DJshivers

On what should have been the happiest trip of their lives, Arjun Mehra, an ex-military officer from India, travels to South Korea with his pregnant wife Meera for their honeymoon. But in a single brutal moment, their world shatters.

Caught in the crossfire of a violent gang war on the neon-lit streets of Busan, Meera is tragically killed. Arjun, wounded and broken, barely survives. The woman responsible — Ji-Yeon, a ruthless and enigmatic leader of the Black Vipers syndicate — leaves Arjun for dead, never imagining the storm she’s awakened.

Haunted by grief and driven by vengeance, Arjun must rise from the ashes of his loss. Alone in a foreign land and hunted by dangerous enemies, he draws upon his combat training, martial arts mastery, and sniper skills to track down the woman who stole everything from him.
But the path of revenge is paved with betrayal, blood, and buried secrets. In a world where honor means nothing and loyalty is bought in bullets, Arjun must decide whether he’s a man seeking justice… or a monster born from it.

Crimson Vow is a brutal, emotional, and action-packed thriller about love lost, relentless vengeance, and the unbreakable will of a man who refuses to die quietly.

Crimson Vows, Vengeance Runs Red

The crisp afternoon sun bathed Yonsei University in soft amber light, glinting off windows and catching in the golden leaves fluttering across the main quad. Laughter drifted from clusters of students huddled near the coffee stalls and shaded benches, the usual harmony of campus life uninterrupted.

Seo Hana was late.

She jogged up the wide steps of the Humanities Building, cheeks flushed from the cold and her sprint, hair mussed in the wind. Inside, the literature seminar had already begun, and she slipped into her seat by the window with practiced stealth.

At the front of the room, Professor Park was mid-lecture — but it wasn't the old professor who held the room's attention.

It was the man standing beside him.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Skin the warm shade of sun-drenched bronze.

Thick, dark hair brushed casually back from a sharp, aristocratic face. His jawline was strong and cleanly shaven, lips set in a quiet, unreadable line. But it was his eyes that held people — deep, stormy, and haunted, as though they carried the weight of stories no one had dared ask him to tell.

He wore a charcoal-grey blazer over a simple black shirt, no tie, the collar slightly undone. No effort, no showmanship — and yet every girl in the room was staring.

Whispers rippled through the class like a tide.

"Is he a guest lecturer? Or a film star?"

Hana heard them, felt the energy shift around her, but kept her gaze on her notebook until Professor Park spoke up.

"We're fortunate to have Mr. Aryan Malhotra joining us this semester as a guest research assistant from Mumbai University. He'll be supporting our coursework on post-colonial literature and cross-cultural narratives."

The name was unfamiliar to the students.

They were too caught up in the sheer presence of the man.

His new identity, carefully crafted in Seoul's shadows, concealed the soldier beneath. But the years of combat, discipline, and grief clung to him like a second skin. Even now, his movements were deliberate, precise — a predator who learned to wear civility like a tailored suit.

When Hana finally glanced up, their eyes met.

Something in those eyes — the stillness, the storm — made her chest tighten. Not fear. Not desire. Something in between. A flicker of recognition, though they'd never met.

And for reasons he couldn't name, Arjun felt the pull too.

A memory of softness in a life swallowed by violence.

Students whispered as Arjun passed, leaving a wake of turned heads and curious glances. He didn't acknowledge them. His long stride carried him past groups of giggling girls and awestruck underclassmen, his sharp, foreign-featured face unreadable.

"He's like a walking movie poster," one girl murmured.

"Did you see his watch? Definitely old money," another sighed.

Hana gathered her things when Chae-Rin burst beside her.

"Tell me you saw him," Chae-Rin gushed.

"I saw him," Hana admitted, amused.

"God. That voice? That face? That stare? I swear, it's like someone cast a foreign hero for our campus drama. And he's smart."

"I'm professionally assessing my options," Chae-Rin shot back.

Neither of them noticed the figure lingering by the hallway windows, gazing out toward the distant city skyline — Arjun, his sharp profile haloed by autumn light.

And though he told himself she meant nothing, Seo Hana's face had settled into a corner of his restless mind — a fragile image in a life otherwise scorched to ash.

THE NEW STRANGER