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Love in the Shadow of Vengeance

Ashfaq_Ahmed_5677
7
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The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Synopsis
Dark Romance, Revenge
Table of contents
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Chapter 1 - The Funeral

The rain pounded relentlessly as if the heavens themselves were grieving. The gray sky stretched infinitely, blotting out any hint of sunlight, mirroring the somber mood that wrapped the city. Raindrops fell like heavy tears, blurring the outlines of buildings, cars, and the procession winding its way down the narrow streets towards the old Khanna mansion.

Anika stood silently beneath the dark umbrella, hands clenched tight around the cold metal handle. She did not cry. Her damp hair clung to her face, but her eyes remained dry—eyes that had seen too much sorrow, too much betrayal, far too early in life. At twenty-two, she was no longer a girl who believed in fairy tales or happy endings. Today was the day her world had shattered beyond repair.

The funeral was a cloud of subdued whispers and muffled sobs. The mansion's courtyard was crowded with mourners—friends, distant relatives, business associates—and many strangers wearing masks of respect. Some came with genuine grief, others with opportunistic glances, seeking to measure what power or wealth might fall into their hands now.

Rajveer Khanna's body lay in a mahogany coffin, draped in white lilies and marigolds, flowers that seemed too fragile and bright to belong amidst such darkness. His face, once strong and commanding, looked serene but lifeless. The man who had been a titan in the corporate world, a doting father, and a man of principle, was no more.

Anika's mother, pale and worn, stood beside her, her eyes swollen but brimming with a quiet strength. The women exchanged no words; there was no need. Here, words would be empty—cruel echoes in the hollow chambers of loss.

As the priest chanted the final mantras, traditional and unyielding, Anika's mind drifted back to the night her father had died.

It was not a peaceful passing. It was a calculated silence—a murder buried deep beneath smiles and false alibis.

She remembered the call that shattered her world. The voice, broken but firm, had whispered only two words before hanging up—a warning: *"It's Kabir."*

Her uncle. The man she had once trusted. The man whose greed had corroded the family from within.

The haunting image of her father's lifeless body in the hospital bed—the tubes, the monitors, the sterile smell—was burned into her soul. No justice had come, only hollow investigations that led nowhere. The law was bought and sold in endless transactions, wrapped in secrets and silence.

No tears came now, only a burning resolve.

Anika had sat in her father's study that night, surrounded by fading pictures and unopened letters. The room smelled of old leather and forgotten promises. She traced her fingers over his worn diary, reading fragments that spoke of trust broken and battles fought in shadows.

That night, alone and aching, she swore an oath.

She would not be a victim.

She would not be broken.

She would take back what was stolen—not just for her father, but for herself.

Her gaze returned to the coffin as it was lowered into the earth, the sound of the soil covering the final resting place echoing like a final verdict. Around her, a flurry of muted sobs and whispered condolences rose in the wet air, but Anika stood with a calm fierceness that unsettled those who knew her.

She was no longer the daughter of Rajveer Khanna. She was reborn in pain, sharpened by grief, walking a path littered with darkness and fire.

And from this shadow, revenge would rise.

The rain from the funeral had barely dried when a deeper shadow crept across the grand halls of the Khanna mansion. No one noticed Anika move through its twisted corridors that night—no one except the silence, and the persistent, muffled ache in her chest. Chandeliers cast glimmers onto the marble floors, their light fractured and distanced, like hope itself.

Anika shut the library door behind her, shivering despite the summer heat. She had only one anchor in that moment: her father's photograph, tucked into her dress pocket. She pressed her palm over it—a talisman, a promise to herself to seek answers, not just comfort.

It was close to midnight when the door creaked and Mr. Goyal entered, rain still clinging to his shawl. He was her father's oldest confidant, and his eyes—usually darting with shrewdness—hid something tonight.

"Beta…" his voice trembled as he sat across from her. "Your father left this for you. He told me: if the worst happens, you are the only one to see it."

He handed her a heavy, sealed envelope, stained slightly at the edges from his nervous grip. She read the writing—her father's hand, so familiar. The words: "If anything happens to me." Her heart clenched.

Tearing it open, she found stacks of papers, legal documents, and hastily scribbled notes. There were property papers, bank statements, business memos—each marked and cross-referenced like clues in a vast maze of betrayal. And on a folded sheet, a single name: "Kabir Khanna"—circled again and again in bold red ink.

She looked up at Mr. Goyal, her voice nearly failing. "Is this… proof?"

He nodded. "Your father suspected Kabir for years, but he could never catch him in the open. There were threats… accidents that seemed random. But this"—he tapped the documents—"is enough to begin."

Anika's eyes roved over the details:

Hidden offshore accounts registered to proxies linked to Kabir.

A timeline of poisoned company decisions that systematically stripped her father's share, funneled into rivals' hands.

Coded emails, bank slips—some with stains of her father's blood.

A realization dawned on her, a grief so raw it burned: Her family was betrayed from within. The uncle she played with as a child, who gifted her music boxes, who whispered old stories into her ear, was a serpent coiled at the heart of their home.

Tears threatened; she stiffened, refusing them.

Mr. Goyal added, "He feared for your safety. There's more—a will, but also… directions. If you choose to go after the truth, you'll need allies. You'll need to be smart."

Anika stared at the ceiling, memories flooding: secret talks in the study, her father's hand brushing her hair and saying, "One day, you will need to be stronger than me."

Tonight was that day.

She set about reading, her mind ticking fast. Names, dates, connections—she began assembling a mural of betrayal.

Every detail combined to form a larger, monstrous truth: Her father's death was not only a loss, but a theft, orchestrated by the man closest to the throne.