The drive to Alibaug was shrouded in fog and quiet stillness. Samruddhi looked out the window of the black SUV, her fingers drumming a furious beat on her phone. The sea glimmered in the distance, taunting the tempest raging in her head. Arpan drove just as always—serene, collected, like he wasn't driving to the location where all his specters awaited.
The space between them was charged with the tension of unspoken things.
"You could've sent another person," she spoke up at last.
"I could've," Arpan said. "Then I wouldn't know whether you were going to shoot me in the back."
She spun to face him. "If I wanted you dead, I'd not use a bullet. I'd write an exposé.
A corner of his mouth curved. "And ruin your most exciting headline? 'Underworld Prince Drives Journalist to Death and Desire'?"
She looked away, annoyed by how quickly he could twist her anger into something electric. "Don't flatter yourself."
"I'm not," he said. "Just surviving your company."
The bungalow remained like a guilty sin forgotten. Moss encroached on its walls, and salt wind had gnawed at the wood until it groaned like rusty bones. Samruddhi entered through the door first. Dust smothered the light. It hadn't been disturbed in years.
She proceeded directly to the bedroom. The clock still remained—a gaudy, floral monstrosity of another era. She went behind it.
Nothing.
Then her hand encountered something hollow.
A panel.
She forced it open.
Inside: a rusty tin box, rusted at the corners.
She opened it.
Photos. Letters. A yellowed diary.
The first photo caught her breath.
Her father and Arpan's mother. Smiling. Holding a baby.
Not Arpan.
Her.
"God," she breathed.
Arpan had moved behind her. He saw too.
He stood there for a long moment, then turned to her. "That's not possible."
The diary told otherwise. Rina More's handwriting twirled across the pages like ivy. Pages full of love, lies, sorrow. And treachery.
"I was the one who got your father killed," Samruddhi stated, voice shaking. "He tried to protect her. And me."
Arpan's jaw set. "My mother died of cancer, Devraj used to tell me. That she left me alone."
Samruddhi offered him a page.
It read: Devraj found out. Said blood must stay pure. I'm running. Jai said he'd protect us. If this reaches my son. forgive me.
Outside, a camera lens clicked.
Kavya sat in her car down the road, zooming in from a distance.
She sent the pictures to a private number.
Then she whispered, "Checkmate."
Back in the bungalow, Samruddhi's phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: "Run. They're coming."
She looked at Arpan.
"Time to go," she said.
He didn't argue.
As they approached the SUV, a black van cut off the road.
Masked men leapt out. Guns pointed.
Samruddhi extended her hand toward the glove compartment, snatched out the pistol Arpan had secreted.
He grinned darkly. "You left it loaded?"
She fired once. The van's window exploded.
He accelerated.
They didn't pause driving until the sun crept above the horizon and the city devoured them once more.
But something was different.
Not merely the facts.
Not merely the bloodlines.
Trust had been shattered.
And in its stead, something more sinister had started to flower.
To be continued.