Underground Bunker – Location: Unknown
The cell reeked of rusted blood and the salty breath of tears unshed. Chains clinked softly as Veer Kapoor stirred—India's once-celebrated prodigy, now reduced to a man whose mind bled into shadows. His body had shrunk, but his spirit hadn't surrendered.
At least, not yet.
A soft footfall broke the dead silence. Not the heels of Mira—whose presence burned like poison—or the hesitant steps of the servant who left behind half-rotten bread.
This was different. Controlled. Measured.
Masculine.
The lock clicked. Light poured in.
Mehul.
Veer squinted, lips cracking as he whispered, "You…"
The man walked in slow, long coat whispering across the ground, his silhouette dancing in the flickering bulb overhead.
"You look good," Mehul murmured with a crooked grin. "Survival's made you sharper."
"You… you betrayed us," Veer rasped. "You were hers. Aaravi trusted you…"
Mehul crouched. With surprising gentleness, he brushed grime from Veer's blood-matted cheek.
"I never promised loyalty. Only outcomes."
Veer's fists tightened against his restraints. "She'll come for me. She always will."
Mehul's smile turned cold. He leaned close.
"I know," he whispered. "And the only way she'll save you—"
"—is by breaking everything she believes in."
He stood, leaving Veer in the dim light, thoughts racing between hallucinations and an encroaching dread.
Aaravi's Apartment – 4:44 a.m.
The cold shower was punishment, not relief. The taste of Mira's kiss lingered on her lips—a mix of power, rage, and something more dangerous.
Desire.
She pressed her palms against the tiles, breathing hard. The woman who built billion-dollar cricket empires had been reduced to chasing ghosts.
Her phone buzzed.
Vivaan:
"HQ. Now. Syndicate files decrypted. Mira's not acting alone."
She stepped out, water glistening on her skin. In the mirror, she saw a crack—hair wet, eyes red, body pulsing with heat and fury.
She was unraveling.
One man had her heart.
One had her mind.
And one—her brother—had vanished into silence.
She dialed Vivaan. "Track Mehul. He's not who he pretends to be."
Syndicate HQ – South Delhi Safehouse
The underground bunker buzzed with decrypted feeds. Multiple monitors lit up: offshore accounts, Syndicate nodes, data trails.
And one name at the core of it all—Mehul Rana.
Vivaan leaned forward, jaw tight. "He ran Operation Wicket," he muttered. "He wasn't just in the Syndicate. He founded it."
A door slammed. Aaravi stormed in, hair still damp, body wrapped in a sheer mesh bodysuit and leather jacket.
Vivaan froze—not just at the intel—but at her presence. Raw. Fierce. Electric.
"You kept this from me?" she asked. "You used to be a researcher. How much more are you hiding?"
Vivaan stepped forward. The room grew hot, charged.
"You want truth?" he asked. "Or dominance?"
He grabbed her waist, slammed her against the wall. His breath brushed her ear. "You don't need saving, Aaravi. You need surrender."
Her gasp was sharp, aroused.
"I want my brother," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Then you can ruin me."
Vivaan's eyes darkened. He lifted her onto the desk. Their mouths clashed like enemies.
Flesh met flesh.
His hand pinned her throat gently as his other trailed her thigh, teasing her boundaries.
"Make me forget," she moaned.
He did.
And it wasn't gentle.
Rooftop – Delhi Slums
Mira lit a cigarette with a gold-plated lighter, watching the Yamuna shimmer in pollution and history.
Her phone buzzed.
Encrypted Message:
"Phase 1 complete. Mehul delivered. Commence Phase 2. No survivors."
Mira's smile was wicked.
"She'll have to bleed for him now."
Smoke curled into the sky like a vow.