The Impossible Heir

10. The First Strike

The Rathore mansion was alive with pandemonium. Chefs shouted orders in the kitchen, florists argued over flower arrangements, and the servants ran like ants, carrying trays, adjusting drapes, and polishing chandeliers. Maya’s shrill voice cut through the chaos.

“Where is the lighting team? I told them to check the chandeliers! Akash, go see what’s going on!” she barked, tossing her silk dupatta over one shoulder.

“Yes, Madam,” Akash said smoothly, bowing slightly, hiding the fire simmering inside him.

“Why do you always look like you’re ready to faint?” Maya Rathore laughed cruelly as he moved toward the hallway. “Honestly, Khan, it’s exhausting just looking at you.”

Akash’s lips curved into a faint, polite smile. “I will take care of it, Madam,” he said quietly, his hand twitched, but his face remained calm. Inside, a fire roared. Every insult, every humiliating order, every laugh at his expense was being stored, catalogued, and weighed.

He was no longer just Akash Khan, the “humble” husband of the Rathores. He was a Singh by blood—a man with wealth, power, and influence that he could use.

He whispered to himself as he straightened the vase:

One day, every single one of you will pay for this. Every laugh, every scorn, every moment you thought I was beneath you.

---

His phone vibrated discreetly in his pocket. He ducked behind a column and checked the message from his detective contact:

Tip: Major shipment leaving Nhava Sheva docks tonight. Location: Warehouse 27B. Timing: 11:30 PM. Heavy guard. Rathore personally overseeing.

Akash’s pulse quickened. This was his chance—not just for revenge, but to strike at the heart of Rathore’s empire. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and muttered under his breath:

“This is it. No hesitation. No excuses.”

---

As he moved through the mansion, he passed Svetlana in the corridor. She raised an eyebrow, her arms folded.

“Where are you going?” she asked softly, her tone casual, but her eyes sharp.

“Just checking on some arrangements,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “I’ll be back soon.”

She didn’t comment further, but the faintest shadow of suspicion crossed her face. Akash didn’t falter.

She watches too much, he noted. But not yet. Not now.

---

By 11 PM, the mansion was winding down, music echoing faintly from the garden where guests celebrated. Akash slipped out into the humid Mumbai night, the city lights reflecting off the wet streets. Every muscle in his body was alert. His small bag carried gloves, miniature cameras, lock-picking tools, and a compact pistol.

“Stay focused,” he muttered under his breath as he approached the warehouse.

---

Warehouse 27B was shrouded in darkness, lit only by a flickering streetlamp. Akash crouched behind stacked containers, scanning the perimeter. Two guards patrolled the front, rifles slung casually, while a third man, larger, barked orders.

He whispered into his earpiece. “I’m in position. Confirming entry points.”

“Copy that,” the detective’s voice replied. “Guard rotations are as briefed. You have three minutes to intercept before they switch.”

Akash nodded silently and crept forward. “Understood.”

---

Inside, crates stacked floor to ceiling emitted the sharp scent of chemicals. Akash moved like a shadow, placing cameras, photographing barcodes, and recording movements.

Then he heard it: the unmistakable roar of a car. Rathore’s deep voice followed.

“Ensure everything is perfect tonight! No mistakes, or I will know who to blame!”

Akash froze, ducking behind a crate.

He’s here. Perfect, Akash thought. Time to move fast.

---

He edged toward the office, spotting a guard posted outside.

“Who’s there?” the guard barked.

Akash’s voice was calm. “Just… checking inventory.”

The man frowned. “Not supposed to be here. Step aside.”

Akash moved with lightning speed, striking the guard and sending him to the ground silently. Inside the office, the safe waited.

“Let’s see what secrets you’re hiding,” Akash whispered, his fingers dancing over the lock mechanism. The tumblers clicked.

Inside: shipment logs, digital drives, ledgers detailing Rathore’s empire. He pulled them out carefully.

Then: footsteps. Loud, rapid.

“Someone’s in the office!” a voice shouted.

Akash grabbed the bag, bolted, and collided with another guard.

“Move!” he barked, knocking the man aside. “Now!”

---

Outside, Raghav Rathore himself appeared. Luckily, it was dark so Rathore couldn't see his face. “You think you can steal from me?” he growled, gun in hand.

Akash leveled his pistol. “I’m not thinking—I’m acting.”

Rathore fired. Akash ducked behind a crate, returning fire with precision, bullets pinging against metal.

“Catch him!” Rathore shouted, and men swarmed the warehouse.

Akash rolled, grabbed a rope ladder, and swung to the upper platform. A guard lunged from behind—he was ready, striking him down silently.

From above, he watched Rathore and his men scramble as backup arrived—the detective contact had mobilized the police.

“Not fast enough, Rathore,” Akash muttered under his breath, letting the chaos unfold.

---

Hours later, safe in a hideout, Akash examined the evidence. Every shipment, every ledger, every contact—he had it all. His shoulder throbbed from a graze, but adrenaline kept him alert.

“You did it,” the detective said over the secure line. “This could take him down.”

Akash’s jaw tightened. “Yes. But this is just the beginning. The mansion, the family… they have no idea what’s coming.”

---

Meanwhile, back at the mansion, the wedding continued. Guests laughed, music played, and the Rathores remained oblivious to the storm building in Akash’s hands. He would return as the obedient husband, smiling politely, blending into the celebration.

But inside, a silent fire burned: a vow of revenge, a first strike completed, and the knowledge that his power—and the collapse of Rathore’s empire—was now within reach.

Soon, he thought, staring at the city lights. Raghav Rathore will pay.

---