The Rathore mansion glittered with celebration when Akash returned—lights blazed across the gardens, laughter echoed, and the faint scent of roses and fireworks lingered in the air. But for Akash, every sparkle felt like an illusion, a mask concealing the rot beneath.He parked his motorbike two streets away and slipped through the side gate, blood drying on his sleeve beneath his black kurta. The gunfire and chaos from the warehouse still echoed in his ears, but he couldn’t afford mistakes now. Rathore’s men were sharp; any trace of what he’d done could expose everything.As he entered through the kitchen corridor, the servants barely noticed him. He kept his head down, walking with the familiar humility they expected. But inside, his thoughts were razor-sharp.The evidence is safe. The deal’s destroyed. Rathore will be scrambling by morning.He smiled faintly.“Ah, there you are, Khan!” Maya’s voice rang out like nails on glass. She swept into the hallway in a crimson saree, jewels

The Rathore mansion was alive with chaos that morning — decorators shouting, servants rushing with trays, and the endless hum of preparations for Maya’s grand wedding. Every chandelier glittered brighter than the sun, every corner screamed opulence. Yet beneath the gold and silk, a tension hung in the air — sharp, invisible, waiting to snap.Akash felt it before anyone else. He stood quietly by the window of his room, shirt half-buttoned, watching the flurry of people below. The mansion had never felt so loud, yet he could hear his heartbeat clearly. Something wasn’t right.He’d been trained to recognize silence in noise — the kind that came before a storm, the kind that meant someone was planning something. And today, Ravindra Rathore’s household reeked of it.His phone buzzed. A message from Vikram, his trusted link to the outside world.> Shipment confirmed tonight. Port 37. Big exchange. Your window closes at midnight.Akash’s eyes hardened. Finally. The chance he’d been waiting f

The city was wrapped in grey that morning — clouds hanging low, the promise of rain brushing the horizon. It felt like the world itself was holding its breath.Inside the Rathore mansion, the illusion of peace carried on — bright laughter, soft music, and servants bustling about, pretending last night’s unease had never happened.But behind every door, suspicion whispered like wind through cracks.Svetlana had not slept. She lay awake through the night replaying every moment she had overheard — Akash’s voice, his secretive tone, the mention of evidence and shipment logs. Her husband was investigating her father.Yet, the memory of his hand pulling her from danger still lingered like fire on her skin.It confused her.It haunted her.Now, as she stood before her mirror, applying her lipstick with a steady hand, she whispered under her breath, “If I can’t stop him, I’ll outsmart him.”Her reflection stared back — not the obedient daughter or cold wife she had been.Something inside her

The night had teeth.Rain lashed the dock like a thousand needles, the storm swallowing every sound except the staccato rhythm of gunfire. The air smelled of salt, smoke, and danger.Akash crouched behind a metal container, his breaths sharp and ragged, water running down his face in rivulets. The cold bit into his bones, but his mind was burning — calculating. There were at least six men now, moving in a semi-circle, closing in.He fired once, the shot echoing off the steel. One man dropped. Another ducked.Then, through the thunder, he heard her voice.“Akash!”It cut through everything — gunfire, chaos, fear — and slammed into his chest like a blade.No. No, no, no.He turned — and there she was.Svetlana, soaked to the skin, eyes wide, clutching the car door for balance. Rain streamed through her hair, her shawl clinging to her arms.“Get back!” he shouted, his voice hoarse. “Go home, Svetlana!”But she shook her head, her voice trembling. “Not until you tell me what’s going on!”

Rain fell hard that night, drumming on the tin roofs and hissing against the asphalt. The narrow alleyways behind the old textile mill were half-flooded, the stench of rust and rain mingling in the air. It was the kind of night that swallowed secrets — and sometimes, men.Akash stood in the shadows, the hood of his jacket drawn low over his face. His wound had reopened; crimson bloomed faintly beneath the fabric, spreading warmth down his arm. He ignored it. Pain was a familiar companion — quieter than guilt, less complicated than love.He glanced at his watch. 10:47 PM.She was late.He’d chosen this place because no one in their right mind came here anymore — not after the factory fire two years ago. The air still smelled faintly of smoke. It was the perfect graveyard for lies.A pair of headlights cut through the rain.A car door opened.And she stepped out.Svetlana.Even soaked in rain, she was incandescent — white dupatta clinging to her shoulders, hair damp against her face, ey