The world knew her as a goddess in scrubs.

In Tokyo, they called her Kami no Onna.
In Italy, she was La Dea Bianca.
In India, she was Dr. Ishita Sharma, the miracle child born under a blood moon, the only surgeon to never lose a patient.

But she didn’t care for titles.

"Scalpel," she said softly.

Her voice was calm as the team of elite doctors scrambled around her. The young boy on the table had just minutes to live. Heart failure. Brain swelling. One mistake, and it would all end.

But not on her table.

"Heart rhythm?" she asked.

"Unstable, Doctor."

She didn’t blink. Her fingers moved faster than the eye could follow, stitching, correcting, commanding life itself.

Fifteen minutes later…

"Heartbeat stabilized."

The room erupted in cheers.

Ishita slowly stepped back, sweat on her brow, eyes calm.

"He’ll live. Prep the ICU."

Another miracle. Another soul saved.

And yet, as she walked out of the OR and peeled off her gloves, her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Miles away in the sandstone heart of Rajasthan, a man lit a cigar on the palace balcony.

Aarav Rathore.

Chief Minister. Billionaire. International kingmaker.

Known across the globe as The Devil King.

He wasn’t elected. He was obeyed.

He didn’t lead by fear. He led because no one else dared.

One call from his private number could make a stock market crash—or a president disappear.

"Sir, the Chinese delegation has landed."
"Tell them I’ll see them when I’m done reading this file."

His assistant paused.
"It’s... about a marriage proposal. For you."

The Devil King didn’t react.

Then he looked up.

"Who?"

"Dr. Ishita Sharma."

Silence.

Then a smirk.

"Interesting. The angel wants to marry the devil?"

"No, sir," the assistant said hesitantly. "The angel refused."

That made him laugh.

A cold, dangerous sound.

At the same time, Ishita sat in her balcony garden, a medical journal open but unread.

Her phone buzzed.

“A marriage proposal. From Aarav Rathore?”

She nearly dropped her tea.

"Tell them no. I don’t marry monsters."

But fate doesn’t care about rejections.

The moon glowed red that night, just like the day she was born.

And high above the city of Udaipur, two stars collided.

Not in love.

In warning.