December 29th, 2029. Mumbai.
The empire had never looked more powerful. Stock tickers scrolled green. The media hailed Aanya as a new-age industrialist. Awards lined the hallways of Rathore Tower.
And yet, Aanya stood on a foundation of betrayal.
Her right hand—Rishad—was gone. Not just absent. Vanished. Like a ghost never meant to be seen.
She had been played.
And now, the only way to win was to burn what remained.
At dawn, she summoned Dev to the war room.
He entered with a look she hadn't seen before. Not guarded. Not cold.
Respect. Earned, not assumed.
"Plan?" he asked.
Aanya pulled up a projection.
On screen: every name linked to Consortium holdings. Shell companies. Trade proxies. Political affiliations. Fake trusts.
"We publish it," she said.
Dev narrowed his eyes. "You'll be assassinated before your first click."
"I won't click."
She handed him a USB.
"This goes to Xara. She leaks it anonymously through the WhisperNet pipeline. It'll hit five countries before sunrise."
Dev hesitated. "Once it's out, it doesn't come back."
"I know."
He took the drive. "You're not afraid."
She didn't blink. "I'm already dead to them. Let them fear what a ghost can do."
At 10:00 AM, the first leak dropped.
A shadow file called CROWN_ASH.zip hit an old whistleblower board.
It didn't trend.
It detonated.
Three international ministers were named. Two billion-dollar companies exposed. An entire banking chain collapsed in Luxembourg within four hours.
The internet melted.
And the Consortium went silent.
Aanya didn't wait.
She called a press briefing. 3:00 PM. Every major channel invited. No notes. No spin.
She stood before them in black.
Hair pulled back. Eyes razor-sharp.
"Many of you will hear my name in sentences soaked with suspicion today," she began.
"You will see documents, conspiracies, accusations. And for once, I won't deny them."
Gasps. Reporters froze.
"I won't deny them because they're true. Every piece of data. Every name. Every deal. But I didn't create this game. I inherited it."
Aanya raised the Consortium file.
"And now, I reject it."
She laid it on the podium.
"I built my power by learning their rules. Today, I destroy it by breaking them."
The stream cut out. Not from her side.
A global blackout.
Dev, watching from the rooftop, felt it.
"She's forcing their hand," Xara said beside him.
"Good," he replied. "Let's see what they bleed."
At 6:00 PM, the retaliation began.
Three Rathore satellites were hijacked.
Two regional branches of her company were seized under 'emergency trade protocol.'
A smear campaign launched on every major social media platform, branding her a 'corporate tyrant turned anarchist.'
Her passport was revoked. Travel permissions frozen.
They didn't kill her.
They isolated her.
Turned her into a sovereign threat.
But they forgot one thing.
Aanya didn't need escape.
She needed ignition.
At midnight, she made her final move.
She uploaded a video to a private blockchain, encrypted and decentralized.
In it, she stood against the glass of Rathore Tower, city lights behind her like a battlefield.
"I am not a product of your fear," she said. "I am a result of your silence."
"I am not your asset. I am your reckoning."
And she smiled.
It wasn't soft.
It was surgical.
"Come and see what happens when the crown is made of ash."
She sent the file.
It couldn't be traced.
It couldn't be stopped.
In Zurich, three executives received the ping.
One slammed a glass. Another issued an extraction order. The third disappeared.
In New York, the stock exchange adjusted quietly overnight. Names vanished. Accounts locked.
In Mumbai, Aanya stood in her office, alone.
Dev entered.
"They're unraveling," he said.
"Let them."
"You've started something no one can stop."
"I didn't start it," she said. "I just stopped pretending it wasn't happening."
He looked at her.
"Are you ready for what comes next?"
She smiled faintly.
"I'm not ready," she said. "I'm ready to make history uncomfortable."
And behind her, the skyline flickered.
Not from light.
From fire.