Hyderabad's monsoon drizzle cloaked Priya Reddy's Banjara Hills villa, its sleek interiors a stark contrast to the brewing storm. Robin Seth stood by a floor-to-ceiling window, Priya, in a teal lehenga that shimmered with urban chic, poured filter coffee, her smirk sharp. "Aisha di's scrambling," she said, eyes glinting. "People say doctors are flocking to the Fernandes villa. No cure yet, Robin."
Robin's gaze lingered on a photo of Tara on his phone, his anchor. "Margaret's fight isn't mine," he said, voice dry.
Priya, "You're rattling Aisha's cage. The doorbell rang, urgent and sharp. Sanjay Gupta, now with Reddy Ventures, opened it to reveal Aisha Seth, her black dress stark, her face a mix of desperation and fury. "Robin," she said, voice trembling with forced calm, "Ma's dying. You sent the medicine, but we need more—and the formula. For old times' sake, for Tara."
Robin's eyes narrowed, his calm unshaken. Aisha's plea stirred memories—her filing for divorce on his mother Sarita's birthday, ignoring Sarita's heart condition, a betrayal that hardened him. "Old times?" he said, voice cold. "You ended us, Aisha. Choose your freedom over my mother's pain. I sent Margaret enough medicine. The formula's mine."
Aisha's gaze softened, a tactic from their past. "Robin, we were family. You loved me once. Help Ma, please." Her voice cracked, but her accusations followed. "You're doing this to hurt me—stealing Sanjay's team, now this?"
Robin's laugh was icy, cutting. "Hurt you? I'm done with your family, Aisha, except for Tara. You want medicine? Give me Tara's custody—now."
Aisha's face hardened, her desperation turning to rage. "Never. Tara's mine. You're heartless, Robin, playing games with Ma's life."
Before Robin could respond, Daniel Fernandes stormed in, his designer jacket dripping, his arrogance unchecked. "Robin, you still love her, don't you?" he sneered, misreading the tension. "Stop pretending—give us the formula, or you're finished." His attempt to exploit Robin's past feelings was clumsy, desperate.
Robin's Fighting instincts flared, but he stayed still, his gaze lethal. "Love? Daniel, your sister betrayed me on Ma's birthday. You're both ghosts to me now."
Vikram Malhotra slipped in, his suit crisp, his ego bruised by the faint chance of reconciliation. "Aisha, don't beg him," he snapped. "I've got connections—doctors, chemists. We'll find a cure without this loser."
Aisha's eyes flashed, Robin's defiance shaking her. "You think I can't find another cure?" she hissed. "I'll prove you wrong, Robin. You'll regret this." She stormed out, Daniel trailing, her resolve masking panic.
Priya smirked, unfazed. "She's dreaming, Robin. No one matches your Ayurvedic game." She turned to Sanjay, who'd been watching silently. "Sanjay, join Reddy Ventures' new club project. We're making "Regal Club" Hyderabad's best, with Robin sir running it."
Sanjay nodded, his loyalty to Robin unwavering. "I'm in. My team's ready, Robin sir. Let's build something Aisha can't touch."
Robin hesitated, his focus on Tara and his mother Sarita, whose heart condition weighed heavy. "I'll manage Regal Club temporarily," he said, voice steady. "Make it number one in Hyderabad. I'll take 51%, Priya, but only to secure Tara's future." His Don Robin fire flared, a strategic move to counter Aisha's empire.
Meera Reddy flitted in, her dress glinting, voice smug. "Robin, running clubs now? "Meera, enough," Priya snapped, her lehenga glowing.
Robin ignored Meera, his phone buzzing with a hospital update about Sarita. "I'm heading to see Ma," he told Priya. "Keep Sanjay focused. Aisha's not the only storm coming." The spy's text from yesterday—"Naga's Son knows you're moving"—lingered, with Rocky Bhai's shadow close.
At the Fernandes villa, Aisha rallied a team of doctors, their faces grim as they tested alternatives for Margaret's condition. "Find a cure," she ordered, her voice sharp but brittle. "We don't need Robin." Yet, doubt gnawed—Robin's medicine had worked for a decade, and her mother's pain was unrelenting.
Robin stepped into the hospital, the sterile scent hitting him as he approached Sarita's room. Her frail form, weakened by her heart condition, stirred his resolve. Aisha's crisis was her own; his fight—for Tara, for his mother, for his future—was escalating. As he entered, a shadow lingered outside—a spy, watching, waiting.