Masukš©· š The roar of the stadium had slowly faded.Inside the playersā tunnel, bright white lights reflected against the polished concrete floor while the echoes of celebration continued somewhere far behind. Cameras flashed near the exit where reporters were waiting, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who had turned the match around in the final minutes.Omkaar Mishra walked through the corridor with calm, steady steps. Sweat still clung to his forehead, his jersey slightly damp from the intensity of the match. Teammates passed him, clapping his shoulder, congratulating him loudly.āBrilliant finish!āāYou saved the game!āāYouāre the hero today!āOmkaar smiled politely at each of them, nodding in acknowledgment. But the celebration around him felt distant somehow, as if the noise belonged to another world.He stepped into the locker room.The space was alive with energy. Players laughed, some replaying the winning moment on their phones, others spraying water bottles in excitement.
š©· š Morning sunlight spread softly across Rajvansh Mansion, warming the tall glass windows and polished marble floors. The grand hall looked alive again ā fresh flowers in crystal vases, silk curtains drawn halfway to let the breeze pass, and faint temple chants echoing from the prayer room. It had been one week since the incident, and peace had slowly returned to the house. The tension that once lingered in corners had faded into something gentler.Aradhyaās leg had grown better. She still walked with care, her steps measured and slow, but there was more strength in her balance now. The brace remained, yet she no longer leaned heavily on the railing. That morning she was helping her mother-in-law prepare for a small puja. Silver plates were arranged neatly. Incense sticks were placed beside oil lamps. Marigold petals were spread in circular patterns on the floor.Across the hall, Abhishek and riya were sitting on the large cream sofa, completely absorbed in a football match playin
š©· š The dining hall lights hummed faintly above them.Avyaan had not left.He stood near the long marble table, eyes fixed ahead ā not unfocused, but replaying something only he could see.Mansiās quiet sobs filled the space, yet he did not react to the sound.Instead, his voice came low.Controlled.āI wasnāt here.āThe words were simple.But they changed the atmosphere instantly.Mansi looked up through blurred vision.āI wasnāt here with her,ā he repeated, slower this time. āWhen she slipped.āHis gaze lifted and settled on her face.āAnd that,ā he said quietly, āis what you donāt understand.āHe took a step forward.Not aggressively.Deliberately.āShe must have tried to scream,ā he continued. āBut she doesnāt like showing weakness. So maybe she didnāt.āThe image replayed again ā Aradhya on the floor, fingers gripping the railing, jaw tight, trying to stand before anyone could see her vulnerable.āShe must have felt the pain first in her right leg,ā he added. āThe same leg tha
š©· š The dining hall lights were brighter than usual. Or maybe it only felt that way because tension sharpened everything.The long marble table reflected the chandelier above, casting fractured light across the polished floor. Every chair was aligned perfectly. Every surface spotless. Yet the air was thick ā heavy with something unspoken.Twenty-two maids stood in a straight line near the far wall.Uniforms crisp. Heads lowered. Hands clasped in front of them.But discipline could not hide fear.Whispers had started the moment word spread that he had called them all.āHe never comes down for staff mattersā¦āāDid someone steal something?āāWhy does he look like that today?āThe doors opened.Silence fell instantly.Avyaan entered without hurry.No raised voice. No dramatic movement.Just presence.He walked forward with measured steps, his expression blank, eyes steady. The calmness was more unsettling than rage. Anger could be predicted. Controlled silence could not.He stopped at
š©· š The terrace was quieter than the room below. The night air moved slow, carrying the distant noise of traffic and the faint echo of a city that never truly slept. Avyaan stood near the edge, one hand resting on the cold railing, the phone pressed to his ear. His expression had changed. The softness from downstairs was gone. What remained was stillness. Controlled. Calculated.On the other end of the line was MADWOLF ā Hardhik Yaduvanshi.āSpeak,ā Avyaan said calmly.āThereās movement in the USA branch,ā Hardhik replied, voice low and sharp. āSomeoneās sniffing around the East Coast deal. Not random. Not small-time. Heās asking the right questions.āAvyaan didnāt respond immediately. Silence was his habit. Let the other man fill it.āTwo of our intermediaries were approached,ā Hardhik continued. āClean approach. No threats. Just confidence. He says the deal doesnāt belong to Veyrix anymore.āA faint smirk touched Avyaanās lips. āBold.āāReckless,ā Hardhik corrected. āOr backed.ā
š©· š The cricket match was going on.The bedroom was softly lit by the glow of the television, the curtains half-drawn as late evening light blended with the artificial brightness from the screen. The faint hum of the air conditioner mixed with the distant echo of stadium cheers coming from the speakers. The large bed was slightly unmade from where she had been resting, pillows adjusted behind her back for support. A glass of water sat untouched on the bedside table. The soup bowl placed earlier rested on a tray nearby, now empty.Aradhya was sitting upright against the cushions.Her eyes were completely fixed on the screen.The flashing scoreboard reflected in her pupils. The rapid movement of players, the swing of the bat, the crowd rising in waves ā everything was mirrored on her face.A small smile appeared when a shot found the gap.Her brows pulled together when the ball lifted into the air.Her shoulders dropped when a wicket seemed close.She was fully encouraged by the matc







