In front of Moscow's lavish apartment, where the city's lights met an eerie silence, the rhythm of a new war began to play.
Alia stepped inside the expensive flat, heading straight to the bathroom.
She wanted to wash away the weariness and gather strength anew.
The maids quickly took care of everything around her—
One fixed her hair, the other dressed her in a new outfit with meticulous care.
As Alia looked into the mirror at her reflection,
Her two bodyguards—Yash and Amisha—stood watchful, guarding the room.
There was an invisible bond forming between them—
A shield of protection and trust that offered Alia a strange sense of comfort.
The house grew still, almost too still—
A deceptive calm before the storm, Alia thought.
The maids quietly left, and even the faint house noises faded.
Then, Yash stepped forward and locked the door softly.
With the click of the lock, the room felt even quieter. Even safer.
Yash turned back and walked toward Alia,
His eyes full of alertness, but a strange calm too.
"Everything alright?" he asked softly, as if trying to chase away any lingering fear.
Alia only nodded—
But in that moment, the silence felt like a sanctuary.
Alia looked at Yash and suddenly smiled—
A smile that warmed the cold air in the room.
"Call my mom," she said. "She's in Sylhet, not in Russia right now."
Yash was a little surprised but quickly picked up the phone.
Alia thought silently:
No matter how far away she was, hearing her mother's voice would make everything feel a little more bearable.
The stillness broke slightly with the sound of the call.
Alia's voice held quiet tenderness as she answered:
"Hello Ma, it's me—Alia."
Her mother's voice came warm and gentle from far away:
"My girl, how are you? How is Russia treating you?"
Alia replied with a soft smile,
"Everything's fine, Ma. I just… wanted to hear your voice."
Her mother's words soothed her like a balm,
And slowly, fear and anxiety melted away.
As the conversation ended, Alia's eyes grew distant again.
She ended the call and looked at Yash.
"Let's go," she said quietly.
Yash nodded.
They both left the house together.
Alia walked to her Audi, and the car began gliding through Moscow's dimly lit streets.
Yash drove, while Alia rested her head gently on his shoulder,
Her hand curling softly around his arm—
Seeking peace in a place that finally felt safe.
Yash gently placed his hand on her shoulder.
His eyes held assurance—and affection.
The city lights passed through the windows,
And that brief moment became something far bigger in their hearts.
---
Scene Cut.
Alia walked slowly toward the building
Where her enemy—Bryan Morgan—was waiting.
A silenced gun in hand. Ready.
Yash and rows of bodyguards flanked her,
Like a silent storm—ready to strike at any moment.
Inside the building, Alia locked eyes with him and said,
"Today, I speak the final word."
Her voice carried sharp resolve—
There was no place left for mercy.
She turned to Yash and softly said,
"You wait in the car. I'll go in alone."
Yash hesitated, but nodded and left silently.
Alia entered the building,
Her heartbeat racing—
The room ahead: a battlefield of fate.
Suddenly, from the shadows, a figure lunged—grabbing her throat.
Alia gasped, breath caught.
She struggled—strength waning.
A deep, familiar voice whispered:
"Do you want to live, Alia?"
Her eyes filled with fear, pain, and defiance.
A battle erupted within her—
Between life and death, trust and betrayal.
Suddenly, she laughed—
A dark, sharp sound, half mocking, half lethal.
"You think I can't hurt you?"
She smirked.
"Hello, Mr. Bryan."
Her eyes blazed with fury—
Enough to make Bryan pause.
But he didn't stop.
He threw the first punch.
Alia dodged—barely.
The fist crashed into the wall—
The sound echoed.
She spun, kicked.
He caught it.
She twisted again, punched.
He blocked.
Then he shoved her against the wall.
Alia gasped—back slammed hard.
Still, her eyes held no fear—only fire.
"You think I'll tremble?" she whispered.
Bryan just stared.
"You never really knew me," she added.
Suddenly, she ducked—Bryan's hand smashed the wall again.
Plaster crumbled.
Alia kicked from behind.
Bryan staggered, turned.
A punch landed on Alia's cheek.
She didn't flinch—just wiped the blood and smiled.
"That's your power?" she said coldly.
Bryan screamed and charged.
They grappled in brutal hand-to-hand combat.
Alia fought with everything she had.
Bryan—strong, but conflicted.
"You can't kill me," he hissed.
Alia, breathless, whispered back:
"You don't know how pain becomes power."
With a sudden knee to his stomach, Bryan dropped.
Alia pulled away, darted toward a table—grabbed the gun beneath.
Bryan gasped:
"You'll never shoot me…"
Alia aimed.
"You're wrong, Mr. Bryan."
Her finger on the trigger.
But she didn't pull.
Hesitation.
Bryan moved slowly toward her.
She backed against the wall.
He brought his face close.
"Your hands are shaking."
Alia whispered,
"Because I'm human. Not a machine."
Still, her eyes burned steady.
Bryan reached for the gun—
"If you shoot now…" he began.
"The war ends," she finished.
Silence.
Police sirens wailed outside.
Bryan turned to listen.
Alia used the moment—ducked, tackled, pinned him down.
Gun to his chest.
"Last chance… Do you want to live?"
Bryan said nothing.
Alia lowered the gun.
"I'll deliver your punishment. My way."
The door burst open—bodyguards swarmed in.
Yash ran over.
"Ma'am! Are you okay?!"
Alia stood tall, exhaled slowly.
"It's over. Truly over."
---
But not quite.
Alia stood over Bryan, the gun still pressed to his chest.
Her eyes dry—unflinching.
Bryan smirked faintly.
"You still won't do it… You're weak."
Alia's lips didn't even tremble.
"My weakness was loving you. Now, you're my lesson."
Click.
The trigger pulls.
Bang.
The gun roars in silence.
Bryan's body jerks.
Blood splatters across the white wall—
Red over white. A final mark.
His eyes go blank mid-sentence.
Alia steps back, breath heavy, gun lowered.
There's no pride in her face.
Only relief.
Yash steps in quietly.
"Let's go, Ma'am. We need to leave."
Alia glances back—once.
Then says,
"It's done. Now I live—on my own terms."
---
The royal palace in the heart of Moscow—
Where history meets the future.
Red carpets, towering marble pillars, chandeliers that freeze time.
In the grand hall sits Alia, wearing a deep crimson dress.
Her scarf slips to one side, flames flickering beside her—
She is a symbol of rebellion.
Behind her—Yash and Amisha. Armed. Fierce.
The grand doors open.
Two familiar figures step in:
Her former lover, Margaret,
And a mysterious warrior—ZAINKHA.
Alia stands, eyes narrowing.
A cold smile on her lips.
"Oh. You two. After all this time?"
Margaret steps forward.
"We want to unite, Alia. Erase the past."
ZAINKHA says nothing, but his gaze is sharp—calculating.
Alia slowly climbs the steps of the throne.
"You want to work with me now?"
Silence.
Then her voice, low and cutting:
"The ones who broke me… now want to stand in my shadow?"
Margaret replies softly,
"We understand now… Without you, there's no survival."
ZAINKHA finally speaks:
"We wish to walk the path scorched by your fire."
Alia stares at them.
Fire flickers around her.
History hums in the background.
She closes her eyes for a second. Breathes deep.
Then calmly declares—
"Alright… But on my terms.
My game. My rules.
Do you agree?"