The night over Europe was unnaturally still. Mukul had grown used to quiet nights, but this one felt weighted—like the sky itself was holding its breath. Inside the Raichand–Malhotra estate, the cousins trained, the fiancées reviewed strategies, and Avni kept her eyes on her son. None of them knew the enemy had already crossed the threshold.
From the forest surrounding the estate, shadows moved. Elite operatives—hired by the rival organization—slipped through the trees, their movements silent, their targets clear: strike the heirs before they could root their empires.
The first alarm came not from the high-tech sensors but from Mukul himself. His instincts, honed by years of silence and survival, jolted awake. He rushed to the command room, his cousins close behind. The screens flickered red. Perimeter breached. Multiple signatures.
"Positions!" Mukul barked. His voice was sharp, commanding—not as a brother or cousin, but as the heir who had inherited centuries of strategy.
The fiancées moved first. Vanya locked the security system, cutting off digital infiltration. Sakura unsheathed her twin blades, standing guard at the courtyard. Aarohi rallied the household guards, her commanding presence turning panic into order. Kiara, Liya, and Sirisha spread across the wings of the mansion, ready to repel any entry.
The cousins formed their own squads. Veer led the fighters, positioning them at choke points. Riaan hacked into the attackers' comms, scrambling their coordination. Ritvik readied a makeshift medical post, his hands trembling but determined. Kiaan and Varun mapped tactical routes on the fly, predicting enemy movements before they reached the gates.
Then the clash began.
Explosions ripped across the outer wall. Shadows surged in—mercenaries dressed in black, armed with tech and blades, their eyes merciless. They expected fear. Instead, they met fire.
Veer's fists were the first to land, shattering the jaw of a soldier who had breached the main hall. Rishaan's tech drones buzzed overhead, unleashing blinding lights and sonic waves that disoriented the attackers. Arin and Rishika, normally book-bound, stood shoulder to shoulder in defense of their cousins, hurling makeshift weapons with surprising ferocity.
Mukul himself stood at the center, calm but deadly. Every strike he made was measured, decisive. His mind worked faster than the battlefield—he predicted patterns, anticipated breaches, and directed his family with the precision of a general twice his age.
But the enemy was relentless. More waves poured in. For every intruder dropped, another filled the gap. The estate shook under the assault.
Then came the turning point. A squad of infiltrators reached the west wing, where Avni and Anaya were stationed. Mukul's heart froze when he saw the feed—his mother and newly returned sister in danger. He didn't hesitate. He charged, breaking through the chaos like a storm.
The attackers reached Avni's chamber door, explosives set. But before they could detonate, a shadow faster than theirs cut through—Aralyn Nyx. Anaya shed her disguise fully in that moment, her movements lethal, her presence terrifying. With precision strikes, she eliminated the squad before they even realized who they were facing.
Avni pulled her daughter into her arms, trembling but unbroken. "Never again," she whispered.
The cousins, inspired by the sight, roared back with a second wind. Rehan, arrogant yet brilliant, led a counteroffensive using stun devices he had secretly been developing. Rivaan's calm voice kept panicked guards focused, guiding them through fear.
Slowly, the tide shifted. The estate became a fortress of defiance. The attackers, unprepared for such coordinated resistance, began to falter. Their leader, watching from the treeline, realized too late: this was no fractured family. This was an army bound by blood, love, and fire.
When the last intruder fell, silence returned. The estate was scarred—walls cracked, floors burned, windows shattered—but the family stood. Breathing hard, bloodied but unbowed, they gathered in the main hall.
Mukul looked around at them—fiancées, cousins, mother, sister—and felt a weight heavier than exhaustion. This was only the beginning.
"They've shown their hand," he said, voice low but steady. "Now… it's our turn."
The family nodded, eyes hard with shared resolve. The night that was meant to break them had only forged them stronger.
And in the shadows of the forest, the rival organization retreated—watching, calculating, already planning their next strike.