The chair completed its slow turn.
Not a stranger.
Not an investigator.
Not a ghost from the past.
Anvi.
Seated calmly. Legs crossed. Expression unreadable.
For a fraction of a second, Kashvi didn't understand.
Then she did.
Of course.
"Disappointed?" Anvi asked softly.
Kashvi's fingers relaxed from her bag, though her body remained alert. "You staged this."
"I needed you alone."
"You could have asked."
Anvi's smile was faint. "Would you have come?"
Silence answered for her.
The glass walls reflected the two women back at themselves—power, polish, and five years of buried fire between them.
"You sent the messages," Kashvi said.
"Yes."
"The forensic drafts. The ballistics claims."
"Yes."
Kashvi stepped further into the room, closing the distance deliberately. "You've gone very far."
Anvi leaned forward slightly. "Not as far as you did that night."
There it was.
The wedding hung between them like smoke.
"You manipulated evidence," Anvi continued calmly. "You redirected suspicion. You made chaos look like tragedy."
"And you waited five years to confront me?" Kashvi replied.
"I waited until you had something to lose."
The words echoed.
Her company.
Her stability.
Her son.
Kashvi's expression hardened. "Krish put you up to this?"
Anvi's eyes flickered. "Krish filed the petition. I chose to look."
"And what exactly did you find?" Kashvi challenged.
Anvi didn't answer immediately. Instead, she slid a tablet across the table.
Paused footage.
The mandap.
Flames rising.
The moment before the gunshot.
"Play it," Anvi said.
Kashvi didn't move.
"I've seen it," she replied evenly.
"Not from this angle."
Anvi tapped the screen herself.
The frame zoomed.
Beyond the crowd.
Beyond Krish.
A slight shift in Kashvi's position during the phera.
A subtle gesture.
Not obvious.
Not dramatic.
But deliberate.
Anvi paused it again.
"You signaled," she said quietly.
The room felt heavier.
Kashvi's voice remained calm. "That's interpretation."
"So is motive."
They held each other's gaze.
"You won't release anything," Kashvi said after a moment. "If you intended to, it would already be public."
Anvi didn't deny it.
"Why?" Kashvi asked.
Anvi stood up slowly.
"Because I don't want scandal," she said. "I want the truth acknowledged."
"That's naive."
"No," Anvi replied. "It's controlled."
Kashvi's eyes sharpened at that word.
"Krish didn't fire that shot," Anvi continued. "And you know it."
Silence.
Not confession.
But not denial either.
Outside, the bay shimmered in sunlight.
Inside, something shifted.
"This isn't about Ved," Kashvi said quietly.
Anvi's jaw tightened.
"No," she admitted. "It's about what you became."
That landed deeper than accusation.
Kashvi looked at her steadily. "Careful."
Anvi didn't step back.
"You planned a death on your own wedding day."
"And you came here alone to confront me about it."
A pause.
Measured.
Strategic.
Then Anvi said something unexpected.
"I haven't submitted the evidence anywhere."
Kashvi's gaze flickered slightly.
"Yet."
The single word lingered.
"This meeting," Anvi continued, "is your chance."
"To what?"
"To decide how this story continues."
There it was.
Not exposure.
Not immediate destruction.
A negotiation.
But not of money.
Of narrative.
Kashvi slowly walked around the table, stopping only a few feet away from her.
"You're playing a dangerous game," she said softly.
Anvi met her eyes.
"So are you."
For a long second, neither moved.
No shouting.
No threats.
Just two women standing in the ruins of a wedding fire that had never truly gone out.
Finally, Kashvi picked up the tablet.
Paused on the frame.
Her signal.
Her calculation.
Her choice.
She looked back at Anvi.
"You have five minutes," she said quietly.
"To say exactly what you want."
Outside, Singapore remained calm.
Inside Level 27—
Season two had officially begun.