Burari Case Diary Notes Novels & Stories

He looked at me, and he was boring holes in me. I couldn’t move and stand there like someone has pressed a pause button. But Damien move forward and bent to pick up the Diary in his hand. I didn’t know if he was aware of this diary or not. He opened the first page and his eyes get wide in recognition. It won’t need any rocket science to know whose diary it is as a big picture was attached on its first page. He close his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself, but I know I was doomed today.

It was very difficult to find the documents of the owner of this diary. The Blue Sea pack had many warriors, he was a warrior many years ago, so finding his information was also extremely difficult. Everyone And I were waiting for the results but obviously it wasn't easy for the person in charge. I waited until I was tired. Meanwhile, I couldn't help thinking whether to cut him or not. My subordinates did this very quickly, but it took him a long time to find some information about the owner of the diary. “I will immediately call a handwriting examiner, while we will match any remaining information with the information in this diary.” The curator said, I noticed he was sweating. Maybe he was

The second erased the record. Innara's file was already unusual- partial, fragmented, flagged. That made it easier. Within minutes, there was no patient named Innara in Room 412. No baby girl was born that morning. No digital trail that led anywhere meaningful. Dr. Nitya exhaled slowly. Then she moved again.

With a shaky breath, I put them back in the box and looked at the diary. “Just do it, Nina. You need to know the truth.” I finally picked up the diary and undid the slim rope keeping the thick leather diary close. ____ A. Gupta

I stood and hung it over the wall behind me, visible to office visitors. The first founder of Eboncorp Pharmaceuticals. His memory would live here again. I went to the box and looked through his old ledgers and documents—pages of figures and notes in his neat handwriting. I was most interested in the worn leather-bound diary at the bottom. Lifting it released a photo between the pages.

_Leah's POV_ I held my breath as I carefully wedged the diary behind the bathroom cabinet. My hands were shaking, but I forced myself to stay calm, to think clearly. Tariq couldn’t know I had discovered his secrets, not yet. I took one last look at the worn leather cover. The strange symbol on it seemed to mock me with its dark promises before I shoved it deeper into the hidden crevice. When I was satisfied that it was well-hidden, I straightened up and took a deep and steadying breath.

I set the box on the counter and opened it. Inside it were few papers, a folded document, a customized pen, and a book — small, dark spine, much more like a diary… sitting at the bottom with its pages slightly fanned from use. I lifted it out. And saw something fall out. A fold of paper, tucked into the spine so carefully it. I looked at it on the counter. Her handwriting on the fold. Just two words. No name, no address. Nothing to give it out. “In case.” I put it down. But something in me kept my body pulled at it. I looked at the diary and picked it up once more. And this time, I flipped it opened.

The second I saw the name on the tab, I stopped breathing. ​Isabella Moretti. My fingers tightened slightly around the folder. I already knew the name, but seeing it in Dante’s neat handwriting made it feel real. It felt heavy. Important. I opened it slowly, and my heart started thumping against my ribs. The folder was thick—too thick to be just a few memories. It was full of surveillance notes, old photos, letters, and records. I flipped through the pages, feeling like I was stepping into a room I wasn't supposed to enter.

No official stamp, no foundation logo, and personal notes, of course. Men like him always keep their own record of the damage. I reach for the top notebook first. He puts one hand over it. “Read carefully,” he says. “You may not like what memory looks like when someone writes it down without kindness.” Aurora steps in before I can. “Move your hand.” He does. Good. I open the first notebook. The first page is enough to make my skin crawl. Subject B – intake retention notes. Not Nadia, not a child, Subject B. I keep reading anyway.

I moved toward the nearest compartment. The panel opened immediately when I touched it. Inside rested a stack of thin folders. Real paper. Not digital storage. Paper. The sight felt strangely shocking. Everything inside Sublevel Zero revolved around technology. This did not. I removed the first folder carefully. The cover contained no name. Only a designation. SUBJECT 04. My pulse quickened. I opened it. Most pages had deteriorated. Others were partially erased. Yet enough remained to read. Psychological evaluations. Behavioral observations.