Late Night — Vikram’s Penthouse, Malabar Hill
The city shimmered like a lie. Beautiful on the surface, burning underneath.
Vikram stood by the towering glass window, watching Mumbai sprawl at his feet. His penthouse was like him — brutal in elegance, untouched by warmth.
Behind him, Vyom entered silently. His eyes carried the same cold precision.
“She rattled the room,” Vyom said, voice low.
Vikram didn’t turn. “She wasn’t trying to.”
“They’re already talking. Rana, Khalid… even Madhavi.”
“What are they saying?”
“That she’s leverage. Or a liability.”
Vikram finally turned, eyes dark and unblinking. “She’s clarity.”
Vyom frowned slightly. “You don’t bring clarity into our world, Vikram. You bury it.”
Vikram’s mouth curled ever so slightly. “You bury what you fear. I don’t.”
Vyom didn’t argue. Instead, he handed Vikram a tablet. Surveillance stills. Grainy footage.
“A shadow slipped out of Korgaonkar’s office two days before the leak. Shaurya tracked it. She didn’t hack anything. She was handed the evidence.”
Vikram studied the image — a man in a hoodie, half-turned away from the camera. Unidentifiable.
“This wasn’t about guilt,” he murmured. “This was about message.”
“She was sending one?”
“No,” Vikram said, eyes narrowing. “She was answering one.”
---
Later — Parineeti’s Apartment, Dadar
The room smelled of old paper and burnt-out candles. Her warboard glowed faintly in the low light — a chaotic brilliance mapped across string and pins.
Her father, Arun Gupta, knocked softly and stepped in with a cup of chai. “You didn’t eat, Paru.”
“I will.”
“That’s what you said three hours ago.”
She took the cup with a half-smile. “Thanks, Papa.”
He sat beside her. “You met him.”
A statement, not a question.
She nodded.
“He dangerous?”
“He’s not simple.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She looked up. “He’s the kind of man who’d rather cut through fire than go around it.”
Arun exhaled deeply. “Then stay out of the flames.”
“I don’t fear burns.”
“Sometimes, the worst burns don’t scar the skin.”
She didn’t reply.
---
Parineeti’s Bedroom — 9:45 PM
Her phone buzzed. Bhai Calling.
She answered with a tired smile. “Captain Saab.”
Prabhas: “Don’t try charm. I know where you were tonight.”
She sighed. “Then why call if you already disapprove?”
Prabhas: “Because he was there.”
“Vikram?”
“Don’t pretend it was coincidence.”
She looked at the ceiling. “You used to be friends.”
“We were boys. Played pool at Pedder Road. Drank whiskey we couldn't afford. Talked like kings. But he never stopped playing. I did.”
She went silent.
Prabhas: “He doesn’t walk into rooms unless he’s hunting.”
“You trust him with business.”
“Business isn’t heart. He doesn’t lose people, Paru. He possesses them. Or destroys them.”
She turned toward the window. “Maybe I’m not afraid to be possessed.”
“You should be. Because if he decides you matter… he won’t stop. And nothing he wants ever stays untouched.”
She was quiet. Then said, softly, “You think he’ll break me?”
“No,” Prabhas whispered. “I think you might be the only one who breaks him. And that scares me more.”
Her throat tightened. “I missed you, bhai.”
“Miss me all you want. Just don’t let him near your heart.”
The line clicked.
She stared at the dead screen long after.
---
Singhania Group HQ — The Next Morning
Aaryan flipped through logistics contracts, irritation in his tone.
“This deal’s too perfect. Dubai office is a shell. Nothing checks out.”
Vikram walked in, glancing over the papers. “Too clean is always too dirty.”
Vyom entered next, dropping another folder. “Three false fronts. All previously linked to Korgaonkar’s laundering routes.”
“They’re testing us,” Aaryan muttered. “Think you’re distracted.”
Vikram’s eyes sharpened. “They think she is a distraction.”
Vyom added, “Word is spreading. That you’re interested.”
Aaryan raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”
Vikram looked out the window. “She’s not leverage. Not liability. She’s… variable. And variables need watching.”
Aaryan smiled slightly. “You’ve never watched anyone this closely.”
“I don’t intend to start now,” Vikram said coldly. “I intend to protect what’s mine — whether it knows it yet or not.”
---
Elsewhere — Fort District, 10:15 PM
A nearly empty café. Quiet jazz playing in the background. A flickering neon sign above the window.
A man in a nondescript jacket slid a sealed envelope across the table to another — lean, sharp-suited, and patient.
The recipient opened it.
Inside: a photo.
Parineeti, standing beside Vikram on the terrace, mid-conversation.
Underneath, a single line scrawled in crimson ink:
“Control her. Or eliminate the variable.”
The man pocketed the envelope without a word.
Outside, the city carried on, unaware that something dangerous had already begun to move in its shadows.
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