Aayat's POV

"Where were you", I asked.

"Work," Mihir said.

Just one word.

Flat. Distant. Final.

Something inside me snapped.

I stared at him, really stared, at the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was locked too tight, the way his eyes refused to meet mine.

And suddenly, everything aligned with terrifying clarity.

My voice came out quiet. Too quiet.

"Naina is alive, right?"

He froze.

Not metaphorically.

Physically.

Like I'd said something impossible. Like the air itself had turned to stone around him.

"What?" he said.

It wasn't denial.

It was shock.

The kind you don't fake.

My chest tightened painfully. "Don't," I whispered. "Don't pretend you didn't hear me."

He took a step closer. "Aayat, what are you saying?"

I laughed softly, brokenly. "You're really going to make me say it again?"

I swallowed, my throat burning.

"I got a call from the hospital," I said.

His eyes sharpened instantly.

"They thought I was you," I continued. "I didn't understand at first. I thought it was just another clerical mistake. They kept apologizing. Kept saying the names like they were interchangeable."

My fingers curled into the bedsheet.

"They said Aayat... and Aadhya Mittal."

His breath stuttered.

I saw it.

The exact moment he knew.

"I was confused," I went on, my voice shaking now. "I didn't even know who she was. I thought maybe it was the woman from the airport. The one who was shot. I told myself it had nothing to do with us."

"But then," I whispered, "they mentioned the blood reports."

Mihir didn't move.

Didn't blink.

"They said when you donated blood," I said, each word slicing through me, "it wasn't just for me."

My heart felt like it was being crushed slowly, deliberately.

"It matched hers too."

Silence.

Dead. Heavy. Suffocating.

"And you know what the report said, Mihir?" I asked, my voice breaking completely now.

"It said first-degree relation."

I looked straight at him.

"Sister."

His face drained of color.

I shook my head, tears spilling freely now. "That's when I knew. Not suspected. Knew."

I laughed again, hysterical this time. "Hospitals don't get that wrong. Blood doesn't lie."

I lifted my trembling hand and pressed it to my chest, like it might stop the pain from tearing me apart.

"Mihir," I said softly, devastated, "you lied to me."

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

For the first time since I'd known him, he had no defense.

"No," I continued, my voice rising despite my weakness. "Don't explain yet. Don't justify. Just listen."

I took a shaky breath.

"You looked me in the eyes and told me Naina and Advit were dead. You let me grieve people who were breathing somewhere in this world."

My shoulders shook.

"You let me believe the woman I saw at the airport was a stranger... when she was your sister."

I wiped my tears angrily. "Was it because I'm your contract wife?" I demanded.

"Because this is temporary, right? Because I don't count enough to know the truth?"

He stepped forward instinctively. "Aayat"

I flinched.

That hurt him more than any scream could have.

"You should have told me," I said, my voice softer now, exhausted. "You shouldn't have carried this alone. I know you think you're unbreakable. I know the world leans on you like you're made of stone."

I looked at him through tears.

"But even stone cracks when it carries too much."

My voice dropped to a whisper.

"I was lying in a hospital bed today, Mihir. Weak. Scared. And I found out the biggest truth of your life from a blood report."

Silence stretched between us.

Then finally, quietly

"Say it," I said.

He looked at me, eyes burning, raw and stripped of every shield.

"She's alive," he said.

My breath left me in a sob.

"Naina is alive," he repeated, voice breaking. "And Advit too."

I closed my eyes, the weight of it crashing down all at once.

"And you were going to handle this alone," I whispered.

He didn't deny it.

I reached for his hand, my grip weak but resolute.

"Don't do that again," I said through tears.

"Not with me. Not ever."

Because contract or not

If we were standing in this storm together,

Then I deserved to know the truth.

He didn't speak immediately.

He just stood there, looking at me like he was afraid one wrong word would make me shatter.

Then, slowly, carefully, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I was going to tell you," Mihir said.

Not defensive.

Not sharp.

Broken.

I scoffed weakly. "When?"

"When it was convenient?"

"When it stopped hurting?"

He shook his head immediately. "No. When I could give you more than half a truth."

I looked away, blinking hard.

"I wasn't just going to tell you their names," he continued, voice rough. "I was going to bring them to you. Sit you all in one room. Let you meet them as my wife, not as someone I was warning to be careful."

My chest tightened.

"I wanted you to meet my sister alive," he whispered. "Not as a ghost."

I turned back to him, startled by the rawness in his voice.

"You think I don't know how this looks?" he went on, a bitter laugh escaping him. "You think I don't know how unforgivable it sounds? But Aayat, every time I got close... something happened."

His hands clenched into fists.

"When I finally found traces of them after years—years of believing they were dead, I lost them again. Not once. Again and again."

His voice cracked.

"Do you know what that does to a man?" he asked hoarsely.

"To mourn the same people multiple times?"

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

"They disappeared when we were children," he said. "I searched until there was nothing left to search. Then I buried them in my head just so I could survive."

His eyes glistened now, the control slipping fast.

"And when fate finally gave them back to me..." his breath hitched, "...it took them away before I could even say I'm here."

I saw it then.

Not the Chief Minister.

Not the man who never lost.

Just a brother who had lost everything twice.

"I found Naina," he whispered. "I was standing some inches away from her, Aayat. Some inches. And then chaos. They left without any explanations."

He laughed again, hollow and devastated. "Tell me that isn't cruel."

My heart broke open.

"I found Advit alive," he continued, voice shaking now. "Chained. Hidden like an object. And just when I thought, just when I thought this nightmare was ending..."

His shoulders sagged.

"They vanished. Again."

That's when it happened.

His voice failed him completely.

He leaned forward suddenly, burying his face against my shoulder, his arms coming around me like he was holding on to the last thing keeping him upright.

And Mihir Raghuvanshi cried.

Not silently.

Not neatly.

His body shook, breath uneven, grief pouring out of him like it had been waiting years for permission.

"I'm so unlucky," he whispered brokenly. "So fucking unlucky. Every time I reach them, fate pulls them away. Like I'm not allowed to keep my own family."

I froze.

For a second, I didn't know what to do.

I'd never seen him like this. Never seen the man the world feared reduced to this raw, shaking mess in my arms.

Slowly, carefully, I lifted my hand and rested it against his back.

Then the other.

I held him.

He clutched me tighter, like he was afraid I'd disappear too.

"I didn't tell you because I was scared," he admitted into my shoulder. "Scared that if I said it out loud... I'd lose them again."

My throat closed.

I pressed my cheek against his hair, my own tears falling freely now.

"You're not unlucky," I whispered. "You're human."

His grip tightened.

"And you're not alone," I added softly. "Not anymore."

He didn't answer.

He just held on.

And in that moment, I understood something with terrifying clarity

This wasn't a lie born out of indifference.

It was a lie born out of loss.

And fate had been cruel to him in ways I was only just beginning to see.

He didn't let go of me.

If anything, his arms tightened, like the words he was holding inside were too heavy to survive without me anchoring him.

"I went to him," Mihir said, his voice muffled against my shoulder. "The one they'd been staying with. Trakshay."

The name meant nothing to me, but the way Mihir said it, like it tasted of betrayal, made my chest ache.

"He told me everything," Mihir continued. "How they were hidden. How the world was made to believe they were dead. How my mother thought she was saving them."

His breath shook.

"I thought... finally. Finally I had a direction."

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes red, exhausted, stripped bare.

"So I went to the hospital," he said. "I went there thinking this time fate wouldn't take them away from me."

My heart clenched.

"But when I reached..." his voice cracked again, "...they were gone."

He laughed weakly, the sound breaking halfway. "Again."

I felt his fingers dig into my back, like he was holding on to keep himself from falling apart completely.

"They left me," he whispered. "Without a word. Without waiting. Without looking back."

His forehead dropped to my shoulder again.

"Kya kabhi unhe meri yaad nahi aati?" he asked, voice

trembling, childlike in its pain.

"Did they never miss me?"

My eyes burned.

"Am I that bad?" he whispered. "That they run every time I find them?"

That question shattered me.

I cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at me.

"No," I said firmly, tears streaming down my cheeks. "You are not bad. You are not unlovable. And you are not the reason they disappeared."

His eyes searched mine, desperate, disbelieving.

"They're scared," I continued softly. "They've lived in hiding for years, Mihir. Fear becomes instinct. Running becomes survival."

I pressed my forehead against his.

"They didn't leave because they don't remember you," I whispered. "They left because they remember too much."

His breath hitched.

"And one day," I added, my voice steady despite the tears, "they won't run anymore. Not from you. Not from their brother."

I pulled him back into my arms, holding him as tightly as I could.

"You found them once," I murmured. "You'll find them again. And this time, they won't disappear."

He didn't speak.

But for the first time since this truth had shattered our world, his grip loosened just a little.

Like somewhere inside him

Hope had started breathing again.

He pulled back slowly, as if my words were still echoing in his head.

"Aayat," he said carefully, searching my face, "I will find them. Right?"

I didn't hesitate.

"Yes," I said.

Then I corrected him, my voice steady despite everything shaking inside me.

"We will."

He stared at me.

Not confused.

Shocked.

I shifted slightly, ignoring the protest of my bruised body, and met his gaze head-on.

"Not until we find them," I continued quietly but firmly, "we are not going back to India."

His eyes widened. "Aayat—"

"I don't care," I cut in. "Call me irresponsible. Call me emotional. Call me a witch if you want."

A small, broken smile touched my lips. "But I refuse to board a plane and pretend everything is fine while your brother and sister are running for their lives somewhere out there."

He shook his head, disbelief written all over his face. "You don't understand what you're saying. Your health, your accident"

"I understand exactly what I'm saying," I replied.

I reached for his hand and held it tightly.

"They are your family, Mihir. And whether this marriage started as a contract but , that makes them mine too."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"You spent years thinking you were alone," I said softly. "You're not. Not anymore."

He looked at me like no one ever had before, like I'd just rewritten something fundamental in his life.

"Aayat... you're serious?" he asked quietly.

I nodded without hesitation.

"Dead serious."

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then something in his expression shifted, disbelief giving way to something dangerously close to gratitude.

He let out a shaky breath, one that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for years.

And for the first time since fate had started tearing his world apart again, Mihir Raghuvanshi looked like a man who wasn't fighting alone.

He sat down slowly, like his legs had finally remembered they were allowed to give up.

"You don't know what you're saying," he murmured, almost to himself. "If you stay... this won't be safe. This isn't politics anymore. This is people who erase lives."

I leaned forward despite the ache in my ribs. "Mihir, look at me."

He did.

For a second, he looked away, blinking hard. Then he laughed, soft, disbelieving, almost broken.

"Do you know," he said, voice rough, "how many people have told me they'll stand by me?"

I shook my head.

"None of them meant it like this," he continued. "None of them meant hospitals, blood reports, disappearances, and fear."

I squeezed his hand. "Good. I'm not them."

Silence fell again, but this time it wasn't heavy. It was... resolved.

"You realize," he said slowly, "that if we stay, everything changes. The press, my position, your privacy"

"Can wait," I cut in. "Your family can't."

That did it.

His composure finally collapsed, not into tears this time, but into something rawer.

He held my hands, careful of my injuries.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered.

"Maybe not," I said softly. "But you have me anyway."

He huffed a weak breath that might have been a laugh.

After a moment, he pulled back, his expression different now. Focused. Clear.

"All right," he said. "Then we stay."

A shiver ran through me, not fear, but certainty.

"We start with the officer who helped them leave," he continued, already thinking ten steps ahead. "And Trakshay. Someone is moving them. Protecting them."

"And someone wants them silent," I added.

He looked at me sharply. "Yes."

I lifted my chin. "Then we find out who."

He studied me for a long second, then nodded.

"You should be resting," he said gently, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I raised an eyebrow. "I can rest later."

He smiled faintly, that rare, real one I'd seen only a handful of times.

"That," he said, "might be the most terrifying thing about you."

I smiled back.

He stood up, pacing once, twice, like his mind was already five rooms ahead of where his body was.

Then he stopped.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned back to me.

"There's something you need to understand," Mihir said. "Once we go down this road, there's no pause button. No stepping back if it gets ugly."

I met his gaze without flinching. "It already is ugly."

A corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.

"You should be angry," he said quietly. "At me. For lying."

"I am," I replied honestly. "But anger can wait. Regret can't."

That landed.

He exhaled slowly, like he was letting go of a version of himself that had been standing alone for too long.

"Okay," he said. "Then we do this properly."

He pulled his phone out, already issuing instructions in that calm, lethal tone that made rooms rearrange themselves around him. Security. Internal audits. Quiet surveillance. Names spoken like chess pieces being placed, not moved.

I watched him, not as the Chief Minister the world bowed to, but as a brother who had finally decided to stop losing.

When he ended the call, he turned to me again.

"They're scared of me," he said, almost thoughtfully. "That's why they keep running."

I shook my head. "No. They're scared of losing you again."

He frowned.

"Think about it," I continued softly. "If they let you close, if they believe you're really there this time... and something happens again"

His expression changed.

Understanding settled.

"That's why," he whispered.

"Yes," I said. "They're not rejecting you. They're protecting themselves."

And maybe, somewhere deeper, protecting him too.

He sat beside me again, closer this time, his shoulder brushing mine.

"So how do we stop them from running?" he asked.

I didn't answer immediately.

Then I said, "We stop chasing."

He looked at me sharply. "What?"

"We don't hunt them like fugitives," I explained. "We make it impossible for them to believe they're prey."

His eyes narrowed, calculating.

"We let them see stability," I went on. "Safety. Not power. Not force. Family."

Silence.

Then, quietly, "You think they'll come back on their own?"

"I think," I said, "that if they're watching, and they are, they need to see you standing still. Not reaching. Not grabbing. Just... there."

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

"For the first time," he murmured, "I don't know how to do that."

I reached for his hand again.

"Then learn," I said gently. "With me."

He turned his head and looked at me for a long moment. Not grateful. Not surprised.

Something deeper.

Trust.

"All right," he said finally. "We stop chasing."

Outside the window, the city lights blurred into motion.

Somewhere in that maze, Naina and Advit were hiding.

And for the first time since I'd married him, I realized something with absolute certainty

This wasn't just Mihir's past catching up.

The silence stretched, thoughtful this time.

Then I asked the question that had been sitting heavy in my chest.

"Do you have any idea," I said slowly, "who might be doing all this?"

Mihir didn't answer immediately.

His gaze drifted somewhere far away, jaw tightening in a way I was beginning to recognize. The name reached him before the words did.

"Trakshay," he said finally.

I frowned. "The man you mentioned earlier?"

He nodded. "They were with him. Naina and Advit. Living under his roof, under his protection. Or at least... that's what he claims."

"What do you mean claims?" I asked.

"When I confronted him," Mihir said, voice calm but edged with doubt, "he swore he had no idea where they went. Said they disappeared suddenly. No warning. No message."

My fingers curled into the blanket. "Do you believe him?"

Mihir let out a quiet breath. "I believe he's hiding something. I just don't know whether it's guilt... or fear."

I thought for a moment. "If they trusted him enough to stay with him, then he knows more than he's saying. Even if he doesn't realize it."

His eyes sharpened slightly, interest flickering.

"Exactly," he said. "People always leave traces. Even when they think they haven't."

I looked at him. "So?"

"So maybe," he replied slowly, "the only place those traces still exist... is with him."

A beat passed.

"We could go there," I said carefully.

He glanced at me, surprised. "Now?"

"Soon," I corrected. "Before he has time to erase anything else."

He studied me, something unreadable passing through his eyes.

"I'll talk to him," he said. "Face to face. See what he says when he doesn't have time to prepare."

"And I'll just sit quietly and sip tea?" I asked dryly.

A corner of his mouth lifted despite himself.

"Something like that," he said.

I leaned back against the pillows, my mind already racing, though I kept my voice neutral.

"People miss things in their own houses," I said lightly. "Things that feel too familiar to question."

Mihir looked at me then, really looked.

For a moment, I thought he might say something else.

Instead, he just nodded.

"Rest for now," he said. "We'll go when you're cleared."

I closed my eyes, pretending calm.

But inside, my thoughts were already moving through corridors and rooms that weren't mine

Searching for answers someone had tried very hard to hide.

Morning came quietly.

Too quietly.

The kind of morning that pretends nothing in the world is wrong.

I woke to soft light filtering through the curtains and the faint murmur of voices outside the room. My body ached, ribs sore, head heavy, but my mind was sharp. Sharper than it had been in days.

Mihir was already up.

He stood near the window, phone to his ear, speaking in low, controlled tones. Not urgent. Not rushed. That meant decisions had already been made.

When he noticed I was awake, he turned immediately.

"You're up earlier than expected," he said.

"I couldn't sleep," I replied honestly. "Too many thoughts."

He didn't argue. Just nodded, as if he'd expected that.

"You're cleared to leave," he said. "Doctor wasn't happy, but... compromises were made."

I raised an eyebrow. "Of course they were."

A faint smile touched his lips, then vanished just as quickly.

Within an hour, we were moving.

No convoy. No sirens. Just one car, one driver, and silence thick with unspoken plans.

I watched the city through the window, my reflection staring back at me, bruised, tired, but strangely steady.

Mihir sat beside me, posture relaxed, eyes alert.

"You okay?" he asked without looking at me.

"I will be," I said. "You?"

He exhaled slowly. "Ask me after today."

Trakshay's house stood on a quiet street, understated but expensive in that old-money way. Brick façade. Tall windows. Privacy hedges trimmed with precision.

The car stopped.

Mihir glanced at me once. Not questioning. Just checking.

I nodded.

We stepped out together.

A man opened the door almost immediately, like he'd been expecting us.

"Mihir beta," Trakshay said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I wasn't told you were coming."

"I was in the area," Mihir replied smoothly. "Thought I'd stop by."

His tone was polite.

Too polite.

I stayed half a step behind him, quiet, observant.

"Please," Trakshay said, stepping aside. "Come in."

The house smelled like polished wood and something faintly medicinal. Clean. Orderly. Lived in, but carefully.

We were led into the sitting room. Tea was offered. Mihir declined.

"I won't take much of your time," he said calmly. "I just wanted to understand a few things."

Trakshay's smile tightened.

I sank into the armchair, outwardly passive, inwardly alert.

Mihir leaned back slightly, casual, as if this were just another courtesy visit.

"You said they left suddenly," he said. "No note. No call."

"Yes," Trakshay replied quickly. "I was shocked myself."

"And before they left?" Mihir pressed. "Did anything seem... different?"

Trakshay hesitated. Just a second.

I noticed.

"Nothing," he said. "They were normal. Quiet, but they always were."

Mihir nodded, as if satisfied.

I wasn't.

As Trakshay launched into a long explanation, too detailed, too rehearsed, I let my gaze drift, slowly, deliberately.

Hallway to the left.

Staircase to the right.

A closed door at the far end.

My pulse picked up.

Mihir's voice stayed calm, steady, drawing Trakshay deeper into conversation.

And as they spoke, I realized something with unsettling certainty

This house had not let go of its secrets yet.

Not even close.

Trakshay was mid-sentence when I shifted slightly in my seat.

"Excuse me," I said softly, pressing a hand to my side. "May I use the washroom?"

Both men looked at me.

"Of course," Trakshay replied quickly. He turned toward the hallway. "Lia—"

A woman appeared almost instantly, dressed in neat greys, her expression neutral. "This way, ma'am."

I followed her down the corridor, my steps slow, careful. My ribs protested, but I ignored it.

The washroom was immaculate. Almost unused.

I closed the door behind me, took a moment to steady my breathing, then turned on the tap, just enough to be heard.

After a few seconds, I glanced toward the door.

Nothing.

I opened it slightly.

The corridor was empty.

Good.

I stepped out quietly, my heart pounding now, and moved in the opposite direction of the sitting room.

The house was too silent. Not the comfortable quiet of a lived-in space, but the kind that felt curated.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn just enough to keep the light low and secrets hidden.

I closed the door softly behind me.

At first glance, it looked ordinary. A guest room. Neutral colors. Nothing personal.

Then I noticed the desk.

Papers weren't just placed there, they were arranged. Categorized. Labeled.

My heartbeat picked up.

I stepped closer.

Property documents. Identity papers. Transit permits. Medical reports.

All photocopies.

All recent.

Names jumped out at me like wounds that refused to close.

Aadhya Mittal.

Advit Mittal.

My hands trembled as I picked one up.

Dates. Locations. Notes scribbled in the margins—codes, arrows, references to transfers and safe houses.

This wasn't shelter.

This was logistics.

I pulled my phone out without thinking and began clicking pictures, one after the other, careful to capture everything, every stamp, every handwritten note.

Then I saw it.

A document clipped beneath the others, partially hidden.

I slid it free.

Authorization form.

Official letterhead.

My breath caught in my throat as my eyes dropped to the signature at the bottom.

Anirudh Raghuvanshi.

The name hit me like a physical blow.

Mihir's father.

I stared at it, my mind screaming to reject what I was seeing.

No.

This couldn't be real.

But the signature was unmistakable. Sharp. Confident. Final.

I took another photo, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone.

Footsteps sounded faintly in the corridor.

I hurriedly put the papers back exactly as I'd found them, heart racing, palms slick with sweat.

As I slipped out of the room and closed the door behind me, one horrifying truth settled deep in my bones

This wasn't just about disappearance.

This was about family.

And someone Mihir trusted, someone he had already buried, was very much a part of it.

I walked back into the sitting room slowly, carefully schooling my face into something neutral.

Normal.

My heart was still pounding so hard I was sure Mihir could hear it.

Trakshay was mid-conversation when I entered, but the moment his eyes landed on me, something shifted.

It was subtle.

But I saw it.

His gaze lingered a second longer than before, sharp now, assessing. Like he was no longer just looking at Mihir's wife, but at a variable he hadn't calculated for.

"There you are," Mihir said, glancing up. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," I replied easily, lowering myself back into the chair. "Your house is... quite the maze."

Trakshay smiled.

It didn't reach his eyes.

"Old houses tend to be like that," he said. "Easy to get lost."

The words felt deliberate.

A warning.

I met his gaze calmly, refusing to look away. "Yes," I said softly. "But some rooms tell more stories than others."

For a fraction of a second, his expression cracked.

Then it was gone.

Mihir noticed the pause, his attention sharpening immediately. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

"No," Trakshay replied too quickly. "Not at all. I was just saying, Aayat beta must still be recovering. She shouldn't strain herself."

His concern felt rehearsed.

I smiled politely. "I'm fine. Your staff was very helpful."

Trakshay's fingers tightened around his teacup.

Mihir leaned forward slightly. "You're sure you don't remember anything else? Anyone who contacted them? Any document they took?"

Trakshay shook his head. "Nothing. I've told you everything."

I kept my face composed.

But inside, my mind screamed.

You're lying.

And you know I know.

As we stood to leave, Trakshay walked us to the door himself.

When he shook Mihir's hand, his grip was firm.

When he looked at me

It was different.

Not polite.

Not curious.

Calculating.

Like he was trying to decide whether I was a threat... or a mistake he should have dealt with sooner.

As we stepped outside and the door closed behind us, my lungs finally filled properly with air.

I didn't say anything yet.

But the photographs were safe in my phone.

And the name Anirudh Raghuvanshi burned in my mind like a match waiting to be struck.

Whatever game Trakshay was playing

He was no longer the one in control.

The drive back was silent.

Not the comfortable kind, this one was sharp, brittle, filled with thoughts neither of us dared to voice yet.

The moment we reached the house, Mihir dismissed the staff with a single look and led me straight to his study. The door closed. Locked.

Only then did I pull out my phone.

"Mihir," I said quietly. "I found something."

He turned to me immediately, alert. "What kind of something?"

Instead of answering, I unlocked my phone and handed it to him.

One by one, he scrolled.

Documents.

Names.

Dates.

Routes.

Codes.

His expression hardened with every swipe, jaw tightening, shoulders going rigid.

Then he stopped.

Completely.

His thumb froze on the screen.

I saw his breath hitch before he could control it.

At the bottom of the document

Signature: Anirudh Raghuvanshi.

For a moment, he didn't react at all.

Then he let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

"No," he said. "That's not possible."

I swallowed. "I thought the same."

He looked up at me, eyes dark, storming. "My father is under my watch. Every call. Every visitor. Every movement."

His voice dropped, almost hollow.

"He lives in a prison I built myself."

He paced the room now, running a hand through his hair.

"He doesn't even have access to files like these," Mihir continued. "Not anymore. I made sure of it."

"Then explain the signature," I said softly.

He stopped.

Turned to me slowly.

"That signature," he said, voice tight, "is real."

Silence crashed between us.

"How could he be involved," Mihir whispered, more to himself than to me, "when he has no freedom left to operate?"

I stepped closer. "Unless... he doesn't need freedom."

Mihir's eyes snapped to mine.

"Think about it," I continued. "If someone else is moving the pieces. Using his name. His authority. Or following orders that were given long ago."

His face drained of color.

"Or," I added carefully, "unless the prison you built... was never locked from the inside."

That broke something.

Mihir sank into the chair behind him, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had just opened beneath him.

"All these years," he said quietly, "I thought I had contained the damage."

I placed my hand over his clenched fist.

"But if he's involved," I whispered, "then this isn't about hiding your siblings."

"This is about power," Mihir finished darkly.

He looked up at me then, hurt, fury, and betrayal colliding in his eyes.

"And someone is using my own bloodline against me."

The room fell silent again.

Mihir didn't waste another second.

He stood up abruptly, already dialing a number I'd heard only once before.

"Zyran," he said the moment the call connected, his voice cold, precise. "Go to my Mr. Raghuvanshi. Now. I want everything. No filters. No assumptions. I want the truth."

He ended the call before any questions could be asked.

Then he turned to me, eyes still burning. "If he's involved, I'll know today."

The wait was unbearable.

Minutes dragged like hours. Mihir stood by the window, arms crossed, jaw set so tightly I thought it might crack. I stayed quiet, my mind replaying that signature over and over again.

Finally, the phone rang.

Mihir answered instantly. "Speak."

Zyran didn't start with sarcasm this time.

"Okay," he said. "Reset everything you're thinking. Because something's off, and not in the dramatic villain way."

Mihir straightened. "What."

"I checked. Triple-checked," Zyran continued. "Mr. Raghuvanshi hasn't signed a single document in years. Not digitally. Not physically. Not even a grocery list."

My heart skipped.

"He's under full isolation," Zyran went on. "Biometric lock. Manual override with your authorization only. No visitors without your clearance."

Mihir's face hardened. "So that signature"

"Did not come from him," Zyran finished. "Period."

Silence crashed down.

I felt a chill spread through me.

"Which means," Mihir said slowly, "someone forged it."

Zyran scoffed. "Not just someone. Someone who knows his handwriting down to pressure points. Stroke speed. Slant."

I whispered, "Someone close."

"Exactly," Zyran replied. "This isn't amateur. This is legacy-level forgery."

Mihir ran a hand through his hair, anger sharpening into something colder.

"But here's the kicker," Zyran added, cocky edge returning slightly. "Even if someone forged it, they needed confidence it wouldn't be questioned."

Mihir's eyes flicked to me.

"They needed to know," I said quietly, "that no one would imagine he's still being used."

"Bingo," Zyran said. "Which narrows it down beautifully."

Mihir exhaled slowly. "Trakshay."

"Oh, I'd bet my favorite jacket on it," Zyran replied. "Man's been playing guardian angel while rewriting family hell."

Mihir's voice dropped, lethal. "He used Mr. Raghuvanshi name to move my siblings."

"And now," Zyran said lightly, "your wife walked into his house and walked out with proof."

I felt Mihir's hand tighten around mine.

"Stay where you are," Mihir ordered. "No moves without telling me."

Zyran chuckled. "Relax. I like living. And I really want to see Trakshay's face when this blows up."

The call ended.

Mihir turned to me, eyes burning with resolve.

"This ends now," he said.

I nodded.

Because forging a dying man's signature wasn't just strategy.

Mihir didn't look shaken.

He looked offended.

Not because his father's name had been dragged into this, but because someone had dared to use it as a shield.

"Using him," Mihir said coldly, "is convenient."

I glanced at him. "You don't sound surprised."

He let out a humorless laugh. "I buried that man emotionally long before the world thought he was gone."

There was no grief in his voice.

Only old, settled disgust.

"Everything he touched turned into damage," Mihir continued. "My mother. My siblings. Me."

He turned toward the window, fists clenched behind his back.

"So don't mistake this," he said. "I don't care if he lives or dies."

The words landed heavy, but honest.

"What I care about," he went on, eyes darkening, "is someone thinking they can weaponize his name and expect me to hesitate."

I stepped closer. "You won't."

"No," Mihir agreed. "I won't."

His jaw tightened.

"I locked him away because that was the safest place for him," he said. "Not because I owed him mercy."

Silence stretched.

Then he looked at me, and for the first time since this began, there was no rage in his eyes, only clarity.

"Trakshay thinks Mr. Raghuvanshi is my weakness," Mihir said quietly.

I shook my head. "He's wrong."

Mihir's lips curved into a thin, dangerous smile.

"He always was."

He picked up his phone again, already moving forward.

"If Trakshay forged that signature," he said, "he crossed a line even my father never dared to."

I felt a chill, not fear.

Anticipation.

Because hatred like Mihir's didn't make him reckless.

It made him precise.

And somewhere out there, a man who thought he understood the Raghuvanshi family was about to learn

Some wounds don't soften with time.

They sharpen.

The room felt smaller than before.

Not because of what we knew

But because of what we didn't.

Mihir stood still, phone in hand, his mind clearly racing ahead of the evidence. Trakshay's name hung between us like a convenient answer, too neat, too obvious.

And yet...

Something didn't sit right with me.

"He wanted us to see the house," I said slowly. "Didn't he?"

Mihir looked at me. "What do you mean?"

"If he was the one pulling the strings," I continued, choosing my words carefully, "why keep documents there at all? Why leave traces?"

Mihir's eyes narrowed. "Arrogance?"

"Maybe," I said. "Or maybe distraction."

Silence followed.

Trakshay's face flashed in my mind again, not panicked, not defensive enough. More cautious than guilty.

"He noticed me," I added. "After I came back. He knew something had changed."

Mihir's expression hardened. "Because you crossed a boundary."

"Yes," I agreed. "But not the one that mattered most."

Mihir didn't respond, but I could feel his certainty falter just a fraction.

"Whoever is doing this," I said quietly, "understands you. Your hatred for your father. Your need for control. Your pressure points."

"That narrows the list," Mihir replied flatly.

"Or widens it," I countered.

He looked at me then.

And in that look, I saw it

The fear neither of us wanted to name.

This wasn't an enemy standing outside the family circle.

This was someone who had lived inside it long enough to know which ghosts still bled.

Mihir broke eye contact first.

"We proceed assuming Trakshay is involved," he said. "Until proven otherwise."

I nodded.

Because strategy demanded it.

But somewhere deep inside me, a quiet unease took root.

Trakshay felt like a gatekeeper.

Not the architect.

And the real puppeteer?

They weren't loud.

They weren't visible.

They were watching.

Waiting.

And very comfortable letting others take the blame.

Night settled over the house like a held breath.

No media. No calls. No movement beyond what Mihir allowed.

Too clean.

Mihir sat at his desk, files spread before him, eyes sharp but distant, like a man circling a truth that refused to show its face.

"Trakshay fits," he said finally. "Access. Proximity. Timing."

"Yes," I replied. "He fits."

But fitting didn't mean right.

I picked up my phone again and scrolled through the photos I'd taken, slower this time. Not reading observing.

Patterns.

Margins.

Spacing.

"Mihir," I said suddenly. "Come here."

He joined me, leaning over my shoulder.

"Look at the notes," I said. "The handwriting."

He frowned. "It's careful."

"Too careful," I corrected. "Like someone copying a style. Not writing naturally."

He straightened. "Forgery again."

"Yes, but consistent forgery. Same hand across different documents."

"That suggests one person," he said.

"Or one instruction," I replied.

He was quiet now.

I zoomed in on a corner of one document. "These symbols, see them? Not official shorthand. They're... personal."

Mihir's jaw tightened. "I've seen them before."

"When?"

He hesitated. "Years ago. In internal strategy notes. Someone used to mark files like this."

Someone.

Not Trakshay.

"Did he still have access?" I asked.

"No," Mihir said immediately. Then paused. "...Not officially."

The room seemed to tilt.

"So whoever this is," I murmured, "knows your systems. Your history. And how to stay invisible."

Mihir's eyes darkened. "And they want me looking in the wrong direction."

Mihir's phone rang.

Not unknown.

Private line.

"Mihir," I said quietly, "put it on speaker."

For a moment, I thought he wouldn't. Then his jaw tightened, and with a sharp movement, he tapped the screen and placed the phone between us.

He answered without hesitation. "Speak."

For a second, there was only silence.

Then

A voice. Calm. Amused.

"Hello BROTHER-IN-LAW"

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

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

To be continued

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