The news of the Rawat estate attack ripples through elite circles like a shockwave—whispers turning to gasps, headlines to hushed conversations behind gilded doors. No one knows if it's true, or just a rumour. But it shook them all.
But inside Singh Mansion, it lands like thunder wrapped in silence.
In the dim study, shadows stretch across mahogany walls. The silence is thick, howling, pressing in on every corner. Mr. Singh paces behind his desk, steps heavy, the air charged with unspoken weight.
The door slams open.
Mr. Raj entered, breath ragged, face ashen.
"Master… they're alive, but still unconscious. Still in the hospital." His voice cracks. "What do we do?"
For a beat, Mr. Singh is motionless. The clock ticks—a cruel reminder of slipping time. Then he sinks into his chair, grip tightening on the armrest until his knuckles bleach. This wasn't how it was meant to unfold.
When he speaks, his voice is low, deliberate. A blade in the dark.
"I want every detail on that hospital. No media. Not a word leaves these walls."
...
[Outside the room]
The corridor is deserted, drowned in silence.
Arun halts mid-step. A name—Abhi—slips through the crack of the door like smoke, snaring him. He edges closer, pulse quickening.
Inside, Mr. Raj's voice strains. "Abhi won't rest. Not after this. He'll hunt them down—burn the ground if he must."
A pause.
Then Mr. Singh's voice, colder. "I've seen that boy's anger. He doesn't ask questions—he starts wars." Another beat. "And I won't sit idle if it turns on us."
Arun recoils, chest clenching, a chill coursing through him. Not only fear. Not only shock. But the weight of knowing—Abhi is fire, and fire never spares what it touches.
He steps aside, shoulders stiff under the weight pressing down on him. His hand slips into his pocket, pulling out his phone. The screen's cold glow cuts across his face. Gripping the device hard as the line begins to ring.
...
[Next morning—The hospital]
The corridor is cloaked in tense silence, broken only by the faint hum of ICU machines and muffled voices within. Mrs. Rawat sits motionless between the beds, eyes swollen from tears. Vihan and Karan slump on a sofa nearby, their gazes fixed on the still forms of Aarav and Mr. Rawat.
Outside, Abhi stands rigid, hands buried deep in his pockets. His jaw aches from clenching, his eyes bloodshot. He hasn't stepped inside—he can't. Not yet. Rage keeps him rooted.
Footsteps echo down the sterile corridor—measured, deliberate. Abhi lifts his head. Annaya emerges, her long coat trailing behind like a shadow. Two men move to block her path, but she doesn't blink, doesn't waver.
Then she sees him. Her usual confident stride falters. Abhi gives a small nod, a silent command to let her through.
She stops beside him, arms folded, gaze steady. For a moment, her eyes flick to the ICU door before returning to him. "You look like you haven't breathed since it happened," she says quietly.
Abhi's throat tightens. "Why are you here?" His voice is flat, sharp.
A silence stretches. Then Annaya's tone shifts—calm, but edged. "You've got a reputation for charging into hell when someone hurts the people you love."
Abhi doesn't even lift his gaze. "They'll beg to die… if I find them."
She doesn't answer right away. When she speaks again, her voice has softened, like steel sliding back into its sheath.
"It's far too easy to drown in pain. Don't. He may bear his own wreckage, but yours would break him."
Abhi snaps, brow tense. "Did he send you to stop me?"
She sighs. "I'm here to remind you—he just doesn't want you to be reckless and lose yourself."
Abhi lets the words fade. He understood what they mean, but chooses not to believe.
She glances at him one last time before leaving. "I know you don't like me much… but trust me I want you two to end up together."
Her presence lingers even after she is gone. For a moment, Abhi's armor cracks, her words echoing in the silence. But the rage still simmers beneath.
The door clicks open behind him.
Karan steps out, shoulders slumped, face etched with exhaustion.
"Is everything okay, Senior?" Abhi asks, voice lower now.
Karan nods faintly. "Maa and Vihan look tired and hungry. I should get them something."
Abhi glances past him. His mother sits with worry carved into her face. Vihan slouches, hollow-eyed, drained.
"No… you should all go home," Abhi says firmly. "It's not safe for them here."
Karan hesitates, then nods. "I understand. But they won't leave."
Both turn their eyes to the room again, the burden of convincing them heavy between them.
Finally, Abhi steps forward—heavy, reluctant, but resolute. Karan follows him in.
The quiet beeping of machines and the sterile scent of antiseptic wrap around him like fog. His eyes find his father and Aarav—still, unconscious, marked by the violence that has shattered their world.
Then he turns to his mother. "Maa… you should go home," he says softly, moving closer. "I'll take care of them."
Mrs. Rawat lifts weary eyes, dark with fatigue and shadowed with memory. She remembers the day she left them behind.
"I don't want to repeat my mistake, Abhi," she whispers, voice trembling with regret. "I can't lose you again."
Abhi feels the weight of everything she carries—every unspoken word, every sleepless night. He kneels before her, taking her hands gently, pressing them as if to anchor her.
"Maa…" his voice is low, rough. "I didn't refuse to go with you because I was angry. I just couldn't leave Papa alone." His grip tightens with quiet affection. "That never meant I loved you any less."
She stares at him, breath catching. The last distance between them dissolves.
"I want you and Vihan safe. That's what Papa and Brother wanted too…" Abhi continues, eyes steady on hers. "Please, go home. I promise we'll visit when things are back to normal."
Something inside her breaks—not with pain, but release. She nods, tears sliding down her cheeks with a faint smile. "You've really grown up," she whispers. "Just like Aarav said..."
Abhi's gaze softens before shifting to Karan, now standing beside Vihan, protective and silent. Vihan only watches, wide-eyed and innocent.
"Senior," Abhi says firmly, "make sure they stay safe."
Karan nods, the gesture more vow than reply. "With my life," he says simply.
Abhi returns the nod, then looks back at the quiet hum of machines and the two lives he has sworn to protect—his father and his brother—lying silent, yet holding on.
...
[Elsewhere in the hospital]
The hospital's service corridor is quiet, lit only by the pale hum of fluorescent lights. A lone spot boy wheels a cart of linens, yawning as he turns the corner.
He never sees them coming.
A hand clamps over his mouth, dragging him into the shadows. His cart rattles against the wall, linens spilling to the floor. He struggles, muffled gasps breaking the silence, until a sharp twist snaps his breath away forever. His body slumps, dead weight in their arms.
"Quick," one of the men mutters, already stripping the boy of his uniform. They work with grim efficiency—shoes, shirt, ID badge—all exchanged in silence. The corpse is shoved into a supply closet, buried under sheets like discarded evidence.
Now dressed in hospital white, one of the men pulls the cap low over his brow, adjusting the badge until it hangs naturally. His partner has already slipped a phone from his pocket.
He answers smoothly, voice steady. "Yes, Sir… it will go as you planned this time."
The other gives a brief nod. No hesitation. No remorse. Only the steady hum of the corridor lights and the faint squeak of the stolen cart as they push it forward—two shadows hiding in plain sight.