Bandra | Parineeti’s Apartment | Late Evening
The city lights flickered through the window, casting long shadows on the walls as Parineeti poured two cups of coffee. Prabhas stood by the balcony, unusually silent, hands tucked into the pockets of his bomber jacket.
She brought his cup over, nudging his elbow gently.
“What’s eating you tonight, bhai?”
Prabhas took the cup, didn’t answer right away. Then:
“You know I’ve never interfered in your choices. Your career, your decisions... even your battles.”
She nodded slowly. “You’ve always had my back.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Paru.”
She turned to face him.
“This is about Vikram.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of traffic.
“He’s dangerous,” Prabhas said finally. “Not just because of who he is—but because of what he hides. What he doesn’t say. I’ve seen that man make people disappear without leaving a whisper behind.”
Parineeti folded her arms, steady but alert. “I don’t fear him.”
“You should,” Prabhas said quietly. “I was once his closest friend. I’ve seen the side of him most wouldn’t survive.”
She waited.
Prabhas exhaled, the words heavy in his throat. “Three years ago, one of our mutual friends—Rohan Bedi—came to me. Said Vikram was involved in backdoor financial moves with a politician connected to a child trafficking ring.”
Parineeti’s blood chilled.
“I confronted Vikram,” Prabhas continued, “thinking it was just corruption. The usual political rot. But the look in his eyes... it wasn’t guilt. It was rage. Cold. Calculated. He told me to walk away if I wanted to breathe freely.”
“And Rohan?”
“Dead. Officially a road accident. But I know better.”
Parineeti lowered her gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“Because I hoped you’d never get close enough to matter. But now... he watches you. I can see it. Not with lust—but with something worse. Obsession disguised as control.”
She was quiet for a long moment. Then, without looking at him, she said, “You think I can’t handle him?”
“I think,” Prabhas replied, voice steely, “that even fire doesn’t realize when it's being swallowed by a storm.”
---
Singhania Estate | Private Wing | Same Night
Vikram stood facing the long glass window in his study. Moonlight carved silver shadows on his sharp features.
Aaryan entered first, jacket slung over his shoulder, followed by Vyom—silent as always.
“Rival at the port backed down,” Aaryan said. “But not without cost.”
Vikram didn’t turn. “How much?”
Vyom answered. “Six percent of the shares. Temporarily.”
Vikram’s eyes narrowed. “And the side shipment?”
A pause.
Vyom: “Compromised. We rerouted it through Dubai. The intel leak came from one of ours.”
Vikram turned now, slow and sharp. “Deal with it.”
“I already have,” Vyom said without flinching. “He won’t talk again.”
Aaryan sat on the edge of the desk, casual but observant. “I have a feeling we’re slipping into exposure, bhai. You’ve got your eyes on too many pieces at once.”
Vikram gave a hollow smile. “Exposure is inevitable when you’re always ahead.”
Vyom finally spoke with quiet clarity. “And yet… you’re distracted. Is it the girl?”
Aaryan tensed slightly.
Vikram’s eyes met Vyom’s, cool as midnight steel. “She’s not the reason. But she is a variable.”
“You don’t deal in variables,” Aaryan said. “You eliminate them.”
Vikram didn’t respond. He picked up a lighter from the desk, flicked it on, and off.
Click. Flame. Click. Darkness.
---
Midnight | Worli Sea Link | Vikram and Prabhas
They hadn’t seen each other face-to-face in months. Maybe years. But Vikram had sent a message—Let’s end what we never did.
They stood alone near Vikram’s matte black car, the waves crashing far below.
“Still love the dramatic spots, huh?” Prabhas muttered.
Vikram gave a small smile. “You used to say they were cinematic.”
“That was before I knew you played God.”
A beat of silence.
“You came to warn me,” Vikram said, not a question.
“I came to end the leash,” Prabhas snapped. “She’s my sister.”
“And a damn good lawyer,” Vikram countered. “With a mind built for war.”
“She’s not your pawn.”
“I don’t play with pawns,” Vikram said quietly. “Only equals.”
Prabhas stepped closer, voice low and furious. “If you hurt her—if even a shadow of your world touches her—I’ll burn your empire to the ground.”
Vikram’s gaze was unmoving. “You think I haven’t already scorched it myself?”
Their eyes locked.
“I see you watching her,” Prabhas added. “I see the way you go still when her name is mentioned.”
Vikram’s jaw flexed. “You mistake fascination for possession.”
“No,” Prabhas said. “I mistake your silence for a scream no one hears.”
Another moment. Then Vikram looked away.
“You know what broke us?” Prabhas asked.
Vikram didn’t answer.
“You chose power. I chose conscience. And neither of us turned back.”
Vikram let the silence stretch again. “Don’t mistake my silence, old friend. It’s not guilt. It’s restraint.”
And with that, he stepped into his car, leaving the words hanging like smoke.
___________________________
Vikram’s Penthouse
Vyom stood at the glass wall, arms folded. “Your old friend’s not so fond of you anymore.”
Vikram sat unmoving, a crystal tumbler in hand. “He was never fond of the truth.”
Vyom turned, studying him. “You want me to dig deeper?”
“No,” Vikram replied. “Let him stew.”
Vyom’s gaze narrowed. “He’s family to her. That makes him a problem.”
Vikram finally looked up. “Everyone’s a problem.”
Vyom smirked. “That’s what makes you so good at fixing them.”
---
Vikram’s POV | After Prabhas’s Warning
The car cut through South Bombay like a scalpel in the dark. But Vikram wasn’t watching the road.
Rohan Bedi.
The name came back like ash on his tongue.
He remembered the man clearly—idealistic, sharp, and too reckless for his own safety. Rohan had found something horrifying. And instead of running to the media or the police, he’d come to Vikram.
Because he knew who truly held power in this city.
Vikram had moved quickly. Arranged a safe house. Pulled Rohan off the radar.
But he hadn’t moved fast enough.
The enemies Rohan had threatened were embedded like rot in the system. By the time Vikram tried to change the game, the game had eaten him whole.
And Prabhas? He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t waited.
He’d just looked at Vikram with disgust—like he didn’t deserve the truth. Like silence was guilt.
You never trusted me, Vikram thought coldly. And that’s what ended us. Not Rohan’s death. Your choice to believe in ghosts instead of me.
His fingers curled around the leather armrest.
Prabhas’s warning about Parineeti wasn’t about protection. It was possession masked as concern. He didn’t want his sister hurt—but more than that, he didn’t want her touched by the same darkness he’d imagined Vikram swam in.
You still don’t know me.
And now… Shaurya.
The puzzle pieces were falling into place, and none of them were to Vikram’s liking. He would not accuse yet—not without proof—but he had learned one lesson from this world:
The ones closest to you are the ones who can strike deepest.
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