The elevator doors closed between them.
Kashvi didn't press the lobby button immediately.
She just stood there, staring at her reflection in the mirrored walls.
Calm face.
Steady eyes.
No visible cracks.
But inside, everything was shifting.
Case reopened.
Ballistics rechecked.
Trajectory questioned.
If that happened, the entire foundation of the conviction would tremble.
Krish could walk free.
And if Krish walked free—
He would talk.
The elevator began descending.
Floor 26.
25.
24.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
Not Anvi.
She answered this time.
Silence on the other end.
Then a male voice. Distorted. Calm.
"You met her."
Not a question.
Kashvi didn't react. "Who is this?"
A soft exhale. Almost amused.
"You still don't see the whole board."
Her jaw tightened slightly.
"Speak clearly."
"Anvi is not your biggest problem."
The elevator stopped at 18.
Empty hallway outside.
Doors closed again.
Descending.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"I want you to understand something," the voice replied. "You weren't the only one who planned that wedding night."
Her pulse didn't rise.
It sharpened.
"That's impossible," she said evenly.
"Is it?"
Silence.
Then—
"The shooter answered to someone else before he answered to you."
The doors opened at the lobby.
Bright light. Polished marble. Ordinary life continuing.
But her world had just tilted.
She stepped out slowly.
"If you're trying to intimidate me," she said calmly, "choose better tactics."
A quiet chuckle on the line.
"This isn't intimidation."
A pause.
"It's a warning."
The call ended.
Kashvi stood still in the middle of the lobby for a moment.
Five years ago, she believed she had orchestrated everything.
The chaos.
The bullet.
The framing.
The silence.
But now—
Anvi had footage.
Krish had filed a petition.
And an unknown voice was suggesting something far worse—
That the wedding night hadn't been entirely hers to control.
Her phone buzzed again.
A single message.
"No one survives betrayal alone."
This time—
For the first time since seeing Ved alive—
A thin line appeared between her brows.
Not fear.
Doubt.
And doubt was dangerous.
Because if someone else had moved pieces that night—
Then there was a part of the story she didn't own.
And that meant—
There was a part of the truth she didn't know.
She walked out of the tower into the sharp Singapore sunlight.
The war wasn't just reopening.
It was expanding.
And somewhere—
Someone else was playing.