The monsoon swept into Mumbai like a whispered promise of chaos. Rain drummed against windows, slicked over streets, and made everything—truths, lies, and loyalties—blur just enough to be dangerous.
Inside the towering expanse of Singhania Tower, Vikram stood like stone against the glass wall of his penthouse office, watching the city drown under neon and thunder.
Behind him, Vyom entered silently.
“The man from Rotterdam is here,” he said.
Vikram didn’t turn. “Make him wait.”
Vyom nodded once and left. He knew better than to interrupt Vikram when his silence thickened like this—calm on the surface, violent underneath.
---
10th Floor Conference Room – 30 Minutes Later
The man from Rotterdam smelled of cigar smoke and old bloodlines. He smiled too easily for someone in the business of black markets and shadow deals.
“We’re both men of influence, Mr. Singhania,” he said in accented English. “We can benefit each other.”
Vikram sat back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. Vyom stood at his right, unreadable.
“I’m not in the business of charity,” Vikram replied coldly.
“This isn’t charity. It’s expansion.”
Vikram leaned forward slightly. “Your last shipment carried more than what you claimed. You used my route. My clearance. Without permission.”
A beat of silence.
“I apologize,” the man offered, too easily.
“You misunderstand,” Vikram said, eyes sharp. “This isn’t about an apology. This is about consequence.”
Vyom placed a file on the table. Photos. Manifests. Routes. Enough evidence to start a war or bury one.
Vikram rose. “You’ll fix it. Quietly. Or I’ll dismantle your family one offshore account at a time.”
The man’s smile faltered.
And just like that, the meeting was over.
---
Singhania Estate – Family Dinner
The dining hall buzzed with chatter. Laughter. Questions laced with expectation.
“Thirty-one and still not married?” an aunt asked, voice soaked in sarcasm.
“There was a time we had to reject ten proposals a week,” another added.
Vikram sat at the head, impassive, sipping wine.
Meera Singhania offered him a polite but urging look. “Beta, they’re just concerned.”
“I’m not,” Vikram said, tone cutting.
Aaryan smirked from the side. “He’s married to work. And war.”
Aunt #3 tsked. “A man needs a home, not just an empire.”
Vikram stood slowly, setting down his glass. “I build empires so no one can touch what I call home.”
And with that, he left.
---
Marine Drive | Gupta Residence
Justice Leela sat on the veranda, her grey-streaked hair pulled into a loose bun, a book resting on her lap untouched. Rain pattered against the roof, and somewhere inside, the clock ticked louder than usual.
Arun Gupta joined her with two cups of chai, handing her one wordlessly.
“She’s been quieter lately,” he said, settling beside her.
“She’s thinking,” Leela replied.
“She always thinks. This time it’s different.”
Leela closed the book. “It’s the case... and him.”
Arun didn’t need to ask who.
“I don’t like that man near our daughter,” he muttered.
“She’s not a child, Arun. And we raised her to be fearless.”
“She can be fearless without dancing near fire.”
Leela sipped her tea. “Sometimes the fire teaches more than comfort ever could.”
Arun exhaled heavily. “I just don’t want her to get hurt.”
Leela looked at him, her gaze calm but firm. “She’s going to change things, Arun. Whether we like the path or not.”
---
Parineeti’s Law Chambers – Late Evening
Rishi Mehta, 24, energetic and disarmingly charming, bounced into the room with two coffees.
“Guess who nailed the customs paperwork investigation?” he asked.
Parineeti looked up from her files. “Tell me it’s not another dead end.”
“Nope. Full chain of transactions. Offshore accounts. Classic money laundering pattern.”
She took the file. “Good work.”
He hesitated, watching her.
“What?” she asked without looking up.
“You’ve been... different lately.”
She paused, then glanced at him. “Meaning?”
“Just—less ‘all law, no nonsense’ and more ‘somewhere else entirely.’”
Parineeti raised an eyebrow. “You’re reading too much into things, Mehta.”
He grinned. “I do that. Especially when I admire someone.”
She didn’t react, which somehow flustered him more.
“Anyway,” he added quickly, “I’ll go prep the court bundle.”
She watched him leave with a small, unreadable smile.
---
Airport – 3:47 AM
The terminal pulsed with fatigue and fluorescent light.
From the international arrivals gate, a lone figure emerged—hood pulled low, duffel bag slung over one shoulder.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t make a call. Didn’t wait for a cab.
He walked to the edge of the terminal where a black car awaited him. The driver nodded once and opened the door.
The figure slid in, disappearing into the rain-slicked city as quietly as he had arrived.
Unseen. Unmentioned.
But not unnoticed.
---
Colaba Docks – 2 AM
Thunder grumbled above as Vikram and Vyom surveyed a crate, half-hidden under a rusted tarp.
“This is what they tried to smuggle?” Vyom asked.
Vikram cracked it open. Inside, rows of vials, numbered in code.
Untraceable.
“What is it?”
“Not our concern anymore,” Vikram said coldly. “Torch it. And find who gave them clearance to dock here.”
Vyom nodded and took out his phone.
As flames lit the dock shadows behind them, Vyom asked, “Still thinking about Shaurya?”
Vikram didn’t answer. Just stared into the fire.
And then, finally, a whisper:
“He’s making moves behind my back. I taught him better.”
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