Colaba, South Mumbai. Midnight.
The night air smelled of salt and lies. Samruddhi was seated cross-legged on the wet roof, her recorder's red light flashing, her heart pounding even harder.
She'd just come back from the warehouse blaze—the one Arpan More had strolled out of a few hours ago. The city was divided. Half believed it to be a gas leak. The other half knew better.
She'd witnessed him there. The manner in which he gazed at the fire—like he'd lit them just to sense something. Anything.
Her phone rang. ACP Raghav Rao.
Of course.
She let it ring. Again.
Her gaze drifted to the burned photograph now stored in her leather journal. The very same woman she'd grown up addressing as "Maa" stood there—arm-in-arm with Devraj More.
She didn't know what was more impossible.
Her father—honest, esteemed, brutally killed in cold blood—linked to a don. Or that she could be a relative of a beast like Arpan.
At the More Mansion.
Arpan thudded the door shut behind him. The whole room shook. Devraj More sat on the high-backed chair, swirling whiskey as if it contained prophecies.
"You set fire to our own warehouse," Devraj said matter-of-factly, not raising his eyes. "Impressive. Dramatic. And totally idiotic."
Arpan didn't bat an eyelid. "I incinerated a falsehood. One fewer rat's nest in this city."
"With ₹20 crores' worth of weapons. And a Russian deal that took two years to mend."
Arpan strode forward and put a charred ring on the table. "That warehouse was fueling someone else's war. Not ours."
Devraj raised an eyebrow. "And who appointed you our gatekeeper of wars?"
Arpan leaned in, his voice cold. "You made me your heir. Let me rule, or stop playing the retired game."
Devraj's smile wasn't reaching his eyes. "Your mother wouldn't want this."
That name. That pain.
Arpan spun around, jaw locked. "You don't get to say her name."
Flashback – 15 Years Ago
A boy. Drenched in blood. Standing over a dead woman's body, still warm.
Devraj's goons had him surrounded.
The boy didn't weep.
He picked up her necklace, and whispered: "I'll never love again."
Back to Present.
Samruddhi was writing again. Headphones in. Typing like a storm.
"Fire doesn't ask questions. It just reveals truths.
Tonight, the city burned. And a man with ash on his skin watched like he'd lit it with his own hands.
I met Arpan More.
I don't know if I'm chasing a story…
Or my fate."
She hit save. Then delete. Then typed again. It was risky, this truth. It was her addiction.
A voice behind her, sudden:
"You shouldn't dig this deep, Samruddhi."
She turned. Raghav was there, trench coat dripping rain, eyes worn but keen.
She didn't shift. "I'm not your problem any more."
He took a step forward. "You're on his radar. That makes you mine again."
Beat.
"You're still mad at me for leaving," he said.
"I'm still mad you lied," she said, eyes blazing. "On the case. On my father's murder. On how close you were to Devraj."
Raghav avoided her gaze. "I was protecting you."
"You were claiming me."
Quiet.
Then—he pulled out a folder from his jacket. Banged it down on the table.
Photos. Maps. Dossiers.
All connected to one name: Project Agni.
"What's this?" she asked, flipping through.
"A government-sanctioned operation. Shut down five years ago. It was meant to bring down the More syndicate using internal leaks and journalists as double agents."
Her breath hitched.
"You think my father was one of them?"
"I don't think," he said. "I know."
Samruddhi's world tilted.
Elsewhere: A Dark Room.
Arpan stared at the same photo she'd found.
His mother.
His past.
And her.
Samruddhi Jadhav.
He knew the name now. The fire in her eyes. The way she spoke truth like a weapon.
He pressed play on the surveillance footage.
Samruddhi, on-screen, whispering:
"I will bring the More family to their knees, even if it kills me."
He smiled. Not cold. Not cruel. Just tired.
"You'll try, journalist," he whispered. "But first… you'll fall."
Cliffhanger Ending:
Samruddhi stared at her father's case file.
A line scribbled in the margin caught her eye—shaky handwriting, as if rushed:
"Trust no one. Not even the man you'll love."
She turned the page—and there, clipped behind the final report…
A hospital birth certificate.
Father: Jayant Jadhav
Mother: Unknown
Sibling: Arpan More.
She dropped the file, shaking.
The room spun.
And somewhere across the city, Arpan stood in front of the same file.
Smiling.
Waiting.