16-08-2025, 12:07 AM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
THE NEXT DAY
The morning sun poured softly over the streets of Mumbai as Hemant’s cab pulled up to his apartment home. His body still felt weak from the day spent in Sanjeevani Hospital, recovering from the stroke that had struck him like lightning. On the doorstep, Anjali stood with Karan, both smiling, their eyes filled with relief. Behind them was Sonarika, smiling too—but her smile was heavy, almost brittle, weighed down by the guilt she carried.
“Papa!” Karan rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Hemant’s waist.
The boy’s warmth was real, grounding. Hemant put a hand on his son’s head and ruffled his hair, forcing the corners of his lips upward into something that looked like a smile. Anjali stepped in next, hugging him gently, mindful of his condition.
"It’s good to have you home, Bhaiya” she said.
Her voice was bright, but her eyes were measuring his mood. Karan’s excitement dimmed a little when he noticed his father’s subdued tone.
"Are you okay Papa? You don’t look… happy.”
Before Hemant could answer, Anjali placed a hand on Karan’s shoulder.
"Give papa time Karan. He needs rest more than anything right now”
Hemant didn’t contradict her. He simply gave a quiet nod.
The day unfolded slowly. Hemant let Karan pull him into a series of light activities—board games, sketching silly doodles, watching an old cricket match on TV. For brief moments, genuine laughter slipped out of him. Sonarika observed from the doorway at times, watching her husband’s rare smiles. Yet her peace was constantly broken by her phone buzzing on the table. She glanced at the screen—Vikram. Again. Her chest tightened. She muted the call without answering.
By evening, the living room was scattered with game pieces and half-finished snacks. Hemant’s body was tired, but his mind was restless. He excused himself and walked into the bedroom, closing the door softly. His eyes fell on the framed wedding photo sitting on the desk. Not long ago, it had been his anchor—a reminder of love and commitment. Now, it felt like a cruel joke carved into glass.
Sitting on the bed, Hemant rubbed his temples. He hoped sleep would come early tonight, but his thoughts refused to settle. The door creaked open. Sonarika stepped in wearing a nightie, her hair loose, her face carrying a faint smile that once would have softened him instantly. He didn’t return it.
"I need to go out of the city for an important meet tomorrow"
Hemant said abruptly, his tone flat. Sonarika’s brow furrowed.
"Hemant… you shouldn’t be thinking of travel. Your health isn’t—"
"I’m going" he cut her off.
"I’ll manage"
"You can’t just push yourself like this. I’m… I’m worried" Her voice trembled slightly.
"Your concern" Hemant said quietly.
"doesn’t change anything anymore"
His words landed like stones between them, heavy and cold.
He got up, grabbed a pillow and blanket from the bed, and started walking toward the door.
"What are you doing?" Sonarika asked, panic edging her tone.
"I can’t sleep here" he said, his voice shaking.
"I’m not comfortable… being around you. Even looking at your face makes me feel like my life is a mockery"
Her lips parted, but no words came at first. Then, in a voice thick with remorse, she said.
"I never wanted to hurt you like this… I don’t know what I was thinking. You’ve only ever loved me—"
Hemant turned to her, eyes glistening.
"You know Kunal.....You never liked my friendship with him because you said he was a cuckold. Funny thing is… you turned me into one. An unwilling one"
The silence that followed was unbearable. Sonarika covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. Hemant turned away before he could crumble, walked into the guest bedroom, and shut the door without another word.
Sonarika fell back onto their bed, clutching the pillow to her chest. Tears soaked the fabric as she reached for the wedding photo. She held it close, as if proximity to that moment in time could undo everything. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of regret. She cursed the day she had met Vikram. She wished she could erase every call, every meeting, every lie.
In the guest bedroom, Hemant lay staring at the ceiling. Sleep refused to come. His hand drifted to the thread tied around his wrist, where the Archangel ring hung. His fingers traced its familiar grooves. The memories came unbidden—Azerbaijan, the streets of London, the Shanghai market, the underground weapons cache in Yemen, the burning warehouse, the charred home. His mind was a carousel of shadows.
He removed the ring from the thread, holding it between his fingers. The intricate design seemed to whisper to him of battles fought and survived. Slowly, he slid it onto his finger, next to the Garuda ring he already wore. As the metal touched skin, the visions sharpened—until all he could see was himself standing before the statue of Archangel Michael in his London church on Causeway Street.
And then, the pain receded. The hollow ache in his chest dulled. Something else replaced it—something steady, cold, but grounding. His breath slowed, and for the first time since the hospital, his mind was quiet. As his eyelids grew heavy, a voice deep inside whispered, Welcome back. Hemant exhaled and let the darkness take him.
The morning light streamed into the guest bedroom, tracing soft gold lines across Hemant’s face. His eyes opened slowly—not with the heaviness of exhaustion, but with a certain alertness he hadn’t felt in weeks. The rings sat snugly on his finger, cool and unmoving. Whatever storm had been in his mind the night before now seemed like it had passed, leaving behind an ocean still in appearance but deep in current.
In the kitchen, Sonarika stood by the counter making tea, her hands trembling slightly as she poured. She had barely slept. The wedding photo she had clutched last night was still lying on her bedside table, smudged from her tears. Every footstep she heard in the hallway made her heart race.
Hemant walked in quietly, dressed in casual but neat clothes—jeans and a crisp shirt. His hair was combed, his expression unreadable. Karan was still asleep, and Anjali was out buying groceries, leaving just the two of them in the house.
"Good morning" Sonarika said, her voice tentative.
"Morning" Hemant replied, his tone even.
No warmth, no edge—just a plain acknowledgment. She tried to smile.
"I made your tea just the way you like it. Less sugar" She placed the cup in front of him.
Hemant took it without looking at her directly.
"Thanks" He sipped slowly, as though the tea was nothing more than fuel for the day ahead.
The silence stretched. Sonarika shifted in place, desperate to break it.
"Hemant… about last night—"
He set the cup down gently.
"Last night is over" he said.
"The past is the past. I have nothing more to add"
His calmness unnerved her more than his anger had.
"But I need to explain—"
"You already did" he interrupted.
"You explained with your actions. And I understood"
He didn’t raise his voice, but the words landed like glass falling onto marble. She sat opposite him, leaning forward.
"I know I destroyed something precious between us. But please… I don’t want to lose you"
Hemant’s gaze finally met hers. His eyes were steady, and for a brief moment, she felt like he was looking right through her.
"You lost me the moment you made that choice. The only thing left is… how we live with it"
Tears welled in her eyes.
"So that’s it? You’re just going to… move on without me?"
"I’m going to move forward" he said.
"With or without your understanding. Staying stuck in yesterday will kill me faster than any stroke"
She reached out, her hand hovering over his.
"I can change, Hemant. I can—"
He pulled his hand back, not harshly, but decisively.
"Change for yourself, not for me. I’m not your reason anymore"
The words hollowed her out. For years, she had been his center, his constant. Now, she could feel the gravity between them collapsing into nothing. He finished his tea, stood up, and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice almost breaking.
"Out" he said.
"There are things I need to take care of. People to see"
Her throat tightened.
"Are you… leaving me?"
He paused at the doorway, his back still turned.
"If I were leaving, you’d know. For now, I’m just… not staying close"
And with that, he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Sonarika sank into the chair he had vacated, staring at the untouched tea she had poured for herself. She had thought the worst thing she could endure was his anger. Now she realized—it was his distance. His absence while still being in the same house.
Outside, Hemant got into his SUV, silencing the noises of the city around him. Now he felt only that strange clarity, like the Archangel’s whisper still lingered in his ears. He knew exactly where he was headed. Even though the path forward for the future wasn't clear, he felt a power in him , finally accepting of who and what he is right now.
FEW HOURS LATER IN SHANGHAI CHINA
The cemetery at Shuangqiao Mountain was a kingdom of silence, broken only by the lazy flutter of prayer flags and the scent of burning sandalwood. The air was cool, heavy with mist, and every headstone here told a story of loyalty, betrayal, and blood spilled in the name of the Triads. At the center of this sacred ground, a funeral pyre waited for Ricky Tan—SunOnYee’s Red Pole, cut down in his own empire, The Golden Yang Hotel, by hands still unknown for them.
Rows of black-clad mourners stood in formation, a living testament to Ricky’s reach. The guard's hands rested on rifles, their mirrored sunglasses hiding the flicker of unease in their eyes. No outsider had ever been allowed this deep into the heart of Triad ground without a death sentence attached.
Old Rey Shen, the chairman of the Triads sat beneath a black silk canopy, his cane resting across his lap. Time had shrunk him, but his gaze still held the gravity of a man who’d buried emperors and crowned new kings. Beside him stood Jiu Mey, the feminine leader figure of the SunOnYee faction, wrapped in deep emerald silk, her painted lips pressed into a line so tight it threatened to break. Her eyes shimmered with grief that she would never let fall in public. Henry Lee loomed on the other side, hands clasped behind his back, his smirk faint but poisonous.
Howard Tsao, Vincent Ma, Sam Lin, and Conroy Wu lingered just beyond, each one dressed to kill in bespoke suits, their gold cufflinks flashing like the fangs of predators. They had all risen from street enforcers to Red Poles, and their eyes flickered between respect and suspicion.
The atmosphere shifted when the sharp staccato of high heels struck the stone. Sharon moved like she owned the space, her black qipao tracing the shape of a body carved in steel and fire. She approached the chairman, bowing with the exact depth required to honor him—no more, no less.
"My condolences, Chairman Shen" she said softly.
"Ricky was… irreplaceable"
"We bury him in an hour, yet I’m told we still wait. For what?" Shen’s voice came out in gravel.
Jiu Mey’s gaze lifted to the distant sky.
"For someone who must say goodbye. Someone whose presence… changes everything"
The wind shifted, carrying a sound that made even the veterans tense—the low, deep thrum of rotor blades. Heads turned upward. Through the rolling mist, a black Sikorsky S-76 helicopter emerged, gold stripes catching the pale light. But it was the emblem on its fuselage that froze every breath—the winged sword. A symbol burned into Triad memory as the mark of a man who once walked their streets like a specter of death.
Engines growled from the cemetery gates as a convoy of black sedans and armored jeeps swept in. Their synchronized precision was military—doors opening in unison, men in tailored black stepping out with M6 rifles and RP submachine guns slung across their chests. They moved without wasted motion, flanking the path to the helipad.
The helicopter descended in slow motion, rotor wash sending chrysanthemums and incense smoke swirling in a gold-tinted haze. On the far edges of the gathering, younger Triad soldiers whispered, trading stories they’d been told as warnings when they were green—stories of the man behind that sigil. The older ones stayed silent, eyes narrowed. They knew the stories weren’t enough.
Richard Williams, now helming the current Williams Estate and Business in London stepped down from the co-pilot seat, his suit perfect, his expression carved in stone. He walked to the rear passenger door, opening it with a deliberate pause, as though announcing the arrival of something not quite human.
A polished Italian shoe touched the stone first, followed by the immaculate line of black executive trousers. A right hand adorned with two heavy rings—the Garuda and the Archangel—caught the sunlight, scattering it into the crowd. Then came the gold-framed aviators, reflecting Ricky’s pyre in their mirrored lenses.
This was not Hemant Kumar, the Industrialist and owner of YOD Industries. This was Michael King, the once-forgotten reign of terror at Shanghai’s darkest nights. The man who had once carved a path through Triad corruption with surgical violence. A man the underworld swore was gone forever—until now.
Every step he took toward the pyre felt heavier than the one before, as though the earth itself acknowledged his return. Triad Red Poles watched with measured breaths. Some looked at him with respect forged in battle, others with the memory of the terror he once brought.
He stopped before the pyre, removing his glasses in a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes—steel grey and unblinking—studied Ricky’s photo. He knelt, placing a hand on the polished wood.
"May you finally find peace , Old Friend"
He murmured, his voice carrying enough weight to cut through the wind. A single tear slid down his cheek before his jaw tightened again.
Rising, he walked to the chairman, nodding briefly to Mey and Tsao, who gave the faintest nods back. Michael dropped to one knee before Shen, taking the old man’s frail hand.
"Uncle Shen , sorry to leave you , its been a long time!"
"Time heals the old wounds but it seems not the case for you"
"I am afraid not" Hemant showed affection to the older man.
"I promise you Uncle Shen" He said, voice low but sharp.
"Whoever killed Ricky will not breathe long enough to regret it. I will erase them from existence"
Henry Lee’s laugh cracked the tension like a whip.
"Bold talk, Michael King. You don’t even know who they are. Whoever they are, they hide in the shadows… watching. Maybe watching you"
Michael’s smile was thin, predatory.
"Shadows are strong… until they meet the light. I’ll burn this one until there’s nothing left but smoke. And my sword—The Inquisitor—is thirsty. When I find them, I’ll make them wish they were never born"
His words landed like gunshots, final and absolute.
Sliding the aviators back on, he turned, his coat flaring with the wind. His men moved with him, the convoy already aligning for departure. The Sikorsky’s rotors began to spin, whipping petals and ash into the air like a storm of fireflies.
As the helicopter lifted, Shen’s gaze stayed locked on it, his lips curling into the faintest smile. He glanced at Ricky’s photo, speaking in a voice only the dead could answer.
"Your death brought him back Ricky. He will avenge you.…"
AN HOUR LATER AT SHANGHAI AIRPORT PRIVATE LOUNGE.
Sharon was shocked by the details Hemant revealed minutes ago regarding his personal life. She was still having a hard time believing it as they both sat on their own private lounge section.
"Sonarika? Really? Cheating on you? You’re good-looking, your business is booming, you actually care about people, you’ve got the whole partner package—what the hell was she thinking?"
Hemant just stared at his black coffee, swirling it absently. Sharon leaned in, narrowing her eyes.
"Wait… don’t tell me you’ve got performance issues now? Because the Michael King I knew back in London sure as hell didn’t have that problem"
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"No, Sharon. That’s not it" He took a long sip, then set the cup down.
"Truth is… I think I’m the reason she went looking elsewhere"
"You’re joking" Sharon blinked.
"I’m not" he said quietly.
"When I started a life with her, I buried my past—every scrap of it. I thought it was the only way to keep things from crumbling like they did before. But in burying it… I buried the good parts too. The boldness. The fire. The man who lived life, not just moved through it"
He looked out the airport window as he spoke.
"I slowed down. Got soft. Out of shape. Lost the drive. I convinced myself that my wild ways were the reason I’d lost everything once, and I didn’t see that they were also the reason I was me. Sonarika never met the real me. Maybe… if Michael King had been her husband instead of Hemant Kumar, Vikram Bajaj wouldn’t have even crossed her mind"
Sharon tilted her head.
"That’s a hell of a confession"
He chuckled faintly.
"And if I was my old self… I would’ve appreciated the vixen she really is. God knows she’s the epitome of the perfect MILF—big boobs, a meaty ass, all the right curves in all the right places. There were times in our past where I wanted to let the old me out just to enjoy her fully.… but I didn’t. I thought bringing my past back meant losing her, like I lost everything else"
Sharon raised an eyebrow, teasing.
"So you’re telling me you held back out of love?"
"Yeah" Hemant said, smiling bitterly.
"And the irony is… I lost her anyway" He leaned back.
"In a twisted way, I should thank her. Her betrayal gave me clarity. I can’t hold her fully accountable—I hid who I was from her. That’s its own form of betrayal"
He looked straight at Sharon now.
"I hope Vikram genuinely loves her. That he takes care of her. Because at the very least… she deserves a man who appreciates her for all she is. I was just too late to be that man"
Sharon exhaled slowly, her voice softer now.
"So fix it. Go back to her. Fight for her. If you know what went wrong, there’s still a chance to make it right"
Hemant shook his head.
"Even if I bury the hatchet and stay with her, the path I’m about to take will put her in danger. This isn’t just about us anymore. There are wrongs that were done to me long before she came into my life—things I need to close, to settle. I need to put Michael King to rest for good before I can ever be free"
"At least I still have Karan" he continued.
"He’s… the symbol of what we had, even if it’s broken now. I know neither of us will compromise in our love for him. That’s one thing we’ll always share"
Sharon studied him, her expression caught between sympathy and frustration.
"It’s like pain’s your oldest companion, Hemant. Every time I see you, you’re either bleeding or bandaging someone else’s wounds"
He rose from his seat, leaving a few bills on the table.
"Maybe. But this time, I’m not staying wounded. I’m letting her go—to be with the man I believe she loves now. I still love her and cherish her as part of my life. But I am willing to let her go so that she can have her peace. I’m embracing both the past and the present. That’s the only way forward for me. My focus now is on avenging the old wounds"
Sharon didn’t stop him as he walked to the direction the flight announcement was done. She knew that look in his eyes—it was the same one he had before every storm in his past life. Hemant stepped into entry gate of his flight to Mumbai, the noise of the commotion of the travellers wrapping around him. For the first time in years, he wasn’t trying to be the man Sonarika needed. He was ready to be himself again, no matter where it led.
FEW DAYS LATER IN MUMBAI
The city’s mid-morning traffic hummed all around her, but inside her car, Sonarika’s hands were locked tight on the steering wheel. Her pulse drummed in her ears as she glanced at the location Hemant had sent her—a place she had never been before. She kept telling herself it was just a meeting, maybe about Karan, maybe something about the house. But deep down, something in her gut told her this was going to hurt.
When she finally parked, her eyes widened. The brass plaque by the glass door read in bold: Meera Sethi & Associates — Family Law Specialists. Her stomach tightened like a fist.
Through the tinted glass, she spotted Hemant standing near the reception desk, his posture straight, his expression still and cold—like a man made of stone. No smile, no flicker of warmth. Just… nothing.
"Mrs. Kumar?"
The receptionist’s voice broke her stare. She nodded silently, stepped inside, and walked toward him. Hemant’s gaze met hers only for a moment before he turned toward the corridor.
A tall, confident woman in a charcoal-grey suit appeared.
"Mr. and Mrs. Kumar? I’m Meera Sethi. Please, come in"
Her voice was professional, but her eyes were sharp, already sensing the tension between them.
The office was warm and modern, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. Meera gestured to two cushioned chairs opposite her desk.
"Have a seat"
As soon as they sat, Meera laced her fingers and asked.
"So, what’s the purpose of today’s meeting?"
"We’re here to file a petition for divorce. Out of court settlement" Hemant didn’t hesitate.
The words hit Sonarika like a physical blow. Her mouth went dry, and her eyes widened in disbelief.
"What?" she whispered, as if maybe she had misheard.
But Hemant just stared at Meera, unmoving.
Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. Meera noticed, sliding a box of tissues toward her.
"Did you… not tell her?"
Meera asked Hemant, her voice carrying a faint note of reproach. He shook his head once.
Meera sighed softly.
"Out of court settlements work best when both parties are prepared, Mr. Kumar. Surprises rarely help"
Hemant said nothing, his face unreadable.
"Well then" Meera continued, pulling out a form.
"Reason for divorce?"
"Irreconcilable differences"
Hemant replied, his tone as plain as if he were reading a weather report.
Meera tilted her head.
"That’s vague. The court might want more clarity"
"Then we’ll keep it vague" Hemant said.
"It’s enough"
"No… it’s not just differences" She wiped her cheeks. Sonarika finally found her voice.
"It’s because I had an affair"
Meera’s pen froze mid-note.
"If that’s the case, the petition should be on grounds of adultery"
"No" Hemant cut in.
"It stays as irreconcilable differences"
"Why?" Meera pressed.
"For Karan" Hemant said, his voice softening just slightly.
"I don’t want his future tainted by court records painting one of his parents in bad light. He’ll have enough to process without that"
There was a silence between them before Meera moved on.
"Custody arrangement?"
"Shared" Hemant said.
"Equally"
Sonarika nodded in agreement, her body trembling.
"And assets?" Meera asked. Hemant leaned forward.
"I’ll opt out of our joint account. She can take everything—family savings, deposits. It’s about a crore"
Sonarika’s head snapped toward him.
"Hemant…" she whispered, unable to process the generosity amidst the ice in his voice.
"But" he continued.
"I keep the rights to the house. I plan to sell it"
"Why such a drastic step? To bury the past?" Meera raised a brow.
Sonarika raised the same sentiments with concern.
"Yeah why? That apartment has been a testament of your hard work. Don't let it go to ruin for me"
Hemant leaned back, exhaling slowly.
"Actually that is not the reason , its actually quiet the opposite. I actually dreamed bigger. Something I never got to tell my family. I was going to after our summer vacation. I bought a villa at Silver Beach, Andheri. Worth two crores. Already paid an advance thanks to the thriving business. But to close the deal and renovate, I need to sell the apartment"
Sonarika’s breath caught. Her hands covered her mouth as tears poured freely now. She remembered the countless evenings they’d dreamed of a place by any water body, the one constant fantasy in their years together.
"You… you did this for us?" she asked, her voice breaking.
"For us" Hemant said quietly.
"For Karan. For the life I thought we were building"
His eyes flicked away, not wanting her to see the tiny fracture in his calm. Even Meera’s expression softened.
"That’s… a hard truth to carry. A dream home becoming a casualty of this process"
She tapped the form gently.
"Mrs. Kumar? Do you agree to these terms?"
Sonarika stared at the table for a long time. Her heart screamed no, but her throat refused to fight him. After a long pause, she nodded in agreement.
"Very well. I’ll file the petition next week" Meera said.
"But be aware—the court will impose a cooling period. Ten to twelve months. It’s mandatory. Gives you both time to rethink"
"I understand"
Hemant said. Sonarika just nodded, eyes downcast.
Outside, the afternoon sun was blinding. Hemant walked toward his SUV without looking back, until he felt a hand on his wrist.
"Is this it?" Sonarika asked, her voice raw.
"Is this where we part ways?"
For the first time that day, his eyes glistened.
"The path will be there Sonarika and that path is Karan , but we will never walk that path ever again towards each other"
"But why? Hemant I understand I made a terrible mistake , but can't we find our way back to each other?"
"No we can't"
"Am I that cursed to you"
Hemant took a breather and responded
"No Sonarika , you were never a curse. Matter of fact , you were something opposite of that. But that is the problem , My sun , My light , My source of strength , My Sona. I cannot see her in you. The Sona I know and love , she is no longer standing before me. Instead in front of me is a woman who has seemingly found love in another man. If anything , I have only gratitude for you Sonarika. That instead of getting to know about the affair from someone else , you told it yourself. That I definitely appreciate. Deep down , even now , I still love my Sona , the woman who shared a life with me. But right now , I cannot find her!"
His confession created a chasm of doubt in Sonarika. Making her realize the truth to his words. As Sonarika looked at him helplessly with teary eyes , Hemant concluded.
"For now we are not parting ways, like the lawyer said , we have nearly a year time to prepare. But mentally , I am already separate from you because you are not my Sona. You can stay in the apartment , I am going to opt to sleep at my factory thanks to a comfortable room I build there in my office. Get used to this new norm. Soon… we’ll be separate forever"
He pulled away, climbed into the SUV, and drove off. Sonarika stood there until the sound of the engine faded. Then she sank onto the stone steps outside the building, knees folding under her, grief crashing over her in waves. Somewhere between the tears and the choking breaths, the truth settled in:
The morning sun poured softly over the streets of Mumbai as Hemant’s cab pulled up to his apartment home. His body still felt weak from the day spent in Sanjeevani Hospital, recovering from the stroke that had struck him like lightning. On the doorstep, Anjali stood with Karan, both smiling, their eyes filled with relief. Behind them was Sonarika, smiling too—but her smile was heavy, almost brittle, weighed down by the guilt she carried.
“Papa!” Karan rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Hemant’s waist.
The boy’s warmth was real, grounding. Hemant put a hand on his son’s head and ruffled his hair, forcing the corners of his lips upward into something that looked like a smile. Anjali stepped in next, hugging him gently, mindful of his condition.
"It’s good to have you home, Bhaiya” she said.
Her voice was bright, but her eyes were measuring his mood. Karan’s excitement dimmed a little when he noticed his father’s subdued tone.
"Are you okay Papa? You don’t look… happy.”
Before Hemant could answer, Anjali placed a hand on Karan’s shoulder.
"Give papa time Karan. He needs rest more than anything right now”
Hemant didn’t contradict her. He simply gave a quiet nod.
The day unfolded slowly. Hemant let Karan pull him into a series of light activities—board games, sketching silly doodles, watching an old cricket match on TV. For brief moments, genuine laughter slipped out of him. Sonarika observed from the doorway at times, watching her husband’s rare smiles. Yet her peace was constantly broken by her phone buzzing on the table. She glanced at the screen—Vikram. Again. Her chest tightened. She muted the call without answering.
By evening, the living room was scattered with game pieces and half-finished snacks. Hemant’s body was tired, but his mind was restless. He excused himself and walked into the bedroom, closing the door softly. His eyes fell on the framed wedding photo sitting on the desk. Not long ago, it had been his anchor—a reminder of love and commitment. Now, it felt like a cruel joke carved into glass.
Sitting on the bed, Hemant rubbed his temples. He hoped sleep would come early tonight, but his thoughts refused to settle. The door creaked open. Sonarika stepped in wearing a nightie, her hair loose, her face carrying a faint smile that once would have softened him instantly. He didn’t return it.
"I need to go out of the city for an important meet tomorrow"
Hemant said abruptly, his tone flat. Sonarika’s brow furrowed.
"Hemant… you shouldn’t be thinking of travel. Your health isn’t—"
"I’m going" he cut her off.
"I’ll manage"
"You can’t just push yourself like this. I’m… I’m worried" Her voice trembled slightly.
"Your concern" Hemant said quietly.
"doesn’t change anything anymore"
His words landed like stones between them, heavy and cold.
He got up, grabbed a pillow and blanket from the bed, and started walking toward the door.
"What are you doing?" Sonarika asked, panic edging her tone.
"I can’t sleep here" he said, his voice shaking.
"I’m not comfortable… being around you. Even looking at your face makes me feel like my life is a mockery"
Her lips parted, but no words came at first. Then, in a voice thick with remorse, she said.
"I never wanted to hurt you like this… I don’t know what I was thinking. You’ve only ever loved me—"
Hemant turned to her, eyes glistening.
"You know Kunal.....You never liked my friendship with him because you said he was a cuckold. Funny thing is… you turned me into one. An unwilling one"
The silence that followed was unbearable. Sonarika covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. Hemant turned away before he could crumble, walked into the guest bedroom, and shut the door without another word.
Sonarika fell back onto their bed, clutching the pillow to her chest. Tears soaked the fabric as she reached for the wedding photo. She held it close, as if proximity to that moment in time could undo everything. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of regret. She cursed the day she had met Vikram. She wished she could erase every call, every meeting, every lie.
In the guest bedroom, Hemant lay staring at the ceiling. Sleep refused to come. His hand drifted to the thread tied around his wrist, where the Archangel ring hung. His fingers traced its familiar grooves. The memories came unbidden—Azerbaijan, the streets of London, the Shanghai market, the underground weapons cache in Yemen, the burning warehouse, the charred home. His mind was a carousel of shadows.
He removed the ring from the thread, holding it between his fingers. The intricate design seemed to whisper to him of battles fought and survived. Slowly, he slid it onto his finger, next to the Garuda ring he already wore. As the metal touched skin, the visions sharpened—until all he could see was himself standing before the statue of Archangel Michael in his London church on Causeway Street.
And then, the pain receded. The hollow ache in his chest dulled. Something else replaced it—something steady, cold, but grounding. His breath slowed, and for the first time since the hospital, his mind was quiet. As his eyelids grew heavy, a voice deep inside whispered, Welcome back. Hemant exhaled and let the darkness take him.
The morning light streamed into the guest bedroom, tracing soft gold lines across Hemant’s face. His eyes opened slowly—not with the heaviness of exhaustion, but with a certain alertness he hadn’t felt in weeks. The rings sat snugly on his finger, cool and unmoving. Whatever storm had been in his mind the night before now seemed like it had passed, leaving behind an ocean still in appearance but deep in current.
In the kitchen, Sonarika stood by the counter making tea, her hands trembling slightly as she poured. She had barely slept. The wedding photo she had clutched last night was still lying on her bedside table, smudged from her tears. Every footstep she heard in the hallway made her heart race.
Hemant walked in quietly, dressed in casual but neat clothes—jeans and a crisp shirt. His hair was combed, his expression unreadable. Karan was still asleep, and Anjali was out buying groceries, leaving just the two of them in the house.
"Good morning" Sonarika said, her voice tentative.
"Morning" Hemant replied, his tone even.
No warmth, no edge—just a plain acknowledgment. She tried to smile.
"I made your tea just the way you like it. Less sugar" She placed the cup in front of him.
Hemant took it without looking at her directly.
"Thanks" He sipped slowly, as though the tea was nothing more than fuel for the day ahead.
The silence stretched. Sonarika shifted in place, desperate to break it.
"Hemant… about last night—"
He set the cup down gently.
"Last night is over" he said.
"The past is the past. I have nothing more to add"
His calmness unnerved her more than his anger had.
"But I need to explain—"
"You already did" he interrupted.
"You explained with your actions. And I understood"
He didn’t raise his voice, but the words landed like glass falling onto marble. She sat opposite him, leaning forward.
"I know I destroyed something precious between us. But please… I don’t want to lose you"
Hemant’s gaze finally met hers. His eyes were steady, and for a brief moment, she felt like he was looking right through her.
"You lost me the moment you made that choice. The only thing left is… how we live with it"
Tears welled in her eyes.
"So that’s it? You’re just going to… move on without me?"
"I’m going to move forward" he said.
"With or without your understanding. Staying stuck in yesterday will kill me faster than any stroke"
She reached out, her hand hovering over his.
"I can change, Hemant. I can—"
He pulled his hand back, not harshly, but decisively.
"Change for yourself, not for me. I’m not your reason anymore"
The words hollowed her out. For years, she had been his center, his constant. Now, she could feel the gravity between them collapsing into nothing. He finished his tea, stood up, and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice almost breaking.
"Out" he said.
"There are things I need to take care of. People to see"
Her throat tightened.
"Are you… leaving me?"
He paused at the doorway, his back still turned.
"If I were leaving, you’d know. For now, I’m just… not staying close"
And with that, he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Sonarika sank into the chair he had vacated, staring at the untouched tea she had poured for herself. She had thought the worst thing she could endure was his anger. Now she realized—it was his distance. His absence while still being in the same house.
Outside, Hemant got into his SUV, silencing the noises of the city around him. Now he felt only that strange clarity, like the Archangel’s whisper still lingered in his ears. He knew exactly where he was headed. Even though the path forward for the future wasn't clear, he felt a power in him , finally accepting of who and what he is right now.
FEW HOURS LATER IN SHANGHAI CHINA
The cemetery at Shuangqiao Mountain was a kingdom of silence, broken only by the lazy flutter of prayer flags and the scent of burning sandalwood. The air was cool, heavy with mist, and every headstone here told a story of loyalty, betrayal, and blood spilled in the name of the Triads. At the center of this sacred ground, a funeral pyre waited for Ricky Tan—SunOnYee’s Red Pole, cut down in his own empire, The Golden Yang Hotel, by hands still unknown for them.
Rows of black-clad mourners stood in formation, a living testament to Ricky’s reach. The guard's hands rested on rifles, their mirrored sunglasses hiding the flicker of unease in their eyes. No outsider had ever been allowed this deep into the heart of Triad ground without a death sentence attached.
Old Rey Shen, the chairman of the Triads sat beneath a black silk canopy, his cane resting across his lap. Time had shrunk him, but his gaze still held the gravity of a man who’d buried emperors and crowned new kings. Beside him stood Jiu Mey, the feminine leader figure of the SunOnYee faction, wrapped in deep emerald silk, her painted lips pressed into a line so tight it threatened to break. Her eyes shimmered with grief that she would never let fall in public. Henry Lee loomed on the other side, hands clasped behind his back, his smirk faint but poisonous.
Howard Tsao, Vincent Ma, Sam Lin, and Conroy Wu lingered just beyond, each one dressed to kill in bespoke suits, their gold cufflinks flashing like the fangs of predators. They had all risen from street enforcers to Red Poles, and their eyes flickered between respect and suspicion.
The atmosphere shifted when the sharp staccato of high heels struck the stone. Sharon moved like she owned the space, her black qipao tracing the shape of a body carved in steel and fire. She approached the chairman, bowing with the exact depth required to honor him—no more, no less.
"My condolences, Chairman Shen" she said softly.
"Ricky was… irreplaceable"
"We bury him in an hour, yet I’m told we still wait. For what?" Shen’s voice came out in gravel.
Jiu Mey’s gaze lifted to the distant sky.
"For someone who must say goodbye. Someone whose presence… changes everything"
The wind shifted, carrying a sound that made even the veterans tense—the low, deep thrum of rotor blades. Heads turned upward. Through the rolling mist, a black Sikorsky S-76 helicopter emerged, gold stripes catching the pale light. But it was the emblem on its fuselage that froze every breath—the winged sword. A symbol burned into Triad memory as the mark of a man who once walked their streets like a specter of death.
Engines growled from the cemetery gates as a convoy of black sedans and armored jeeps swept in. Their synchronized precision was military—doors opening in unison, men in tailored black stepping out with M6 rifles and RP submachine guns slung across their chests. They moved without wasted motion, flanking the path to the helipad.
The helicopter descended in slow motion, rotor wash sending chrysanthemums and incense smoke swirling in a gold-tinted haze. On the far edges of the gathering, younger Triad soldiers whispered, trading stories they’d been told as warnings when they were green—stories of the man behind that sigil. The older ones stayed silent, eyes narrowed. They knew the stories weren’t enough.
Richard Williams, now helming the current Williams Estate and Business in London stepped down from the co-pilot seat, his suit perfect, his expression carved in stone. He walked to the rear passenger door, opening it with a deliberate pause, as though announcing the arrival of something not quite human.
A polished Italian shoe touched the stone first, followed by the immaculate line of black executive trousers. A right hand adorned with two heavy rings—the Garuda and the Archangel—caught the sunlight, scattering it into the crowd. Then came the gold-framed aviators, reflecting Ricky’s pyre in their mirrored lenses.
This was not Hemant Kumar, the Industrialist and owner of YOD Industries. This was Michael King, the once-forgotten reign of terror at Shanghai’s darkest nights. The man who had once carved a path through Triad corruption with surgical violence. A man the underworld swore was gone forever—until now.
Every step he took toward the pyre felt heavier than the one before, as though the earth itself acknowledged his return. Triad Red Poles watched with measured breaths. Some looked at him with respect forged in battle, others with the memory of the terror he once brought.
He stopped before the pyre, removing his glasses in a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes—steel grey and unblinking—studied Ricky’s photo. He knelt, placing a hand on the polished wood.
"May you finally find peace , Old Friend"
He murmured, his voice carrying enough weight to cut through the wind. A single tear slid down his cheek before his jaw tightened again.
Rising, he walked to the chairman, nodding briefly to Mey and Tsao, who gave the faintest nods back. Michael dropped to one knee before Shen, taking the old man’s frail hand.
"Uncle Shen , sorry to leave you , its been a long time!"
"Time heals the old wounds but it seems not the case for you"
"I am afraid not" Hemant showed affection to the older man.
"I promise you Uncle Shen" He said, voice low but sharp.
"Whoever killed Ricky will not breathe long enough to regret it. I will erase them from existence"
Henry Lee’s laugh cracked the tension like a whip.
"Bold talk, Michael King. You don’t even know who they are. Whoever they are, they hide in the shadows… watching. Maybe watching you"
Michael’s smile was thin, predatory.
"Shadows are strong… until they meet the light. I’ll burn this one until there’s nothing left but smoke. And my sword—The Inquisitor—is thirsty. When I find them, I’ll make them wish they were never born"
His words landed like gunshots, final and absolute.
Sliding the aviators back on, he turned, his coat flaring with the wind. His men moved with him, the convoy already aligning for departure. The Sikorsky’s rotors began to spin, whipping petals and ash into the air like a storm of fireflies.
As the helicopter lifted, Shen’s gaze stayed locked on it, his lips curling into the faintest smile. He glanced at Ricky’s photo, speaking in a voice only the dead could answer.
"Your death brought him back Ricky. He will avenge you.…"
AN HOUR LATER AT SHANGHAI AIRPORT PRIVATE LOUNGE.
Sharon was shocked by the details Hemant revealed minutes ago regarding his personal life. She was still having a hard time believing it as they both sat on their own private lounge section.
"Sonarika? Really? Cheating on you? You’re good-looking, your business is booming, you actually care about people, you’ve got the whole partner package—what the hell was she thinking?"
Hemant just stared at his black coffee, swirling it absently. Sharon leaned in, narrowing her eyes.
"Wait… don’t tell me you’ve got performance issues now? Because the Michael King I knew back in London sure as hell didn’t have that problem"
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"No, Sharon. That’s not it" He took a long sip, then set the cup down.
"Truth is… I think I’m the reason she went looking elsewhere"
"You’re joking" Sharon blinked.
"I’m not" he said quietly.
"When I started a life with her, I buried my past—every scrap of it. I thought it was the only way to keep things from crumbling like they did before. But in burying it… I buried the good parts too. The boldness. The fire. The man who lived life, not just moved through it"
He looked out the airport window as he spoke.
"I slowed down. Got soft. Out of shape. Lost the drive. I convinced myself that my wild ways were the reason I’d lost everything once, and I didn’t see that they were also the reason I was me. Sonarika never met the real me. Maybe… if Michael King had been her husband instead of Hemant Kumar, Vikram Bajaj wouldn’t have even crossed her mind"
Sharon tilted her head.
"That’s a hell of a confession"
He chuckled faintly.
"And if I was my old self… I would’ve appreciated the vixen she really is. God knows she’s the epitome of the perfect MILF—big boobs, a meaty ass, all the right curves in all the right places. There were times in our past where I wanted to let the old me out just to enjoy her fully.… but I didn’t. I thought bringing my past back meant losing her, like I lost everything else"
Sharon raised an eyebrow, teasing.
"So you’re telling me you held back out of love?"
"Yeah" Hemant said, smiling bitterly.
"And the irony is… I lost her anyway" He leaned back.
"In a twisted way, I should thank her. Her betrayal gave me clarity. I can’t hold her fully accountable—I hid who I was from her. That’s its own form of betrayal"
He looked straight at Sharon now.
"I hope Vikram genuinely loves her. That he takes care of her. Because at the very least… she deserves a man who appreciates her for all she is. I was just too late to be that man"
Sharon exhaled slowly, her voice softer now.
"So fix it. Go back to her. Fight for her. If you know what went wrong, there’s still a chance to make it right"
Hemant shook his head.
"Even if I bury the hatchet and stay with her, the path I’m about to take will put her in danger. This isn’t just about us anymore. There are wrongs that were done to me long before she came into my life—things I need to close, to settle. I need to put Michael King to rest for good before I can ever be free"
"At least I still have Karan" he continued.
"He’s… the symbol of what we had, even if it’s broken now. I know neither of us will compromise in our love for him. That’s one thing we’ll always share"
Sharon studied him, her expression caught between sympathy and frustration.
"It’s like pain’s your oldest companion, Hemant. Every time I see you, you’re either bleeding or bandaging someone else’s wounds"
He rose from his seat, leaving a few bills on the table.
"Maybe. But this time, I’m not staying wounded. I’m letting her go—to be with the man I believe she loves now. I still love her and cherish her as part of my life. But I am willing to let her go so that she can have her peace. I’m embracing both the past and the present. That’s the only way forward for me. My focus now is on avenging the old wounds"
Sharon didn’t stop him as he walked to the direction the flight announcement was done. She knew that look in his eyes—it was the same one he had before every storm in his past life. Hemant stepped into entry gate of his flight to Mumbai, the noise of the commotion of the travellers wrapping around him. For the first time in years, he wasn’t trying to be the man Sonarika needed. He was ready to be himself again, no matter where it led.
FEW DAYS LATER IN MUMBAI
The city’s mid-morning traffic hummed all around her, but inside her car, Sonarika’s hands were locked tight on the steering wheel. Her pulse drummed in her ears as she glanced at the location Hemant had sent her—a place she had never been before. She kept telling herself it was just a meeting, maybe about Karan, maybe something about the house. But deep down, something in her gut told her this was going to hurt.
When she finally parked, her eyes widened. The brass plaque by the glass door read in bold: Meera Sethi & Associates — Family Law Specialists. Her stomach tightened like a fist.
Through the tinted glass, she spotted Hemant standing near the reception desk, his posture straight, his expression still and cold—like a man made of stone. No smile, no flicker of warmth. Just… nothing.
"Mrs. Kumar?"
The receptionist’s voice broke her stare. She nodded silently, stepped inside, and walked toward him. Hemant’s gaze met hers only for a moment before he turned toward the corridor.
A tall, confident woman in a charcoal-grey suit appeared.
"Mr. and Mrs. Kumar? I’m Meera Sethi. Please, come in"
Her voice was professional, but her eyes were sharp, already sensing the tension between them.
The office was warm and modern, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. Meera gestured to two cushioned chairs opposite her desk.
"Have a seat"
As soon as they sat, Meera laced her fingers and asked.
"So, what’s the purpose of today’s meeting?"
"We’re here to file a petition for divorce. Out of court settlement" Hemant didn’t hesitate.
The words hit Sonarika like a physical blow. Her mouth went dry, and her eyes widened in disbelief.
"What?" she whispered, as if maybe she had misheard.
But Hemant just stared at Meera, unmoving.
Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. Meera noticed, sliding a box of tissues toward her.
"Did you… not tell her?"
Meera asked Hemant, her voice carrying a faint note of reproach. He shook his head once.
Meera sighed softly.
"Out of court settlements work best when both parties are prepared, Mr. Kumar. Surprises rarely help"
Hemant said nothing, his face unreadable.
"Well then" Meera continued, pulling out a form.
"Reason for divorce?"
"Irreconcilable differences"
Hemant replied, his tone as plain as if he were reading a weather report.
Meera tilted her head.
"That’s vague. The court might want more clarity"
"Then we’ll keep it vague" Hemant said.
"It’s enough"
"No… it’s not just differences" She wiped her cheeks. Sonarika finally found her voice.
"It’s because I had an affair"
Meera’s pen froze mid-note.
"If that’s the case, the petition should be on grounds of adultery"
"No" Hemant cut in.
"It stays as irreconcilable differences"
"Why?" Meera pressed.
"For Karan" Hemant said, his voice softening just slightly.
"I don’t want his future tainted by court records painting one of his parents in bad light. He’ll have enough to process without that"
There was a silence between them before Meera moved on.
"Custody arrangement?"
"Shared" Hemant said.
"Equally"
Sonarika nodded in agreement, her body trembling.
"And assets?" Meera asked. Hemant leaned forward.
"I’ll opt out of our joint account. She can take everything—family savings, deposits. It’s about a crore"
Sonarika’s head snapped toward him.
"Hemant…" she whispered, unable to process the generosity amidst the ice in his voice.
"But" he continued.
"I keep the rights to the house. I plan to sell it"
"Why such a drastic step? To bury the past?" Meera raised a brow.
Sonarika raised the same sentiments with concern.
"Yeah why? That apartment has been a testament of your hard work. Don't let it go to ruin for me"
Hemant leaned back, exhaling slowly.
"Actually that is not the reason , its actually quiet the opposite. I actually dreamed bigger. Something I never got to tell my family. I was going to after our summer vacation. I bought a villa at Silver Beach, Andheri. Worth two crores. Already paid an advance thanks to the thriving business. But to close the deal and renovate, I need to sell the apartment"
Sonarika’s breath caught. Her hands covered her mouth as tears poured freely now. She remembered the countless evenings they’d dreamed of a place by any water body, the one constant fantasy in their years together.
"You… you did this for us?" she asked, her voice breaking.
"For us" Hemant said quietly.
"For Karan. For the life I thought we were building"
His eyes flicked away, not wanting her to see the tiny fracture in his calm. Even Meera’s expression softened.
"That’s… a hard truth to carry. A dream home becoming a casualty of this process"
She tapped the form gently.
"Mrs. Kumar? Do you agree to these terms?"
Sonarika stared at the table for a long time. Her heart screamed no, but her throat refused to fight him. After a long pause, she nodded in agreement.
"Very well. I’ll file the petition next week" Meera said.
"But be aware—the court will impose a cooling period. Ten to twelve months. It’s mandatory. Gives you both time to rethink"
"I understand"
Hemant said. Sonarika just nodded, eyes downcast.
Outside, the afternoon sun was blinding. Hemant walked toward his SUV without looking back, until he felt a hand on his wrist.
"Is this it?" Sonarika asked, her voice raw.
"Is this where we part ways?"
For the first time that day, his eyes glistened.
"The path will be there Sonarika and that path is Karan , but we will never walk that path ever again towards each other"
"But why? Hemant I understand I made a terrible mistake , but can't we find our way back to each other?"
"No we can't"
"Am I that cursed to you"
Hemant took a breather and responded
"No Sonarika , you were never a curse. Matter of fact , you were something opposite of that. But that is the problem , My sun , My light , My source of strength , My Sona. I cannot see her in you. The Sona I know and love , she is no longer standing before me. Instead in front of me is a woman who has seemingly found love in another man. If anything , I have only gratitude for you Sonarika. That instead of getting to know about the affair from someone else , you told it yourself. That I definitely appreciate. Deep down , even now , I still love my Sona , the woman who shared a life with me. But right now , I cannot find her!"
His confession created a chasm of doubt in Sonarika. Making her realize the truth to his words. As Sonarika looked at him helplessly with teary eyes , Hemant concluded.
"For now we are not parting ways, like the lawyer said , we have nearly a year time to prepare. But mentally , I am already separate from you because you are not my Sona. You can stay in the apartment , I am going to opt to sleep at my factory thanks to a comfortable room I build there in my office. Get used to this new norm. Soon… we’ll be separate forever"
He pulled away, climbed into the SUV, and drove off. Sonarika stood there until the sound of the engine faded. Then she sank onto the stone steps outside the building, knees folding under her, grief crashing over her in waves. Somewhere between the tears and the choking breaths, the truth settled in:
Her family was gone.
END OF CHAPTER 20
END OF CHAPTER 20
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