Delhi never truly slept.
At midnight, Chandni Chowk was alive with shadows—shuttered shops, dim bulbs, stray dogs, and the smell of old spice lingering in the air.
Raj's black SUV pulled up at the edge of a narrow lane. He stepped out, coat collar turned up, his presence slicing through the night like a blade. Sameer followed, uneasy.
"Sir… this doesn't feel right."
Raj didn't break stride. "That's because it isn't. But traps only work on prey. I'm not prey."
They walked deeper into the labyrinth of alleys, until they reached a crumbling warehouse. A single bulb flickered above the door.
Raj pushed it open.
Inside, silence. Dust. The faint creak of rats. And then—footsteps.
A hooded figure emerged from the darkness, voice distorted through a cheap modulator.
"You came."
Raj's tone was flat, cold.
"Show me your face."
The figure laughed. "Not yet. You don't trust easily, Mr. Rathore. Good. That's why you'll survive longer than your father did."
Raj's fists tightened. "Say his name again, and you won't survive this night."
The figure raised a hand calmly.
"I'm not your enemy. I was there, the night he died. He didn't fall victim to rivals or business enemies. He fell because he refused to play the game."
Raj's voice dripped venom. "And who pulled the strings? Malhotra?"
The hooded figure chuckled.
"Malhotra was just one piece. A pawn. The truth is bigger than you imagine. Your father stumbled onto something he was never supposed to see."
Raj stepped closer, eyes burning.
"Tell me what it was."
The figure reached into their coat, pulling out a small pen drive.
"This contains part of the truth. Documents. Transactions. Enough to ruin Malhotra. Enough to prove your father was silenced."
Sameer took it nervously, glancing at Raj.
Raj's gaze never left the hooded figure.
"And the rest of the truth?"
The figure leaned closer, whispering,
"To uncover it, you'll need help. From someone inside the system. Someone already close to you."
Raj's jaw clenched. "Who?"
The figure paused. And then, slowly, deliberately:
"Meera Chauhan."
Raj froze. For a man who never showed weakness, even that flicker of hesitation was rare.
The figure continued.
"She's not what you think. Her family is tied to the same network that killed your father. She can either be your greatest weapon… or your deadliest enemy. The choice is yours."
Before Raj could react, headlights flared outside. Engines roared. Black vans screeched to a halt. Armed men poured out, boots pounding.
Sameer panicked. "Sir, it's a raid!"
The hooded figure hissed, "I told you—they're everywhere. Choose wisely, Raj Rathore. Trust no one."
And with that, the figure slipped through a hidden exit, vanishing into the night.
The warehouse doors burst open. Floodlights blinded Raj and Sameer. Dozens of armed officers stormed in, weapons raised.
And at the center of them, in a crisp blazer, hair tied neatly, eyes blazing like a soldier walking into battle—
Meera Chauhan.
Her voice rang out, sharp and merciless.
"Raj Rathore. You're under investigation for financial fraud, illegal acquisitions, and suspected criminal conspiracy. Surrender now."
The floodlights caught his face—calm, cold, unreadable.
Raj didn't raise his hands. He didn't step back. He just stared at Meera, the memory of the hooded figure's words echoing in his head.
"She can either be your greatest weapon… or your deadliest enemy."
For the first time, Raj Rathore's empire hung in the balance.
And Meera Chauhan stood as both the blade at his throat… and the temptation he couldn't ignore.
Raj finally spoke, his voice low, carrying across the silence.
"So… it begins."
Meera's eyes locked on his.
"Yes. And this time, you won't win."