Mihir's POV

The question landed softly.

Too softly.

"Do you... miss Naina?"

For a moment, I didn't move. Didn't breathe. Didn't even blink. Not because I was surprised, people always asked about the dead, but because Aayat wasn't people. She was sitting right there, watching me with those eyes that noticed things I didn't want noticed.

Naina.

Advit.

Dead.

That was the truth I lived with. The truth carved into reports, funerals without bodies, and silence that never quite went away.

I leaned back slowly, buying myself time. Years in politics had taught me that pauses spoke louder than words.

"Miss?" I repeated lightly, as if tasting the word. "That's a strange question."

Aayat's fingers twisted in the fabric of the blanket. She was nervous. I could tell.

"They're gone," I said finally, my voice calm, factual, deliberately unemotional. "You don't miss people who are gone. You grieve them. And then... you move on."

It wasn't a lie. It was just incomplete.

Because grief doesn't disappear. It settles. Becomes quieter. Heavier. More disciplined.

I glanced at the window, at the reflection of city lights in the glass. For a fleeting second, my mind betrayed me, not with Naina's face, but with another one.

The girl at the restaurant.

Aadhya Mittal.

The way she'd looked at me for half a second too long. The way something about her presence had felt... unsettling. Familiar in a way I couldn't explain. And then the chaos. The gunshot. Blood. Sirens.

I clenched my jaw.

I didn't know who Aadhya was. I still didn't. All I knew was that the incident had left a bad taste in my mouth, a sense that something didn't add up. But that was all. A coincidence. Nothing more.

I turned back to Aayat.

"I don't miss her ," I said evenly.

Aayat searched my face, clearly trying to read between the lines. I hated that she was good at that.

"And now?" she asked softly.

I met her gaze.

"Now," I said, without hesitation, "I'm here."

That was the only truth that mattered.

Her shoulders relaxed just a little, like she'd been holding her breath. She nodded, accepting my answer, even if she didn't fully understand it.

Good.

Because there were things she didn't need to understand. Things better left buried.

I reached out, brushing my thumb briefly against her knuckles, an unconscious gesture I didn't bother correcting.

"Don't carry ghosts that aren't yours," I said quietly, my usual smirk flickering back into place. "I have enough for both of us."

She smiled faintly, leaning back against the pillows.

And I stayed where I was.

Present.

Unaware that the girl at the restaurant, the one my instincts still hadn't let go of, wasn't just a coincidence.

Unaware that the past I thought was dead was much closer than I believed.

Unaware that silence, once broken, would change everything.

A shrill vibration cut through the quiet.

My phone.

I glanced at the screen instinctively, and my body reacted before my mind did.

Unknown Hospital Number.

My jaw tightened.

I didn't want Aayat to see that flicker of alertness, the shift in my posture that came with crisis-mode. She was already exhausted, already thinking too much. The last thing she needed was my world bleeding into hers.

I cleared my throat lightly and stood.

"Excuse me," I said casually, forcing a relaxed tone. "I need to take this."

Aayat looked up immediately. "Everything okay?"

I nodded without hesitation, offering her a half-smile I'd perfected over years. "Yes. Nothing for you to worry about. I'll be right back."

She studied me for a second, too perceptive for her own good, but then sighed and leaned back against the pillows. "Don't disappear."

"Never do," I replied lightly, already turning toward the door.

I stepped out into the corridor and answered the call the moment the door closed behind me.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Raghuvanshi," a woman's voice said professionally, "this is  St. Mary's Hospital calling regarding Ms. Aadhya Mittal."

My spine straightened.

"Yes," I said, lowering my voice instinctively. "Go on."

"I'm calling to inform you that her condition has stabilized. The bullet wound has responded well to treatment, and all scans are clear. If there are no complications overnight, she can be discharged today."

I closed my eyes briefly.

Alive.

Stable.

Discharged.

"Any neurological damage?" I asked immediately.

"No, sir. She was fortunate. The bullet missed all critical structures."

Fortunate.

That wasn't the word I would have used.

"I understand," I said calmly. "I'll arrange for security and transportation."

"Very well. Please complete the discharge formalities by evening."

The call ended.

I remained standing there for a moment longer than necessary, phone still pressed to my ear, the corridor unnervingly quiet.

Aadhya Mittal.

A woman I didn't know.

A woman who had unsettled me without reason.

A woman who had been shot and survived.

Again.

Something about it didn't sit right.

But I pushed the thought aside. This wasn't the time. Not now.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, adjusted my expression, and walked back into the room.

Aayat looked up the moment I entered.

"All good?" she asked.

I nodded, easy, controlled. "All good."

I crossed the room and handed her the cup of tea she'd abandoned earlier. "Finish this. You'll start scolding me again if you don't."

She smiled, taking it, unaware of the storm I'd just stepped out of.

And as I sat back down beside her, watching her sip carefully, I made a silent decision.

Whatever was happening outside this room, whoever Aadhya Mittal really was, it would stay outside.

Aayat had been through enough.

She didn't need more reasons to worry.

Not yet.

Aayat's breathing finally evened out.

I stood beside the bed for a long moment, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, the faint crease between her brows smoothing out as sleep claimed her. She looked smaller when she slept, less sharp, less guarded.

I adjusted the blanket around her shoulders carefully, like even the slightest disturbance might pull her back into the world she'd been fighting so hard to stay strong in.

"Enough thinking for today, witch," I murmured under my breath.

She didn't hear it, of course. She only shifted slightly, curling into the pillow, and something in my chest tightened in a way I didn't acknowledge.

The door opened softly.

Rhea stepped in, her expression gentle but alert, the kind of calm that came from years of being the person who held things together when everyone else fell apart.

"She's asleep?" she asked quietly.

I nodded. "Finally."

Rhea walked closer, checking Aayat instinctively, like it was second nature. "I'll stay with her," she said firmly. "You go. You look like you're carrying a storm."

I met her gaze. Rhea didn't ask unnecessary questions. She never had.

"Don't let her overthink," I said. "And if she wakes up—"

"I know," Rhea cut in softly. "Tea, distraction, sarcasm. I've got her."

I hesitated for half a second longer, then stepped back. "Call me if she so much as frowns."

Rhea smiled faintly. "Go, Mihir. Handle what you need to."

I gave Aayat one last look before turning away.

I didn't say goodbye.

I never did.

The hospital smelled the same everywhere, antiseptic, steel, silence layered over urgency.

Aadhya Mittal's room was at the far end of the corridor. Two guards stood outside. They straightened when they saw me.

"Sir."

I nodded once and walked in.

She was sitting up in bed.

Alive.

Pale, yes. A faint bandage visible beneath the hospital gown. But alive. Alert. Watching me like she had been waiting.

I closed the door behind me.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

"Why?" I asked finally, my voice low, controlled, sharp around the edges.

She didn't respond.

I stepped closer. "Why was Aayat followed? Why was there a weapon? Why did she almost get hurt because of you?"

Still nothing.

Not even a flicker.

I clenched my jaw. "You don't get to stay silent," I said flatly. "Not after what happened."

Her fingers tightened around the bedsheet. Just slightly.

Progress.

"Was it an accident?" I pressed. "Or was she the target?"

Silence.

I leaned forward, placing my hands on the metal rail at the foot of her bed. "You don't know who she is to me," I said quietly, dangerously calm. "But understand this—you put her in danger once. That will not happen again."

Her eyes finally lifted to mine.

There was fear there.

Not of me.

Of something else.

"Who sent you?" I asked. "Who are you protecting?"

Her lips parted, then closed again. She swallowed.

Nothing.

I straightened slowly, anger simmering beneath my skin. "Fine," I said. "You can stay silent. But don't mistake that for safety."

I turned toward the door, then paused.

"One more thing," I added without looking back. "You're being discharged today. Security will escort you. You will not leave my line of sight until I know the truth."

Still no answer.

But as I walked out, I felt it, that same unsettling sensation I'd felt the first time I saw her.

Like I was standing too close to something buried.

Something dangerous.

And for the first time, a thought crossed my mind that I dismissed immediately.

This wasn't random.

And whatever Aadhya Mittal was hiding...

It was going to collide with Aayat.

Soon.

The call came just as I was stepping out of the hospital.

I glanced at the screen.

Airport Security – International Terminal.

Something in my chest tightened.

"Yes?" I answered immediately.

"Mr. Raghuvanshi," the officer said, formal but urgent, "we recovered a small document pouch from the restricted transit area. It appears to belong to Mrs. Aayat Raghuvanshi. Her name is clearly mentioned."

I stopped walking.

"What kind of documents?" I asked, already knowing I wouldn't like the answer.

"Property papers, sir. Originals."

My grip on the phone tightened.

Originals.

Aayat never travelled with originals unless,

Unless she thought she was safe. Unless she trusted the system. Unless someone had made sure she would carry them.

"I'm on my way," I said curtly and disconnected.

This was no longer a coincidence.

The airport felt colder this time.

More sterile. More watchful.

The officer handed me a sealed folder. I opened it slowly, already familiar with the crisp weight of legal paper.

Land deeds. Ownership transfers. Legacy property documents.

Everything Aayat had once told me she kept locked away.

My jaw hardened.

"These were found where?" I asked.

"Near the restricted corridor behind the duty-free zone," the officer replied. "Same area that was sealed after the shooting incident."

Of course it was.

I closed the folder carefully. "I need access to that area again."

The officer hesitated. "Sir, it's restricted"

"I know exactly what it is," I cut in calmly. "And I also know that something there was missed."

He exchanged a glance with another officer. "We'll need authorization."

"You'll have it," I said, already dialing.

Zyran answered on the second ring.

"You felt it too, didn't you?" I asked without preamble.

There was a pause on the other end. "Yeah," Zyran said quietly. "That corridor? Cameras went dark for forty seconds. Not a glitch. A manual loop."

I exhaled slowly.

"Thought so."

"I ran a preliminary sweep," he continued. "Whatever happened there wasn't spontaneous. Someone planned it. And Mihir... if Aayat's papers were there, then she wasn't just collateral."

My blood ran cold.

"She was the point," I said flatly.

"Exactly."

I hung up and turned back to the officers. "Authorization will come through in five minutes. Until then, don't touch anything else from that area."

Five minutes later, red clearance lights blinked green.

The restricted corridor was quieter than I remembered. Too quiet. Like a place that had already given up its secrets, or thought it had.

I walked slowly, eyes scanning everything now with purpose.

That's when I saw it.

A thin tear in the lining behind an electrical panel. Too neat to be accidental.

I pulled it open.

Inside

a folded slip of paper. Handwritten.

Not Aayat's handwriting.

Numbers. Coordinates. A time stamp.

And one word, written darker than the rest.

"TRANSFER."

I stared at it for a long moment.

Someone had wanted Aayat's documents.

Someone had followed her.

Someone had been willing to fire a gun in a public airport to get close enough.

And suddenly, Aadhya Mittal's silence made a terrifying kind of sense.

This wasn't chaos.

This was a failed extraction.

I folded the paper carefully and slipped it into my pocket, my mind already racing ten steps ahead.

By the time I turned back toward the exit, one thing was clear:

Aayat wasn't just my wife.

She was a target.

And whoever had set this in motion had made one fatal miscalculation

They had underestimated how far I would go once she was involved.

This wasn't politics anymore.

This was personal.

The restricted corridor swallowed sound.

Even my footsteps felt intrusive, like I was trespassing into something that didn't want to be remembered.

I crouched near the electrical panel again, scanning the floor more carefully this time, slower, methodical. Years of habit kicked in. You don't look for what you expect. You look for what doesn't belong.

That's when I saw it.

A faint metallic glint, dulled by dust, tucked near the edge where the wall met the floor.

I stilled.

My fingers closed around it, and the second I lifted it, my breath hitched despite myself.

A bracelet.

Silver. Handcrafted. Old.

Too old to be here.

My thumb traced the familiar pattern without conscious thought, fine etching along the band, three tiny stones embedded on the inside. I knew the weight of it. Knew the way it sat in the palm.

My mother had commissioned it herself.

One design. Three identical pieces.

A gift she'd given her children years ago, back when life had still been simple enough to believe in permanence.

I swallowed.

This bracelet was supposed to be nowhere near an airport floor.

It wasn't something that could be mistaken for costume jewelry. It wasn't mass-produced. It wasn't replaceable. And it certainly wasn't something Aayat owned.

So what was it doing here?

I turned it over slowly. No new damage. No blood. No obvious signs of a struggle. Which meant it hadn't been ripped off in chaos.

It had been placed.

Deliberately.

My grip tightened.

Someone knew exactly what they were doing. They hadn't just followed Aayat. They hadn't just orchestrated an incident. They'd gone one step further, into my past, into things that weren't public, weren't political, weren't supposed to exist outside locked rooms and old memories.

This wasn't about property papers anymore.

This was about proximity.

About proving access.

I slipped the bracelet into my pocket, the metal warm now from my skin, and straightened slowly. My gaze swept the corridor again, sharper this time.

If this was meant to unsettle me, it had succeeded.

But it had also confirmed something far more dangerous.

Whoever was behind this wasn't improvising.

They were precise.

And they weren't just watching Aayat.

They were watching me.

I turned back toward the exit, jaw set, mind already reorganizing the board.

This had crossed a line.

And whoever had left that bracelet behind had just ensured one thing

I would find them.

Not because of politics.

Not because of power.

But because they had reached into something that was never meant to be used as leverage.

And that was a mistake no one ever got to make twice.

I took two more steps

And stopped.

Not because I saw something.

Because I heard something.

A sound too faint to belong in an empty corridor. Not machinery. Not ventilation. Something irregular. Hollow.

I turned my head slowly, pressing my palm flat against the wall.

There it was again.

A dull, uneven thud.

Breathing.

My spine stiffened.

This wall was too thick for sound to travel cleanly. Which meant whatever was on the other side was close. Very close.

I stepped back and looked at the wall properly this time. The paint tone was a fraction off. The corner seam didn't align with the blueprint I'd memorized earlier.

A cover-up.

I didn't hesitate.

"Break it," I ordered.

The staff froze. "Sir, this is a structural—"

"Now," I said, voice low, absolute. "And quietly."

No one argued after that.

Tools came. The first strike echoed sharply. Dust spilled. Another strike, then another. The hollow sound confirmed it.

This wasn't a wall.

It was a mask.

Chunks fell away, revealing metal beneath. Not infrastructure.

A door.

Small. Reinforced. Hidden with intent.

My pulse slowed. That was always a bad sign.

I stepped forward and grabbed the handle.

Locked.

"Cut it," I said.

Sparks flew. The lock gave way with a sharp crack. I pulled the door open

And the smell hit me first.

Blood. Rust. Sweat. Fear.

The space inside was barely bigger than a storage unit. Dim. No windows. No ventilation beyond a narrow slit near the ceiling.

And on the floor

A man.

Young. Early twenties, maybe. Barely conscious. Chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles, biting into skin already raw and torn. His shirt was soaked dark, blood dried and fresh layered together. The floor beneath him was slick.

His head lifted weakly when the light hit his face.

Eyes sunken. Lips cracked.

He tried to speak.

Nothing came out.

Then, barely louder than a breath

"W...water."

Something cold settled in my chest.

This wasn't an interrogation site.

This was a holding cell.

Hidden inside a civilian airport. Behind restricted clearance. In a place designed to erase sound.

I crouched immediately, shrugging off my jacket and pressing it against his side where the bleeding was worst.

"Water," I snapped over my shoulder. "Now. And medical. Quietly."

The staff scattered.

I looked back at the boy, no, not a boy. A man who had been reduced to one.

"Who did this to you?" I asked evenly.

His lashes fluttered. He swallowed painfully.

"They said..." His voice broke. He coughed, blood staining his lips. "They said I was... leverage."

Leverage.

The word landed like a bullet.

"Against who?" I asked.

His eyes shifted, not to me, but past me. To the open corridor. Fear surged through what little strength he had left.

"They'll come back," he whispered. "They always do."

My jaw tightened.

"They won't," I said calmly. "Not anymore."

I reached up and unlocked the chains myself, metal clanging softly as they fell away. He winced but didn't cry out. Too exhausted for that.

This had been hidden in plain sight.

Which meant whoever built this believed no one would ever look closely enough.

They were wrong.

As the medics rushed in, I stood and took one last look at the cramped, blood-soaked space.

A bracelet.

A hidden door.

A chained man.

This wasn't an operation.

It was containment.

And suddenly, everything shifted.

This wasn't about moving assets.

This was about keeping someone alive just long enough to matter.

I stepped back into the corridor, my expression unreadable, but my mind already ten moves ahead.

Whoever had done this hadn't just crossed a line.

They had built a prison where no prison should exist.

And now

They were going to learn what happens when you hide monsters behind walls and forget that someone like me knows how to listen.

The room felt too small all of a sudden.

His palms were still pressed together, resting on his knees, his whole body trembling, not from pain alone, but from desperation so raw it scraped at something deep in my chest.

"Please," he whispered again. "Save her."

I inhaled slowly, forcing steadiness into my voice. "Who is her?"

He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut, tears spilling freely now. "I can't say. Please... just save her."

I crouched in front of him, lowering myself to his level. "Then tell me this," I said carefully. "Who are you?"

Silence.

Not defiance. Not resistance.

Confusion.

He lifted his head and looked at me properly for the first time—as if seeing me, not just the uniform, not just authority.

"...Who are you?" he asked hoarsely.

The question caught me off guard.

I straightened slightly. "That's not important right now."

"It is," he insisted weakly. "Please."

I held his gaze for a long moment, then answered plainly, without titles, without shields.

"I'm Mihir Raghuvanshi."

The effect was instant.

His eyes widened, not in fear.

In recognition.

In disbelief.

And then

He laughed.

A broken, choked sound that turned into sobbing halfway through. Tears poured down his face as if some impossible weight had finally been lifted.

Before anyone could stop him, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around me.

The medics froze.

So did the staff.

I didn't move.

He clutched my jacket like it was the only solid thing left in his world.

"I knew it," he cried, voice shaking, almost hysterical with relief. "I knew you were real. I knew you'd come."

I placed a steady hand on his back, feeling the sharp angles of bone beneath torn fabric.

"I know you will save her," he said over and over, breath hitching. "I know you will. You won't let them kill her. You won't."

His faith was absolute.

Terrifyingly so.

I pulled him back just enough to look at him. "Why?" I asked quietly. "Why are you so sure?"

He wiped his face with the back of his hand, still smiling through tears like a man who'd just won a war he hadn't dared to hope for.

"Because," he said simply, "they warned us about you."

My blood went cold.

"Who did?" I asked.

He shook his head again, the smile fading into something cautious, fearful. "I can't say. Not yet."

Not yet.

But the way he said it told me everything I needed to know.

My name wasn't just known.

It was feared.

I helped the medics lift him back onto the stretcher.

As they wheeled him out, he reached for me one last time.

"Please," he said softly now, calmer, steadier. "Find her."

I nodded once. "I will."

And I meant it.

Because whoever had built a hidden cell, chained a man inside it, and used a woman's life to control him

Had just handed me a reason I didn't need.

And for the first time since this began, I understood something with chilling clarity:

This wasn't about power.

It was about belief.

And that man believed in me like I was his last chance at mercy.

I watched the stretcher disappear down the corridor, my jaw set, my mind already assembling pieces.

Whoever was behind this had made a dangerous assumption

That fear would keep everyone silent.

They forgot one thing.

Hope is louder than walls.

I stormed into the room, anger still hot in my veins.

"You," I said, pointing at her without preamble. "Why is there a man chained behind the walls of this airport? Why is he hidden like cargo?"

Aadhya looked up sharply, pain flashing across her face before fury replaced it.

"What rubbish are you talking about?" she snapped. "Have you lost your mind?"

I stepped closer. "Don't you dare pretend. That man is there because of you."

She pushed herself upright, wincing, a sharp ahh escaping her as the movement pulled at her wound. Still, she didn't back down.

"Just shut up," she shot back. "You only know how to hurt people. Accuse them. Break them."

Her voice trembled, but it didn't break.

"The hell, Raghuvanshi?" she demanded. "Tell me...tell me whom I've kept. Whom?"

"The chained man," I said coldly. "The one who fought for his life in a concrete box. A man who hasn't even seen the world properly."

For a second, her anger faltered.

Then she laughed, short, bitter, disbelieving.

"You're insane," she said. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

I stared at her, searching for cracks.

I found pain.

Real pain.

Her hand clenched around the bedsheet, knuckles white. Her breathing was uneven, shallow, like she was holding herself together through sheer will.

"I didn't do this," she said quietly now. "I swear to you, I didn't."

I scoffed. "Then why does everything lead back to you?"

She tried to stand, failed, and let out another involuntary ahh, frustration and agony colliding. She turned her face away, blinking hard.

"Get out," she said. "If all you came to do was blame me, get out."

For a heartbeat, I almost did.

Then she turned back.

And our eyes met.

The same unsettling familiarity slammed into me again, harder this time. Like looking into a mirror I didn't remember owning.

Her voice softened, stripped of anger.

"What man?" she asked slowly. "Who is he? And how does he look?"

I frowned.

"If you think I'm lying" I began.

"I don't," she cut in quickly. "If there is someone... I need to know."

She swallowed, eyes fixed on mine.

"Do you have any pictures of him?" she asked. "Anything?"

The question landed differently than her denial.

It wasn't defensive.

It was searching.

I hesitated for the first time since I'd walked in.

"No," I said finally. "He was barely conscious. No ID. No records."

Her shoulders sagged slightly.

"Then describe him," she urged. "Please."

I studied her face one more time.

This wasn't an enemy.

This was someone terrified of missing a truth.

"Early twenties," I said slowly. "Thin. Injured. Dark hair. Eyes that looked like they'd given up and kept going anyway."

Her breath hitched.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes glistening.

"That's not possible," she whispered.

"What?" I asked sharply.

She shook her head, more to herself than to me.

"No... if it's him... he shouldn't be there."

I took a step closer. "You know him."

She didn't answer.

But the way she looked at me then, like she was standing on the edge of a memory she'd been running from, told me everything.

Whatever this was...

It had just stopped being about blame.

And started being about truth.

She looked at me like she was drowning.

Not dramatic. Not loud.

Just desperate.

"Please," Aadhya said, her voice breaking for the first time. "Please... for once, take me where he is."

I didn't answer immediately.

I watched her, really watched her now. The way her fingers trembled as they gripped the edge of the bed. The way her breath kept hitching like she was afraid if she stopped, something inside her would collapse.

"You're not cleared to leave," I said carefully. "And you're injured."

"I don't care," she said, shaking her head. "I'll walk. I'll crawl if I have to."

That stopped me.

People don't say that unless the truth is already tearing them apart.

"Why?" I asked quietly. "Why do you need to see him?"

Her eyes filled, tears spilling unchecked now.

"Because if it's who I think it is..." she whispered, "...then I left him."

The words barely made it out.

"I didn't know," she rushed on, panic flooding her voice. "I swear I didn't know. They told me he was safe. They said he was being 'protected.' I believed them."

I took a slow step toward her.

"They lied," I said flatly.

She nodded, choking on a sob. "I have to see him. Please note, just once, don't look at me like I'm your enemy."

That did it.

I exhaled slowly, long and controlled.

"All right," I said.

Her head snapped up. "You will?"

"I'll take you," I repeated, already reaching for the call button. "But listen to me very carefully."

I leaned closer, my voice low, firm.

"You will not speak unless I tell you to. You will not react, no matter what you see. And if at any point I say we leave, you leave. Understood?"

She nodded frantically. "Yes. Anything."

I turned to the door and gestured to the guards.

"Wheelchair," I ordered. "No sirens. No questions."

As they moved, I glanced back at her.

"This doesn't make you guilty," I said quietly. "But it will decide what happens next."

She swallowed, eyes never leaving mine.

"I just need to know he's alive," she whispered.

I didn't answer.

Because I already knew

Whatever waited behind that hidden door was about to change both our lives.

And once you see the truth with your own eyes, there's no pretending you didn't.

The corridor felt narrower this time.

He was sitting where I'd left him, chains loose now, medics hovering just out of frame, but his body still bore the truth no report ever could. Bruises layered over old ones. Dried blood at the corner of his mouth. Eyes too sharp for someone who'd been kept in the dark this long.

Aadhya's wheelchair rolled in slowly.

The moment his gaze landed on her, everything in him changed.

His breath caught.

"You're here," he whispered first, like he didn't trust his own voice. Then louder, urgent, almost frantic, "You're here, finally. I knew it. I knew you'd be safe."

He strained forward despite the chains, eyes scanning her face, her arms, her legs.

"But" panic flickered, raw and immediate, "why are you in a wheelchair? Why, what did they do to you, di"

"Stop."

The word tore out of me before I could soften it.

Di.

The world didn't stop spinning, but something inside me did.

I looked at him. Really looked at him now. The familiarity I'd brushed aside earlier snapped into place with brutal clarity. The bone structure. The eyes. The way he held onto hope like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Slowly, devastatingly, understanding settled.

Aadhya didn't speak. She couldn't.

Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, her lips parted in a silent breath that never quite turned into sound. Tears streamed down her face, unchecked, unstoppable.

"Advit," she whispered finally.

He smiled.

God, he smiled.

A real one. Bright. Relieved. Like a man who had already won just by seeing her alive.

"They didn't break you," he said hoarsely. "I knew they wouldn't. I told myself, every day, I told myself you'd be okay."

I felt something fracture in my chest.

He turned to me then, eyes shining with gratitude so fierce it hurt to meet.

"Thank you," he said, voice trembling. "I knew you would save her. I knew it."

I didn't correct him.

I couldn't.

Because in that moment, with the truth standing between us in chains and blood and tears, I realized something far worse than any conspiracy.

The dead don't come back to life.

But the living can be erased so completely that the world believes they never existed.

And someone had tried to do exactly that.

To him.

To her.

To everything I thought I knew.

I stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, steady, grounding.

"You're safe now," I said quietly. "Both of you."

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut as if that was all he needed to hear to finally let go.

Behind me, Aadhya broke down completely, silent sobs wracking her frame, years of fear and guilt and survival collapsing at once.

And I stood there, between them, the weight of it settling deep in my bones.

This wasn't just about Aayat anymore.

This wasn't even about power.

This was about a family that had been torn apart and buried alive.

And whoever had done this

Whoever had decided that one sister would disappear and one brother would rot behind a wall

Had just declared war.

And I never lose wars.

Aadhya's voice trembled, fragile but demanding answers.

"Advit... how did you end up here?"

Advit swallowed hard, glancing at the chains, at the blood-stained floor, at the corners of the room. His hands shook as he rubbed them together.

"They... they didn't want me alive," he said finally, voice low, bitter. "I... I don't even know why. I just... I"

His words faltered.

Before he could continue, the metallic scrape of shoes against the floor made us all turn. A man in a formal airport uniform, clipboard in hand, stepped in. His eyes widened, jaw slackening, as they landed on Aadhya.

"Miss... Naina?" he stammered. His voice betrayed disbelief. "You... you're here? Injured... how... what happened?"

My hand twitched. The calm I usually wore as a shield threatened to crack. This man had just called Aadhya by a name only i should have known.

Aadhya's hands tightened on the wheelchair armrests. Her eyes darted between me and the man, fear mingling with confusion.

"I... I don't know what you mean," she whispered, a faint tremor in her voice.

The officer stepped closer, pointing vaguely at her. "Miss... Naina... we"

I stepped forward, my eyes narrowing, sharp and dangerous. "Step back," I said, voice low but deadly, a storm barely contained. "She's not who you think she is. And you, sir, have no business here right now."

The man froze, swallowing nervously. My presence, my authority, the way I moved like I controlled the air in the room, forced him into silence.

Advit's gaze, however, stayed locked on Aadhya. Relief, confusion, and something else, recognition, faint but undeniable, flashed across his face.

"She's... she's not hurt, not broken," he murmured. "Thank God... finally..."

Aadhya's lips quivered as she struggled for words, the truth clawing to the surface.

My mind raced. This wasn't just about the chains, the hospital, or the airport papers anymore. Someone knew. Someone connected the dots. And if they thought Aadhya was Naina, the stakes had just escalated dramatically.

I tightened my jaw. One thing was clear: nothing about this moment was random. And now, we were all tangled in something far bigger than any of us had realized.

I stood there, silently observing them, the relief on Advit's face, the fragile strength in Aadhya's eyes, and for a fleeting second, my chest tightened. I missed my siblings. The emptiness of their absence, the weight of the past, pressed down like a physical force.

A single drop slipped unbidden from my eye. I didn't bother hiding it. Not here. Not now.

I cleared my throat, turning sharply toward my secretary who had been waiting quietly near the doorway.

"Find me every record available on the Mittal siblings," I said, my voice steady but carrying an urgency I didn't bother masking.

The secretary nodded and disappeared into the office, fingers already flying over the keyboard.

Moments later, he returned, holding a tablet. "Sir... we don't have much on them. Only one name appears consistently in our records, Trakshay Mittal. CEO of Mittal Textiles."

I narrowed my eyes, calculating. That made sense. Someone with enough influence, enough connections... but why had this name surfaced now?

"Schedule a meeting with him. Fifteen minutes. I want him here. I need answers about Aadhya and Advit," I instructed, my mind racing.

The secretary hesitated slightly. "Sir... just to clarify... is this about the officer calling her 'Naina'? Or

I cut him off with a glance sharp enough to silence further questions. "Exactly. That officer shouldn't even know her, and Advit... my brother... having the same name doesn't sit well. I need clarity, and I need it fast."

As he hurried off to make the arrangements, I returned my gaze to Advit and Aadhya. Both were shadows of their former selves, yet alive. And now, tangled in a web that had only just begun to reveal itself.

Whatever the truth was, I intended to find it.

_____

Trakshay reached into his briefcase and pulled out a slim, black folder. He held it out to me with a solemn expression.

I took the file from Trakshay's hands, my fingers tight around the leather cover. The moment I opened it, the world shifted.

Pictures.

Photos of me. Naina. Advit. my mother. My heart skipped. My chest tightened. Every memory, every laugh, every moment I thought I had buried, they were here, frozen in ink and paper.

Aadhya. Naina. Advit. My brother. But why... Mittal? Why Aadhya? Why was Advit there, chained, in that horrific place?

And Trakshay... who was he really? Every TV report, every news clip, every piece of chaos, it all suddenly felt like a web, and I was only now starting to see the threads.

I flipped carefully through the pages, notes scribbled in meticulous handwriting, documents, timelines. And then, tucked between photographs and letters, I found a folded sheet of paper. I unfolded it slowly.

Mihir bhai,

I know when you'll read this maybe you've already met me.

I know you have so many questions but I'll answer them once we meet again.

Yes, don't come to meet us, you won't find us.

Now...

The ink ran off abruptly; the last line was cut.

I leaned back in my chair, gripping the folder so tightly my knuckles whitened. The answers were here... partially. But the questions, they were multiplying.

Who had sent this? Where were they now? And why did everything in my life feel like it had been a lie carefully orchestrated to keep me from the truth?

My mind raced. One thing was clear: this wasn't just about saving Aadhya or Advit. This was about uncovering a past someone had buried, about facing truths I hadn't even known I was missing.

And I was going to find them.

I looked up from the file, my eyes locking with Trakshay's. My voice came out hoarse, barely controlled.

"Then... why... why do Naina and Advit have the surname Mittal? Why... why aren't they Raghuvanshi?"

Trakshay's hands trembled slightly as he folded them together. His voice was heavy, burdened with years of unspoken guilt.

"Beta... you know your father was... abusive," he began, each word measured, painful. "Towards your mother... it was unbearable. She... she handed the children to me... for their safety. But..." His voice cracked. "...I couldn't save them. I couldn't..."

A tear slipped from his eye, tracing a slow line down his cheek.

"For the world... they were dead. But no... they weren't. Not truly."

My chest tightened. The room felt smaller, the air heavier. My mind raced, struggling to absorb what he was saying.

"Then... they're alive?" I whispered, almost afraid to believe it.

Trakshay nodded slowly, his eyes glistening. "Aadhya Mittal... and Advit Mittal... they're here. They survived, Mihir. They've been hidden, protected... even if imperfectly. I know this is a storm of emotions for you, beta. But... don't lose hope. I'll help you. I swear, I'll help you bring them back."

I felt the weight of everything crash down on me—years of loss, confusion, rage, guilt. And yet, beneath it all, a spark of hope ignited. They were alive. My brother. My sister. My past... and maybe, my future.

I clenched my fists, gripping the edges of the file so hard my nails dug into the leather.

"I... I will find them," I said quietly, but with a force that made the room tremble. "No one will keep them from me. No one."

Trakshay nodded, a mixture of relief and sorrow on his face. "Then we begin, beta. Together."

And for the first time in years, a strange calm settled over me. There was a path forward, and I was ready to walk it.

I forced myself to breathe, each inhale sharp, each exhale a promise I wouldn't break. I couldn't afford despair. Not now.

I scanned the hospital for any clue, a nurse, a security guard, a camera feed. Nothing. Empty corridors mocked me. My mind spun back to the file Trakshay had handed me, the pictures of Aadhya no no Naina, Advit, mumma, the letter cut off mid-sentence. Whoever orchestrated this wanted confusion, wanted me blind, wanted me desperate.

I pulled out my phone, dialing Zyran as I moved through the parking lot.

"Zyran, listen carefully," I said, voice low but urgent. "Aadhya and Advit, they're not here. They've vanished again. And there's more. Fuck... where they've gone?

Zyran's voice was tense, but steady. "I'll get on it. But Mihir... you sure you're ready for what you'll find? This isn't just a disappearance. Someone's playing a deeper game."

I tightened my grip on the phone. "I don't care. They're mine. And I don't lose what's mine."

I paused, looking at the city skyline in the distance, neon lights reflecting in my eyes. Then a thought struck me, the bracelet. The one I had found in the restricted area, the one my mother had gifted me, Naina, and Advit. It wasn't just a token. Someone had left it there deliberately. A breadcrumb. A signal.

I knew where it led, somewhere only they could be, somewhere dangerous.

I called my secretary. "Trace every transaction, every location connected to Mittal Industries in the last month. Especially Trakshay Mittal. I need everything now. And pull any private security logs."

Minutes later, Zyran's voice cut through my thoughts again. "Mihir... you need to see this. There's footage of someone leaving the hospital just after you left. Same person who retrieved the bracelet from the restricted area. But here's the twist..."

I froze. "What twist?"

"The officer helped them to sneak out"

My heart thundered. A shiver ran down my spine. Someone had been orchestrating this from the shadows. Someone who knew my family, my mother, and me.

I didn't know who I would face, but I knew one thing: whoever thought they could manipulate me with my family... had just lit the fuse.

The phone buzzed sharply in my pocket. I glanced at the screen.

My witch🧚‍♀️

Aayat's voice cut through the phone. "Mihir... where are you?"

"Just coming," I said, keeping my tone steady. "Fifteen minutes."

I walked past the corridor beside their room. Something there made me freeze, a flicker, a shadow, but I swallowed the instinct and moved on.

By the time I reached her, Aayat was waiting, her eyes sharp and questioning.

"Where were you?" she asked.

I didn't answer. Not yet.

Because behind that corridor, something was waiting. And it wasn't ready for me to notice.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

AND YES TELL ME HOW WAS THE CHAPTER??????

To be continued

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