
The city lights outside illuminated her face as she stared into the darkness.
She wasn't smoking much.
Mostly just holding it.
Thinking.
Overthinking.
Typical Butterfly.
Zyan noticed the screen.
Then noticed who was on it.
Then slowly lowered his coffee.
"Seriously?"
Ivaan didn't look up.
"What?"
"You have twenty-seven business reports waiting."
Silence.
"And you're staring at Ishira."
Still silence.
Zyan leaned back.
A knowing smirk appearing on his face.
"This is getting dangerous."
That finally earned him a cold glance.
"Watch your words."
"I'm just saying."
Zyan pointed at the screen.
"You flew to London for a meeting."
"Yes."
"You argued with Aryan."
"Yes."
"And the first thing you do on the flight home is check on his sister."
The cabin became quiet.
Ivaan's jaw tightened slightly.
A rare reaction.
Zyan immediately noticed.
"Oh."
The smirk widened.
"Oh, this is bad."
Ivaan closed the tablet.
"Enough."
Zyan raised both hands.
"Fine."
A pause.
Then—
"For the record, Aryan is going to lose his mind when he finds out."
A dangerous glare met him instantly.
Zyan straightened in his seat.
"Right."
"No jokes."
"Understood."
Across the cabin, Ivaan looked out the jet window toward the clouds.
But despite the thousands of miles between them—
His thoughts drifted back to a stubborn girl sitting alone by a window in Manhattan.
His phone appeared in his hand before he even thought about it.
A short message.
Simple.
Direct.
😈 Devil: Not asleep yet?
Back in Manhattan—
Ishira's phone vibrated.
She glanced at the screen.
The moment she saw the contact name, her eyes narrowed.
😈 Devil
A reply came immediately.
🦋 Butterfly: Says the man texting me at midnight.
A faint smirk appeared on Ivaan's face.
😈 Devil: Answer the question.
🦋 Butterfly: No.
😈 Devil: Why?
Ishira looked out the window.
The city lights blurred beneath the glass.
Then she typed—
🦋 Butterfly: Couldn't sleep.
Several seconds passed.
Then another message appeared.
😈 Devil: Thinking too much?
Her fingers paused above the screen.
Annoyingly accurate.
🦋 Butterfly: Maybe.
On the jet, Ivaan leaned back in his seat.
😈 Devil: That's your problem.
🦋 Butterfly: Excuse me?
😈 Devil: You think too much.
🦋 Butterfly: And you're annoying.
😈 Devil: Yet you're still replying.
Ishira rolled her eyes.
There was absolutely no winning against him.
A moment later another message appeared.
😈 Devil: Go to sleep, Butterfly.
For some reason, that message made her smile.
Just slightly.
🦋 Butterfly: Are you ordering me?
😈 Devil: Yes.
🦋 Butterfly: No.
😈 Devil: Stubborn.
🦋 Butterfly: Devil.
For the first time during the flight, Ivaan's expression softened almost imperceptibly.
Across from him, Zyan looked up.
Saw the expression.
And immediately regretted looking.
He simply shook his head and returned to his phone.
Because whatever was happening between the Devil and the Butterfly—
It was becoming impossible to ignore.
The city outside Ishira's window was quiet.
Most of Manhattan had fallen asleep.
But she remained curled up on the window seat, phone in hand.
Meanwhile, thousands of feet above the Atlantic Ocean, Ivaan sat inside his private jet.
The conversation continued.
😈 Devil: Did you eat?
Ishira glanced toward the untouched dinner tray sitting on her table.
Then quickly looked away.
She wasn't hungry.
Or at least that was what she told herself.
Without hesitation, she typed—
🦋 Butterfly: Yes.
The reply was sent.
A few seconds passed.
Then—
😈 Devil: Liar.
Ishira blinked.
🦋 Butterfly: Excuse me?
😈 Devil: You didn't eat.
Her eyes narrowed.
🦋 Butterfly: How would you know?
On the jet, a faint smirk appeared on Ivaan's face.
Because he knew her.
Far too well.
Whenever she ate dinner, she'd complain about it.
Whenever she hated the food, she'd complain even more.
Tonight?
Nothing.
Not a single complaint.
Suspicious.
😈 Devil: Because you're predictable.
🦋 Butterfly: Rude.
😈 Devil: Did you finish your dinner?
Silence.
Ishira stared at the screen.
Then at the untouched tray.
Then back at the screen.
Unfortunately...
That silence was answer enough.
A new message arrived.
😈 Devil: Exactly.
She groaned.
🦋 Butterfly: I'm not hungry.
😈 Devil: Eat.
🦋 Butterfly: No.
😈 Devil: Butterfly.
🦋 Butterfly: Devil.
😈 Devil: Eat.
🦋 Butterfly: Bossy.
😈 Devil: Stubborn.
For a few seconds neither replied.
Then another message appeared.
😈 Devil: Send me a picture of the empty plate when you're done.
Ishira sat upright.
🦋 Butterfly: What?!
😈 Devil: You heard me.
🦋 Butterfly: You're impossible.
😈 Devil: And you're still not eating.
She glared at her phone as if it had personally offended her.
Which, technically, it had.
Five minutes later—
Another message arrived.
😈 Devil: I'm waiting.
The audacity.
The absolute audacity.
Muttering several insults under her breath, Ishira finally stood up and walked toward the table.
Back inside the jet, Zyan watched the entire exchange.
Then slowly lowered his coffee.
"Did you just bully someone into eating dinner from another continent?"
Ivaan didn't even look up.
"She's eating."
Zyan stared for several seconds.
Then shook his head.
"The Devil has officially lost his mind."
A dangerous glance met him instantly.
Zyan decided silence was the healthiest option.
For his continued survival.
Ishira finally sat down in front of the dinner tray.
The food looked completely uninteresting.
She poked it with a fork.
Then sent a picture.
A few seconds later, a reply arrived.
😈 Devil: Eat.
🦋 Butterfly: I'm trying.
😈 Devil: Trying isn't eating.
🦋 Butterfly: You're very annoying today.
😈 Devil: Today?
Ishira rolled her eyes and reluctantly took a few bites.
After several minutes, she sent another picture.
The plate was mostly empty.
🦋 Butterfly: Happy?
The reply came immediately.
😈 Devil: Acceptable.
🦋 Butterfly: Rude.
A moment later, another message appeared.
🦋 Butterfly: I want ice cream.
Inside the jet, Ivaan's expression didn't change.
😈 Devil: No.
🦋 Butterfly: Yes.
😈 Devil: No.
🦋 Butterfly: Yes.
😈 Devil: It's midnight.
🦋 Butterfly: And?
😈 Devil: You're supposed to be resting.
🦋 Butterfly: I want ice cream.
The argument continued for several minutes.
Neither willing to surrender.
Finally, Ishira stood up.
Phone still in hand.
She grabbed her car keys from the table.
A message instantly appeared.
😈 Devil: What are you doing?
🦋 Butterfly: Going to get ice cream.
The response was immediate.
😈 Devil: No, you're not.
🦋 Butterfly: Watch me.
She headed toward the villa entrance.
Then her phone vibrated again.
😈 Devil: Stop.
For some reason, she actually paused.
🦋 Butterfly: Why?
A few seconds passed.
Then—
😈 Devil: Because I'm landing in a few minutes.
Ishira blinked.
🦋 Butterfly: What?
😈 Devil: Stay at the villa.
🦋 Butterfly: Devil—
😈 Devil: Stay there, Butterfly.
The message ended there.
No explanation.
No further details.
Just certainty.
Back on the jet, Manhattan's lights were already visible through the window.
The aircraft was beginning its descent.
Across from him, Zyan noticed the faint smirk on Ivaan's face.
"What now?"
Ivaan locked his phone.
"Nothing."
"That's never true."
No answer.
Zyan narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
Then realization hit.
"Oh."
A pause.
"No."
Another pause.
"You are absolutely getting ice cream at midnight."
Ivaan looked out the window.
The city growing closer with every second.
For once—
He didn't bother denying it.
At that exact moment, his phone rang.
The caller ID read:
Zyan
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