The transfer began at midnight.
Leena sat alone in the hospital waiting area, laptop balanced on her knees, hood pulled low over her head. The lights were dim, the corridor nearly empty. Only the hum of machines and distant footsteps broke the silence.
Perfect.
She moved carefully.
Not all at once.
Bitcoin was powerful—but careless movement invited attention.
She split the amount.
Routed it through multiple wallets.
Used foreign exchanges.
Layered false transaction paths.
Each step clean.
Each trace blurred.
Her fingers moved with calm precision.
There was no hesitation.
No doubt.
Five hours later, the final conversion was complete.
₹1,000,000.
Clean money.
No alarms.
No flags.
Leena leaned back slowly.
For the first time since the accident, one weight lifted from her chest.
Money was no longer the problem.
She closed the laptop and looked at her reflection in the dark screen.
Cold eyes.
Steady breath.
She barely recognized herself.
The next afternoon, Riya arrived again—this time with someone else.
Leena was waiting near the hospital entrance.
When she saw the man beside Riya, she understood immediately.
This was Ryan.
Tall.
Well-dressed.
Sharp gaze.
Someone used to control.
Riya waved and hurried toward her.
"Leena," she said softly. "This is my brother."
Ryan looked at Leena closely.
Not rudely.
Not obviously.
But deeply.
"So you're Leena," he said.
"Yes," she replied.
Their eyes met.
Ryan paused for half a second longer than necessary.
Interesting, he thought.
This wasn't the timid girl he remembered.
"Let's walk," he said. "Not a good place to talk business."
They moved toward a quieter road near the hospital.
Ryan spoke first.
"My sister says you need one million," he said calmly."And that you'll return it in… unconventional ways."
Leena didn't flinch.
"Yes."
Ryan smiled faintly. "You're very direct."
"I don't like wasting time," Leena replied.
Good answer, Ryan thought.
"Where is the Bitcoin coming from?" he asked.
Leena stopped walking.
Turned to face him.
"That's not information you need," she said evenly."You only need to know it's clean."
Riya's breath caught.
Ryan studied Leena again.
Instead of anger—
He laughed softly.
"Fair," he said. "You're careful. I respect that."
He took out his phone.
"The money will be transferred tonight," he continued."Officially, it's a loan from my sister."
Leena nodded.
"In return," she said, "you'll receive Bitcoin at equal value. Through a secure wallet. No links to either of you."
Ryan raised an eyebrow.
"You've planned this well."
"I had to," Leena replied.
Ryan's gaze sharpened.
"Someone like you doesn't do this without a reason," he said."Are you running from something?"
Leena met his eyes.
"No," she said quietly."I'm running toward something."
For a moment, the air felt heavy.
Then Ryan smiled again—this time, genuinely.
"Deal," he said.
They shook hands.
The moment their hands touched, Ryan felt it.
This girl wasn't desperate.
She was dangerous.
That night, the money arrived.
Exactly as promised.
Leena paid the hospital bills the next morning.
All at once.
No hesitation.
No questions.
The staff was surprised.
The administrators polite.
The problem vanished.
She ordered a new laptop.
High-end.
Encrypted.
Unregistered.
A new phone.
Secure OS.
No traceable ID.
Tools were in place.
That evening, as Leena sat beside her mother, the system interface flickered.
"Host resources upgraded," it announced.
She didn't smile.
Her attention had already shifted.
John.
The man who thought he had escaped.
Leena's eyes reflected faint light from the window.
Cold.
Focused.
"Next," she whispered.
Somewhere across the city, John woke from a restless sleep.
A strange unease gripped his chest.
He didn't know why—
Only that something had changed.
And it was coming for him.
Leena didn't rush.
Revenge, she had learned, worked best when it was slow.
Precise.
She spent the night collecting everything.
Not just fragments—
but a life laid bare.
Bank transfers.
Hidden accounts.
Illegal gambling records.
Encrypted chats with bookies.
Hotel bills.
Photos.
Voice recordings.
And then—
Laila.
Messages filled with lies.
Promises.
Plans to run away.
And the final piece—
Audio.
Clear.
Undeniable.
John's own voice, discussing how to steal his wife's money and gold.
How to disappear.
How to start over.
Leena listened to it once.
Then closed the file.
She didn't feel satisfaction.
Only calm.
She packaged everything carefully.
Printed documents.
A USB drive.
Photographs sealed in plastic.
No return address.
No fingerprints.
The courier was chosen through three intermediaries.
Paid in cash.
Registered under a false sender.
The destination was simple.
Mia John.
John's wife.
The woman who trusted him.
Defended him.
Believed his excuses.
Leena imagined her opening the door.
Accepting the parcel.
Signing without suspicion.
The trap was already set.
That evening, John sat in his living room, restless.
Something felt wrong.
His phone buzzed repeatedly—spam calls, unknown numbers, silence when he answered.
He poured himself a drink.
It didn't help.
At the same time—
Mia returned home from work.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
A parcel lay on the table.
Brown paper.
No name.
She frowned.
John hadn't mentioned anything.
She opened it.
At first, confusion.
Then—
Her hands began to shake.
Documents.
Photos.
Her husband.
With another woman.
In places she had never been.
Her breath hitched.
She reached the USB.
Plugged it into her laptop.
The audio began to play.
John's voice filled the room.
Calm.
Cold.
Cruel.
Talking about stealing her money.
Her gold.
Her trust.
Talking about leaving her behind.
Mia's vision blurred.
Her heart cracked—
slowly—
painfully.
Tears fell onto the keyboard.
But then—
Something changed.
The tears stopped.
Her jaw tightened.
Anger replaced grief.
A deep, burning rage.
She replayed the audio.
Once.
Twice.
By the third time, her hands were steady.
She stood up.
Walked to the bedroom.
Opened the cupboard.
Her gold was still there.
For now.
Mia closed the door softly.
She took out her phone.
Dialed a number.
Her voice was calm.
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
"Mia?" the voice on the other end said. "What happened?"
She closed her eyes.
"James," she said. "John has been lying to me."
There was silence.
Not surprise.
Not denial.
Just silence.
Then Mia spoke again—slowly, carefully—telling him everything.
The affair.
The gambling.
The illegal money.
The plan to steal her savings and gold.
The recording.
When she finished, the line remained quiet.
For several seconds.
Then James spoke.
"Leave John to me."
Only four words.
But Mia knew what they meant.
James was not an ordinary man.
He was an Intelligence Bureau officer.
One of the quiet ones.
The kind whose name never appeared in newspapers.
The kind whose work erased people without noise.
"James…" she began.
"You don't need to do anything else," he interrupted."Pack a bag. Stay somewhere safe tonight."
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
"What will happen to him?" she asked softly.
Another pause.
"John will not see tomorrow's sunrise."
The call ended.
Mia lowered the phone slowly.
She didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She only sat there, breathing steadily, knowing that a line had been crossed—
and could never be uncrossed.
Across the city, inside a secured government office, James stood near his desk.
The lights were dim.
The windows sealed.
His face showed no emotion.
He pressed a button.
The door opened.
A man walked in.
Short hair.
Broad shoulders.
Eyes sharp and disciplined.
He looked like a soldier.
"You called, sir?" the man asked.
James turned.
"Find John," he said calmly."And send him to the Ghost Prison."
The man froze.
For just a fraction of a second.
"Sir…" he said carefully. "That facility—"
"I know exactly what it is," James replied.
The Ghost Prison.
A place that officially did not exist.
No records.
No visitors.
No releases.
People sent there were erased from the world—
without a trace,
without a trial.
The assistant straightened.
"Yes, sir."
He turned and left immediately.
James picked up his phone again.
Opened a single encrypted contact.
Sent one message.
Authorization confirmed.
Somewhere deep within unseen systems, a process began to move.
That same night, John sat alone in his house.
The drink in his hand had gone warm.
His chest felt tight.
The walls felt closer.
He stood up, pacing.
Something was wrong.
Then—
A knock.
Not loud.
Not urgent.
Just firm.
John's heart skipped.
He walked to the door.
Opened it.
And the world went dark.