Kapoor Mansion – 3:12 a.m.
Aaravi sat upright, a scream caught in her throat. Her silk camisole clung to her, soaked with sweat. Her skin tingled—no, ached—from a dream that hadn't ended properly.
Vivaan's hands had been around her neck—not choking, but claiming. His mouth at her ear, whispering things that shouldn't feel this good. Her thighs clenched, her lips still parted from the phantom kiss.
But the knock that shattered the silence wasn't his.
It was sharper. Colder.
She slipped out of bed, heart pounding like war drums, and cracked the heavy teak door open.
No one stood outside. Only a black envelope lay on the marbled floor.
No name. No stamp. Just a single note inside.
"Come alone. Veer is alive. Don't tell the chess boy. Don't tell Mehul. Or he dies again."
Her breath caught. The letters were jagged, dark with urgency. But it wasn't just the words.
It was the handwriting.
She would know it anywhere.
Mira.
The ghost who used to call Veer her little brother. The woman who had disappeared the same night he did. The one whose voice still lingered in Aaravi's nightmares—whispering secrets into Mehul's ears.
And now, Mira was back.
Old Delhi – The Den of Echoes
The night was humid, the streets drenched in smells—burnt oil, wet stone, jasmine, and something metallic.
Aaravi wore a black hoodie, her face shadowed, her steps silent. No driver. No tracking. No lipstick. Just instinct.
The address led her to a narrow alley, swallowed by dark.
She found a rusted iron door at the end. She knocked: once slow. Once fast.
It creaked open with the weight of memory.
Candlelight flickered inside, casting long shadows on faded walls. The scent of jasmine fought with the iron tang of old blood. And standing in the center, barefoot, was Mira.
Short hair now. A scar ran along her jawline like a warning. But her eyes—still that venom dipped in honey.
"You came," Mira purred.
Aaravi stepped in like a blade. "Where is my brother?"
Mira's smile widened. "No hello? No drink for the girl who saved your secrets?"
Aaravi didn't move. "Don't play games. I don't have the patience."
Mira came closer. "Still so cold. So controlled. But your eyes? They still burn. Especially when you're scared... or aroused."
She was too close now. The heat between them ignited something deeper—danger, attraction, old betrayal.
Then—Mira leaned in and pressed her lips to Aaravi's.
It wasn't a kiss of affection. It was dominance. Memory. War.
Aaravi bit down, drawing blood.
Mira licked her lips, eyes glinting. "There's the fire I missed."
"Where is he?" Aaravi demanded, voice steel.
Mira tossed a photo on the candlelit table. Veer—thin, bruised, alive. Chained to a rusted pipe in a concrete room. His eyes pleaded through the image.
"I sold him," Mira whispered. "For survival. But I want him back."
Aaravi's jaw tightened. "And what do you want from me?"
Mira stepped even closer, her voice a velvet blade. "Deliver Mehul. Alive. At the old stadium. Or Veer stays chained until he forgets your name."
Silence hung between them. Aaravi's heart warred with logic.
"I don't trust you."
Mira smiled. "Good. Trust makes you weak. Fear makes you act."
Meanwhile – Vivaan's Penthouse
The screen flickered in the dark as Vivaan rewound the security footage again.
There she was. Aaravi. Hoodie on. No guards. Leaving the mansion silently at 2:49 a.m.
He paused the frame on her face. Her jaw was tight. But her eyes—terrified. Not her usual icy fire. Something had shaken her.
"Where are you going, Princess?" he whispered.
Shirtless, sweat slicked on his chest from his midnight workout, he moved to a drawer behind the bookshelf.
Inside: confidential files. Photos. Code names.
One stood out—circled in red.
Mira Laghari
Ex-handler. Syndicate defector.
Status: Rogue. Last seen: Night of Veer's disappearance.
Vivaan clenched his jaw. This wasn't just about Veer or Aaravi.
It was about losing grip.
And Vivaan never lost grip.
He holstered his pistol.
Time to follow the ghost.
Elsewhere – Unknown Location
Chains rattled.
Veer's wrists bled where the iron bit into his skin. His eyes blinked against the candlelight spilling into the cell.
He heard footsteps—barefoot, deliberate.
A silhouette appeared, framed by the flame.
Not Aaravi.
Not Mira.
She knelt beside him and whispered:
"She's coming, Veer. But so am I. And I won't be as kind."