Arc 1: The Wealth Momentum (2016)
Part III: The Silent Slap
Chapter 28 — Give Kareena the Best Gift She Always Wanted
Weddings in Mumbai were not private events.
They were announcements.
They announced alliances, financial strength, social ranking, and future security. Every decoration, every guest list, every luxury car parked outside the venue was a declaration of status. Kareena's wedding was no different. If anything, it was louder than most, because it involved power rather than just money.
By late afternoon, the ceremony hall was overflowing. Conversations overlapped like competing radio frequencies. Relatives from distant cities compared Varun's posting history. Government officers measured one another by designation and proximity to the groom. Kareena moved through it all with composed elegance, her smile fixed, her posture flawless.
She had chosen correctly, society would say.
An IAS officer meant insulation from uncertainty. It meant authority backed by the state. It meant doors opening without knocking.
Still, there was a faint restlessness in her chest that she could not explain.
It was not regret. She had made peace with her decision months ago. Vikram had been comfortable but stagnant, intelligent but directionless. Love did not survive long in a country where stability was worshipped.
And yet, as the rituals continued, a small part of her mind wandered backward.
She remembered an afternoon years ago, walking through a leafy South Mumbai neighborhood with Vikram. They had stopped outside a bungalow hidden behind tall compound walls and bougainvillea vines. The property had not been extravagant, but it had felt peaceful.
"This," she had said casually, pointing at the gate, "if I ever had real money, I would buy a place like this."
Vikram had laughed then and shrugged it off. He had said something about maintenance costs and practicality. She had teased him for thinking like an engineer instead of a dreamer.
She had forgotten the moment afterward.
Or so she thought.
The priest's chant paused briefly as a commotion rippled near the entrance. A uniformed delivery executive stood awkwardly at the edge of the mandap area, holding a sealed envelope. He looked painfully out of place among silk sherwanis and designer sarees.
Varun frowned.
One of his aides stepped forward and demanded an explanation. The delivery executive explained politely that he had been instructed to hand the envelope directly to the bride.
Kareena turned, surprised.
Varun hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. There was no visible threat, and refusing would appear rude in front of so many witnesses.
The envelope was passed to Kareena.
It was heavy.
Not physically, but symbolically. Thick paper, expensive texture, no sender name on the front. Her fingers tightened slightly as she broke the seal.
Inside were legal documents.
She recognized them immediately, even before fully understanding them. Deed papers. Property registration. Her breath caught as she scanned the address.
It was the bungalow.
The same one she had pointed out years ago.
Her heart skipped, then stumbled.
The documents were authentic. Government seals were visible. Ownership transfer clauses were clearly marked. Her name was printed there, clean and unmistakable.
A note fell out from between the pages.
There were no dramatic words written on it. No accusations. No declarations of love. No bitterness.
There was only one line, written in Vikram's familiar, understated handwriting.
"You once said this felt like home."
The noise around her faded.
Kareena's hands trembled slightly as she read the line again. Her throat tightened, and for the first time that day, her smile broke. Not into sadness, but into something far more unsettling.
Understanding.
This was not an attempt to win her back.
This was not revenge.
This was closure.
Varun leaned closer, irritation creeping into his voice as he asked what the envelope contained. Kareena did not answer immediately. She looked up at him, really looked, and for the first time noticed how his confidence depended on being watched.
She handed him the documents.
His expression shifted as he read. Confusion turned to disbelief, then to something darker. He scanned the value, the location, the signatures. His jaw tightened.
"This is some kind of joke," he muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.
Kareena shook her head slowly.
"It is not," she said softly.
Around them, whispers began. Guests leaned closer. Phones discreetly emerged. In a room built on perception, something monumental had just occurred.
Across the city, in the quiet cabin of his moving S-Class, Vikram felt the system respond.
He was not watching the scene. He did not need to. He already knew the outcome.
The display emerged calmly, centered in his vision.
[TRANSACTION: BUNGALOW ASSET TRANSFER (₹35,000,000.00)]
[SYSTEM RECOGNITION: CLOSURE OF NEGATIVE NARRATIVE]
[BONUS MULTIPLIER: 20x APPLIED]
[₹700,000,000.00 ADDED TO WALLET]
There was no sound effect this time.
No chime.
No celebration.
Just confirmation.
Vikram exhaled slowly.
He had spent three and a half crore rupees on a gift that did not benefit him emotionally, romantically, or socially in the conventional sense. Yet the system had rewarded him more generously than ever before.
Not because of the amount.
Because of what the action represented.
Back at the wedding, Kareena felt the weight of the room settle on her shoulders. Guests pretended not to stare, but curiosity burned in every glance. The story would spread before the evening ended. The bride who received a bungalow from her ex on her wedding day.
Varun straightened, trying to regain control of the narrative. He forced a laugh and said something about strange old friends and unnecessary extravagance. But the authority in his voice had thinned.
Because influence could not compete with absolute confidence.
Kareena folded the note carefully and slipped it into her clutch. Her emotions were layered and complex, but one truth stood above the rest.
Vikram had not tried to stand beside power.
He had stepped completely outside its reach.
In gifting her what she once wanted, he had taken nothing from her and demanded nothing in return. He had rewritten the ending without confrontation.
That was the slap.
Not loud.
Not violent.
But undeniable.
As Vikram's car crossed the Bandra-Worli Sea Link, the city lights stretched endlessly ahead of him. His phone buzzed with bank notifications he did not bother to open. Numbers no longer stirred excitement in him.
What mattered was leverage.
What mattered was freedom.
Money had not made him powerful in that moment.
Clarity had.
The system receded, leaving behind a quiet certainty.
He had used wealth not to dominate, but to erase a weakness.
And in doing so, he had won a game Varun did not even realize he was playing.
The past no longer had a claim on him.
And Mumbai, vast and hungry, waited patiently for what he would do next.