The Impossible Heir

6. Secrets and Suspicions

The Rathore mansion never slept. Even after the Singh family had returned to their estate, the halls hummed with whispered orders, footsteps, and the occasional sharp laugh of a man in control. Akash walked through it all, his mind still reeling from the revelation at the hospital. He had blood ties to the Singhs—a fact that, if exposed, could shatter his mission and ignite a war between the families.

He returned to his secret room in the basement, shutting the heavy door behind him. The maps and ledgers sprawled across the walls now had new meaning. Every shipment, every coded message, every route — he saw them not only as evidence but as the threads connecting him to a legacy he never knew existed.

He couldn’t allow his new identity to interfere, yet it added urgency. Rathore’s empire was growing bolder, and his men were sharper than ever. The near-capture the night before had been a warning.

---

The next morning, Akash resumed his place in the household, silently enduring the subtle jabs and mocking glances.

“Brew my tea correctly this time, or I’ll do it myself,” one cousin sneered.

“Of course,” Akash said softly, carrying the tray with deliberate calm.

Svetlana passed by him in the hallway. Her perfume left a trace in the air, and she didn’t even glance at him. Yet when she turned a corner, her hand paused on the banister, her eyes flickering with something he couldn’t read—curiosity? Recognition? Or suspicion?

Akash didn’t stop to ponder. Every moment in this house was a test, every glance a potential trap.

---

By midday, he had an opportunity to investigate the shipment route further. Using his guise as a lowly family member, he slipped out of the mansion under the pretext of errands. The city outside was a familiar chaos, and Akash thrived in it. He traced the coded addresses from Rathore’s ledgers to an abandoned warehouse near the docks.

Inside, shadows moved, whispers echoed. The shipment was being prepared. Containers were being loaded into trucks, each stamped with innocuous labels that hid millions worth of narcotics. Rathore’s men were everywhere, their vigilance sharper after the last scare.

Akash crouched behind a stack of crates, snapping photos, memorizing every license plate, every guard rotation. He was methodical, precise. But a shadow fell across the crates—a man, broad-shouldered, scanning the perimeter.

Akash’s heart hammered.

“Too close for comfort,” he muttered. He melted into the shadows, silent as smoke, until the man moved away.

Back at the mansion, Rathore himself was observing.

“Something is off,” he muttered to one of his lieutenants. “Khan isn’t what he seems. I can feel it. Watch him.”

Akash, unaware of the surveillance tightening around him, returned home as dusk fell. He cleaned up, resumed his role as the obedient husband who served silently while the family mocked him. Inside, he burned with a plan — every piece of intelligence gathered was another weapon against Rathore, another step closer to justice.

---

The next evening, Svetlana summoned him quietly.

“Meet me in the library,” she said, her voice low, almost conspiratorial.

Akash felt his pulse quicken. She closed the door behind him.

“You’ve been acting strangely,” she said, her arms crossed. “Late nights, secret movements… and yet you pretend to be weak in front of everyone. Why?”

Akash studied her carefully. Her tone was neither accusing nor friendly. It was calculating.

“I endure,” he said softly. “Because I must. Every moment in this house is a test, every insult a chance to move closer to my goal.”

Svetlana raised an eyebrow. “Your goal? Don’t pretend you’re here for anything other than surviving my family’s ridicule. I’ve watched you. Something isn’t right, Khan.”

Her words were sharp, almost too sharp. She sounded like she was reading a page she shouldn’t have, like she suspected truths he wasn’t ready to reveal.

Akash kept his expression calm. “Then watch, but don’t interfere. You will only get hurt.”

Svetlana’s lips twitched, half-smile, half-frustration. “You talk like you’re a hero. Or a fool. Sometimes I can’t tell which.”

Before he could reply, a loud knock echoed through the library. Both turned. One of Rathore’s men stood in the doorway, eyes flicking between them.

“Sir, there’s a call from Mr. Rathore. He wants to see you immediately,” the man said to Akash.

Akash’s stomach tightened. He didn’t need to hear Rathore’s voice to know this wasn’t casual.

As he left, Svetlana’s eyes lingered on him. Silent, unreadable, yet sharper than ever.

---

In Rathore’s study, the atmosphere was suffocating. Rathore sat behind his massive desk, steepling his fingers. His eyes bored into Akash with predator-like intensity.

“You’ve been busy,” Rathore said, voice low, dangerous. “I like ambition… but ambition without loyalty is a blade to the back. Tell me… what are you really doing?”

Akash met his gaze evenly. “I serve you, sir.”

Rathore’s lips curled into a thin, dangerous smile. “We’ll see.”

As Akash left, he felt the weight of Rathore’s scrutiny like iron chains. His every movement, his every smile, and every interaction with Svetlana were now under surveillance. Every secret, every step closer to evidence, carried the risk of exposure.

---

Later that night, Akash returned to the basement. Maps, photos, ledgers — everything was spread across the desk. He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking.

Svetlana’s earlier words lingered in his mind: Something isn’t right…

Was she suspecting him? Was she hiding something herself?

A knock on the basement door startled him.

He froze. Nobody knew this place existed.

“Who’s there?” he called softly.

No answer.

A shadow moved past the door. Quick, deliberate. Someone had found the entrance.

Akash’s hand went to his knife, his body coiling. If they were here… if Rathore’s men had discovered this… everything could collapse tonight.

He slipped into the darkness of the hidden room, eyes scanning for any sign of movement. Then, a whisper:

“Khan… we’re watching.”

The words were not spoken aloud, but somehow, Akash knew. Rathore’s men had stepped closer. They were waiting, observing, testing. Every misstep now could cost him everything.

And somewhere in the mansion above, Svetlana’s laughter floated through the halls, a chilling reminder that she saw more than she let on — or perhaps, that she was hiding more than she revealed.

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