“Are you leaving already?” she asks, glancing at my keys. “Did the coffee offend you that much?”
“I have more pressing matters than your culinary rebellion,” I say.
She smirks. “Well, if you disappear and the police come looking, I’ll just say I warned them about your illegal activity.”
I shake my head as I walk past her.
Why does everything feel like a sparring match with her? Why does she win even when she shouldn’t?
Am I really letting an intern get the upper hand? No. I just don’t have time for her beautiful, stubborn, sassy mouth. Not today, at least.
CHAPTER 7
ABHIMAAN
I drive through the dimly lit service road on the outskirts of the city; the low growl of the engine is the only sound in the car aside from my labored breathing. The roads here are rough and uneven—like the ones I grew up on. Forgotten by the system, just like the kids in that hellhole they dared to call an orphanage.
It's 10:03 AM. Too bright for this kind of encounter. I don't like daylight when dealing with ghosts. It makes them look too real. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel.Anil. The name still curdles something in my gut.
I take pride in starting from nothing. No family name. No legacy. No silver spoons in my mouth—just the taste of rust from old pipes in that shithole of an orphanage where I spent too many years pretending I didn't care that no one came for me but silently hoping someone did because every day was a battle.
I ran away when I was fifteen. A few years too young to survive, a few scars too old to still be a kid. And then I met Anil. He didn’t find me. I found him. Because even the worst people sometimes look like saviors when you're hungry enough—for food, for warmth, for the goddamn illusion of care. He gave me all three. At a price. I knew from the beginning he wasn’t a good man. But he saw me. Gave me a name, a job, and a roof.I confused utility with affection, and I clung to it like a dog that’s been kicked one too many times. I did things. Bad things. Carried things. Drove cars that weren’t mine. Kept quiet when I shouldn’t have. Learned how fear can make a man confess anything—especially when it’s your voice asking the questions.
But then Anil changed. No—he got comfortable. Greedy. Started using girls, people with debts who never had a chance to fight back. That’s when the rot became unbearable. So I betrayed him.
I told the cops where he’d be. I watched from a rooftop as they dragged him away, still screaming my name like a curse. Ten years in Arthur Road. And now he’s out.
He’s not coming for my life. No. He knows I’m not someone who hides, not someone who fears death. He’s coming for my legacy. Varuna. The only thing in this world I’ve built with clean hands. No laundering, no black money, no family handouts. Just sweat, time, and precision.
And he touched it. Leaked an entire confidential project proposal, one we’d been working on for eight months. It cost us ?400 crore in losses and three major international partnerships.
Then he sent the email.This is just the beginning. I will ruin you like you ruined me.
No name. No number. But I knew. It had his stink all over it—resentment wrapped in theater.
So I hired people to find Lakhan. A rat who only eats after others are done bleeding. I take a left into the industrial sector, slowing as the gates of the godown come into view. Concrete walls. Metal shutters. Warehouse number 14. Not flashy, not at all public. Unmarked, quiet, and secure.
I step out of the car. The heat hits my face like Mumbai, reminding me it still owns me. A bird screeches in the distance. Machinery buzzes from somewhere nearby. Life goes on while I drag my past into the daylight. The steel door creaks open.
One of my men—Arjun—nods at me. “Inside.” I walk in. The space smells of dust, sweat, and something more metallic beneath. In the center of the warehouse, Lakhan is tied to a chair. His face is a canvas of bruises, one eye already swollen shut. Sweat clings to his skin. His chest rises and falls in staccato gasps. I don’t flinch.
Four of my men stand nearby. Silent. Focused. I don't ask what they did. I don’t need to. I don’t direct this work anymore. But I also don’t stop them. They came to me by choice. No contracts. No chains. When they wish to leave, they walk. No questions asked. But right now—they're here. Because they believe in what I built. Because they know Varuna isn’t just business. It’s protection. For families. For workers. For the ones like me who never had a damn safety net.
I step forward slowly, hands in my pockets. Lakhan lifts his head and blinks through the haze. Recognition flickers. “Where is he?” I ask. No reply. I take a slow breath. “What does he want?” Still nothing.
I kneel in front of him. My voice is quiet. “You work for a man who trafficked children and beat women for fun. You want to protect that? Go ahead. But don’t expect mercy from me.”
He snorts weakly, blood staining his teeth. “You think you’re better than him?” he rasps. “You’re not.” I stand. I’ve heard that before. From people who want to keep me in the mud they crawled out of. My patience begins to thin.
I glance once at Arjun. He raises an eyebrow. “Again?” I nod once.
He steps forward. The crack of knuckles. The shift of weight. One hit. Two. Lakhan slumps but doesn’t cry out. Not this time. I crouch again, voice flat.
“This ends one of two ways. You talk, or you disappear.” For a long, wheezing beat, nothing. Just shallow breath and dust in the air.
And then Lakhan smiles. Blood streaks his chin. “You think this ends with me?” I freeze. “He’s already watching you,” he whispers. “Always was.”
My body stills. Something slow and dark coils in my stomach. Before I can respond, his head drops forward. He’s out cold. Arjun steps back, looking at me for a cue. I hold up a hand. No more. Not today.
