EVYAN MALHOTRA
Evyan Malhotra stood before the mirror in his penthouse, adjusting his bow tie with practiced ease. His reflection was flawless as usual. Dark, tousled hair; chiseled jawline; deep brown eyes that caught the light in just the right way. He was a world-famous model—immortalized on billboards, the face of luxury campaigns, and the subject of countless magazine covers. His life was a parade of extravagant parties, exclusive events, and endless flashes of cameras. He had seen it all, done it all, and yet, the mirror in front of him reflected something more: boredom.
Tonight was no different. Another gala. It was hosted by a renowned billionaire fashion mogul at an exclusive venue that exuded wealth and opulence .Another opportunity for rich people to wear overpriced clothes and pretend their lives were anything other than repetitive and shallow. The grand event was hosted at an exclusive five-star venue in the heart of the city. Glittering chandeliers, crystal glasses filled with champagne, and laughter that didn't seem to reach the eyes of the people who laughed. And I am part of it. Evyan could almost hear the self-mocking thought echo in his mind. He slipped into his tailored suit, smooth and luxurious against his skin. He couldn't deny it: he looked good. But tonight, even his appearance couldn't excite him.
With a sigh, he grabbed his coat and stepped into the sleek black car waiting for him outside. The drive to the party was uneventful, the streetlights blurring past as he looked out of the window, feeling more detached with every passing mile.
When he finally arrived at the venue, a stunning, modern building bathed in light, the music pulsed in his chest. The door swung open, and the party's noise rushed to greet him. Evyan stepped into the room, nodding politely at the various acquaintances and strangers who greeted him with smiles, but he barely noticed them. His eyes moved mechanically, taking in the familiar faces, the clinking of glasses, the polished conversations. It was all the same. Boring, he thought.
He mingled, exchanged a few words here and there, laughed at the right moments, but none of it stuck. His mind wandered, the words of others becoming a blur as the hours passed. He moved away from the crowd, towards the corner of the room where he could observe in peace. He looked over the crowd, not really seeing them, but feeling the heaviness of the empty interactions.
That's when he saw him.
A man stood across the room, detached from the frivolity, alone amidst the noise, as though the chaos of the party couldn't touch him. A man stood apart from the throngs of glittering attendees, his presence magnetic yet eerily still. He didn't try to blend in, nor did he stand out deliberately. He was simply… there, as though the room itself bent around him. His tall frame carried an effortless authority, his broad shoulders filling out a perfectly tailored black suit. His hair was dark, slightly tousled but not carelessly so, and his features were sharp—almost severe.
It wasn't just his appearance that struck Evyan; it was his demeanor. The man's posture was rigid, his expression unreadable, his cold gaze surveying the room with a detached air. While everyone else wore smiles and sought validation, this man radiated indifference, as though the glittering world around him was beneath his notice.
Evyan's breath caught in his throat. He wasn't easily impressed—years of being surrounded by beauty and power had dulled his ability to be surprised—but this man was different. Intriguing. Dangerous, even.
The man's presence was so striking that Evyan felt a sudden rush of something he hadn't experienced in a long time: fascination.
He couldn't explain it. There was something magnetic about this stranger. Something beyond the physical—something in the way he seemed untouchable, indifferent to everything around him. While everyone else seemed to be playing a game, this man was an anomaly, an enigma that Evyan couldn't look away from.
Unable to resist, Evyan found himself moving towards him. His steps were purposeful, and as he got closer, he realized the man hadn't yet acknowledged his presence. He was still gazing out over the room, his face unreadable.
Evyan cleared his throat gently, trying to snap him out of his isolation. "Excuse me," he said, his voice smooth, accustomed to being heard over the noise of the crowd. "I don't believe we've met."
The man turned his head, slowly, his gaze flicking from Evyan's face to his outstretched hand, before finally meeting his eyes. There was no recognition in his expression. The indifference was palpable. It was as though Evyan was just another face, another interruption in his otherwise quiet existence.
"I'm Evyan Malhotra," Evyan said, smiling with his usual charm, offering his hand. "It's a pleasure."
The man didn't take the hand immediately. Instead, he glanced at it for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to acknowledge the gesture at all. Finally, he responded in a voice that was deep and steady, yet devoid of warmth.
"Sinister Krylov."
Evyan's heart skipped a beat, both because of the striking nature of the name and the absence of recognition in the man's eyes. No sign of admiration, no flicker of interest or trace of the usual awe or admiration people showed when they realized who he was. He was simply… indifferent.
Sinister Krylov. The name was so unusual, so cold and powerful-sounding that it sent a subtle shiver down Evyan's spine. He didn't know who the man was, but the name alone seemed to carry weight. There was a sense of mystery, an aura of danger, that surrounded him.
Sinister's eyes shifted briefly, surveying the room before returning to Evyan. He stood still, his posture rigid, but there was something in his gaze—a sharpness that seemed to cut through Evyan's confident façade. It made him feel exposed in a way he wasn't used to. He was used to people admiring him, desiring him, but with this man, it felt as if he was completely invisible.
"I don't know who you are," Sinister said, his tone matter-of-fact, without a hint of awe or curiosity. He wasn't trying to be rude, but his words hung in the air, cold and unbothered.
Evyan's smile faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered. It wasn't that he minded the lack of recognition—he had learned long ago that not everyone would know him—but it was the indifference that stung. He doesn't care. That simple fact was jarring.
"Well, I'm a model," Evyan said, letting the words hang in the air, as if it should mean something. "You might have seen me in some of the campaigns."
Sinister simply looked at him, the same cool detachment on his face. "Perhaps," he said nonchalantly. "But I'm not here to keep up with the latest trends or names. I don't pay attention to the fashion world."
There was no judgment in his voice, just cold indifference, and Evyan couldn't help but be impressed by it. This man doesn't care about who I am, about my fame, or the status that everyone else around me seeks so desperately. He's untouched by it. It was an unsettling realization, one that only deepened his fascination.
"I see," Evyan said, trying to mask his surprise, his smile becoming more genuine, though tinged with curiosity. "So what brings you to an event like this?"
"Why do you think I'm here?" His tone was low, calculating, as though he wasn't so much interested in small talk as he was in dissecting Evyan's motives.
Evyan raised an eyebrow. He wasn't used to being questioned so directly. "I'm guessing you're not exactly the 'party' type," he said, his voice dripping with the kind of playful confidence that was second nature to him.
Sinister's lips twitched briefly, but there was no smile. Instead, he gave a soft, almost imperceptible shrug. "People are predictable. You all come here to network, to be seen, to gather power and influence. You wear the same masks, repeat the same routines, talk the same empty words. There is nothing new here for me."
Evyan blinked, momentarily thrown off by the directness of the response. Most people would have been flattered by a mention of their name, but Sinister wasn't impressed in the slightest. In fact, he seemed almost… unimpressed by everything. His cold gaze made Evyan realize that he was dealing with someone who wasn't swayed by fame, wealth, or status.
"I see…" Evyan said, his interest growing even more. "So, you're here just to watch, then?"
Sinister's expression didn't change. "I watch because there's nothing else to do. There is no substance here, no challenge. Only people trying too hard to seem important."
There was a slight edge to his words, a sharpness that made Evyan feel exposed in a way he hadn't expected. It wasn't often that someone saw through the polished exterior that he wore so effortlessly. It was both unnerving and fascinating.
Evyan couldn't help but lean in slightly, his curiosity overtaking him. "I've met a lot of people in this industry, Sinister, but I've never met anyone quite like you. I don't know if it's the way you carry yourself or the way you seem so… unaffected by all of this, but it's hard to ignore you."
Sinister's eyes flicked toward him again, this time with a sharper focus, like a predator analyzing its prey. "I am not here to be noticed," he said, his voice cool and precise. "I am here because I can be. The question is, why are you here?"
Evyan hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the question. He wasn't used to being put on the spot. He had always been the one in control of conversations, but with Sinister, it felt like he was being peeled back, layer by layer.
"I'm here because I'm bored," Evyan admitted, surprising even himself with the honesty. "I've seen it all, heard it all. This," he gestured vaguely around the room, "it's all so… shallow. I thought maybe I could find something interesting for once."
Sinister's gaze softened ever so slightly, but there was no warmth in it—only a quiet understanding. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "the interest you seek is not here. You will find it in places you least expect."
With that, Sinister turned away, his cold presence once again becoming a shadow in the room. Evyan stood there, staring at him, feeling a mixture of confusion and intrigue. For the first time in years, he felt the stirrings of something deeper, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
And as the evening stretched on, Evyan Malhotra knew one thing for sure: he had just met someone who could see right through him—and he was absolutely fascinated.