24-08-2025, 12:45 AM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
TWO DAYS LATER!
Meghna unlocked the door to her Mumbai apartment, Disha following her, the faint hum of the city outside following her in. She set her luggage down when she was engulfed by warm arms. Disha’s fragrance—jasmine and sandalwood—wrapped around her. Soon it was Meghna's turn to take control. She moved her mouth lower, lips grazing the edge of Disha’s throat. She could feel the warmth of the other woman a hairsbreath from her lips and inhaled deeply - sweat and salt and jasmine.
"Fuck. Meghna" Disha whispered.
Meghna looked up at her to see Disha’s eyes closed, head canted back. She smiled before pushing the other woman back against the wall and burying her face in Disha’s neck. Disha felt the pain of Meghna’s teeth against her neck. She would have marks tomorrow but she didn’t care, she wanted to give in, to let her body be scarred by whatever this was between them. Meghna had pulled up Disha’s tank top and unclasped her bra. There was a desperate freneticness to the other woman’s motions - it was a storm Disha allowed to engulf her. At the feel of the other woman’s mouth on her nipple a wanton moan tore from Disha’s chest. She swallowed it down, the sound of it surprising her. Meghna’s mouth released her nipple and moved to her ear, breath hot as she bit Disha’s earlobe.
"I’m going to enjoy fucking you Disha" Meghna uttered.
The voice was searing with an edge of danger and Disha started to understand the violence in Meghna’s need. It caused the heat coursing through her body to rush between her legs. This she could handle, desire that wasn’t safe, something that needed her, that wanted her without regard for her feeling. It had been something she had done for most of her life to escape all the other emotions , and yet this time it felt like more than that.
She grabbed Meghna’s face with both hands and pulled their lips together, biting Meghna’s lower lip before kissing her hard, invading the other woman’s mouth with her tongue. Meghna pushed back, tongues fighting, invading, retreating as Meghna’s hands found their way to the band of Disha’s trousers.
Disha felt coolness hit the throbbing between her thighs as Meghna pulled her trousers down with both hands and slid a hand under the fabric of her panties. Meghna pulled back from their increasingly rough kiss to meet Disha’s eyes. There was a softness in them Disha hadn’t expected and she realised Meghna, for all her bluster, was checking for consent. Disha nodded breathlessly. Meghna watched intently as her fingers found the wetness between Disha’s thighs but Disha’s head fell back at the touch as she tried to bite off a moan. It was a strangled thing, the sound that erupted from her chest before being muzzled. She couldn’t stop her hips from thrusting on to the fingers Meghna slid inside her, wanting more, needing release from this unexpected torrent of need.
"Harder" Disha said, her voice cracking.
Meghna withdrew and Disha bit her lip to stop herself from the discontented whine that formed in her throat at the absence. The fingers returned, more of them, thrusting inside her without pretence. It felt perfectly, filling her as she continued to push herself on to them, wanting them impossibly deeper inside. She heard herself panting, felt the beads of sweat on her forehead, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to break apart to the fingers inside her.
Meghna’s thumb brushed her clit and she exhaled sharply at the touch - the too-much/not-enough pressure that threatened to take her over while being something she wanted to ride forever. The thumb returned in circles, slowly increasing pressure that was always soft enough to stop her from climaxing but hard enough to drive her closer. Pushing her closer and closer to an edge she couldn’t see.
Their lips met again, urgent, tugging them both toward the familiar gravity of each other.
As they stumbled into the bedroom, the city lights painted the walls in fractured gold. Passion overran restraint. The storm between them was not new, but tonight it felt fiercer, edged by longing and hunger. They lost themselves beneath the sheets, skin on skin, silence broken only by breaths that grew ragged and names whispered like prayers.
"Fuck you’re beautiful"
Slipped from Meghna’s mouth before she realised she hadn’t kept it as a thought. Disha gave a small chuckle, a true and slightly modest smile crossing her face.
"I’m sure you say that to all the girls straddling you mostly naked"
She diverted before leaning over Meghna again. Meghna felt the soft weight of Disha’s breasts press against her as Disha kissed her shoulder, a hand trying to squeeze under Meghna’s back to her bra. Meghna tilted her body just a little and reached her own hand behind and unlatched it. This last bit of exposure felt unexpectedly vulnerable and she had to force herself to ignore the panic and focus on the desire - wanting Disha’s touch on every part of her bare skin.
Disha met her eyes in thanks before leaning over again, tongue behind Meghna’s ear as she softly sucked a trail from there to the hollow above her collarbone, moving the bra strap and easing off the fabric. Bra thrown aside, she held Meghna’s breasts in her hands, thumb lightly skimming over hardening nipples. Meghna bit her lip, her hip bucking just a little as the pressure of Disha’s thumb on her nipples felt like a jolt of electricity between her thighs. Disha met Meghna’s eyes again, a smirk on her face before she leaned down and replaced one of her thumbs with her mouth, sucking on Meghna’s left nippled while her thumb continued to tease her right. Meghna bit harder at her lip as a moan seeped out, her legs wriggling beneath Disha in a useless attempt at relieving the pressure building between them. Disha switched nipples, her expression flagrantly devilish. Meghna pushed down the need to run, trying to ground herself in her body. Her body that wanted this. There was no need to think or flee. She could feel. She regrounded herself in her body. When she finally accomplished it Disha had moved down Meghna’s body and was starting to take off her panties.
Meghna could feel the cool air against wetness and huffed against another moan. She watched as Disha tossed her panties aside before meeting her eyes again, devilish smile gone as she checked Meghna was okay. The expectation of mutual trust in that small motion made Meghna’s eyes water.
"God Disha, do you want me to beg?" Meghna uttered, crass and deep.
It was a facade and by the small curve of Disha’s smile she knew it. And then Disha’s tongue was between her legs and Meghna couldn’t stop the groans, expletives and pleads as it found her clit and circled it infuriatingly - Disha’s fingers pushing inside her. Meghna had no control over her hips which bucked wildly against Disha’s face and hand as fingers delved deeper and tongue pressed hard. Released. Circled, pressed, and released. It was an excruciating dance and Meghna could feel herself getting closer just by the sheer pressure of Disha’s fingers crooked deep inside her. And then Disha took Meghna’s clit in her mouth and sucked.
The trail of nonsense Meghna had been uttering turned into a keening wail and her body arched off the bed as she climaxed hard, body rigid as Disha kept the pressure on. Meghna held on for as long as she could, the bliss trying to overtake her, until it did and Meghna fell back to her bed with an opaque whiteness floating before her closed eyes. It may have been minutes but eventually she opened her eyes to see Disha propped on an arm next to her, watching her patiently.
"Glad I didn’t kill you" she offered with a grin.
"Give me two minutes and you’ll wish I had… wish you hard… wish you had"
Meghna stumbled over her words, brain still fuzzy. Disha laughed lightly as she laid down on the bed beside her. As the tingly edge of the orgasm retreated she turned to look at Disha. Goodie-two-shoe and vibrant woman in her life. But fuck she was beautiful and the way she watched Meghna with a patient warmth made Meghna’s heart swell in a way that was incredibly uncomfortable.
Tangled in warmth and damp sheets, Disha traced lazy circles on Meghna’s bare shoulder. Her eyes sparkled with contentment.
"You’re glowing, you know. That trip must’ve been incredible. I can see it in your eyes"
"You’re half right" Meghna chuckled softly, her lips curving.
"Half right?" Disha tilted her head.
"I am happy… but not because of the trip" Meghna’s smile thinned, her voice lowering.
"Then what is it?" Disha frowned, her hand pausing mid-circle.
"Oh....I'll let you know soon enough.....first I wanna see it with my own eyes"
"See what?"
"Destruction"
The word disturbed Disha. She looked at Meghna puzzled. Meghna giggled and responded.
"Don't be surprised Disha , I am no saint. Lets just say I have some evil plans. And one day , it will benefit you"
"Benefit me how?"
"Like I said , I'll tell you in time. First I need to see it with my own eyes. After that I will show you the truth"
Disha was a little unsettled by it. She was seeing a side of Meghna she never saw. As Meghna embraced her , Disha felt the strange feeling , that she is walking into a danger that might ruin her life as well.
SOME TIME LATER
The amber liquid swirled in her glass, catching the dim desk light in fractured glimmers as Meghna leaned back in her leather chair. Her office room, tucked within the confines of her lavish apartment, smelled of whiskey and burning wax. The half-melted candle flickered in the corner, its flame bending as if shivering under the tension hanging in the air. On the wall across her desk, an entire board was plastered with photographs—Sonarika’s smile caught mid-laughter, Sonarika’s profile in candid shadows, Sonarika cradling her son. Each image was a pin driven deep into Meghna’s heart, twisted until it bled hatred. Yet her eyes, half-clouded with tears, betrayed an emotion she could not admit even to herself.
'Why you?'
She whispered, the words curling in her throat like smoke. Her trembling hand traced Sonarika’s photograph.
'Why did you get everything that was mine? The life I should have lived. The family that should have been mine. You stole it… you, who don’t even know'
Her gaze drifted to another photo, faded at the edges—a younger Jagjeet smiling alongside Amrita, her mother. The image always cut deeper than a knife. A reminder of betrayal. A reminder that her mother had died at the hands of a violent husband, while Jagjeet—the man who should have saved her—let her perish. Her jaw tightened, teeth grinding as memories assaulted her.
That day in Nainital, the cliff, the scream. Little Samhita, Sonarika's younger sister who was barely four , her tiny fingers reaching out, her eyes wide with terror, before a ten year old Meghna’s push sent her tumbling into the abyss. Meghna’s pulse raced. That was the moment her revenge was born, black and unrelenting. Yet even vengeance is not pure. It had been contaminated by a single act—Sonarika’s sacrifice.
The accident. An incident that happened when Sonarika was sixteen and enjoying a wonderful time with her friends in the outdoors of her New Delhi house. And then as Meghna was plotting to exact her next revenge , it happened. A grill that was being fit at an upper floor lost its support and spiralled down. Sonarika seeing the danger , lunged. The way Sonarika threw herself forward, shoving Meghna out of death’s path, only to be struck down herself. The image of her lying unconscious in a hospital bed had haunted Meghna for years.
For weeks, Meghna had waited in that sterile room, watching machines breathe for Sonarika. Every beep felt like judgment. Every rise and fall of her chest was a reminder of the debt she did not want to owe. Humanity had clawed its way into Meghna’s soul that day, and she hated it. Jagjeet’s voice echoed in her skull. You are a curse. An omen. You brought this upon us. His words, spat like venom, carved scars that never healed. They became kindling for the fire inside her, reminding her of her place, reminding her that she was never meant to belong.
And then, when Sonarika recovered, she had smiled at Meghna with warmth. She had reached out, as if sensing something deeper, becoming a sister she had never been before. That smile—the damnable smile—made guilt fester. The murder of Samhita burned like acid in her chest. But hatred was stronger. It always was. Her revenge found new shape in Sonarika’s changed self. The head injury had unlocked something raw, primal. Her restraint dissolved. With Rocky, she became compliant, reckless, lost in desires she couldn’t control. Meghna had seen the cracks and widened them, pushing her into temptations, feeding her the poison of instability. She remembered every manipulated moment—the switched pills for her recovery, the staged opportunities, the whispered encouragements. Like a puppeteer, she pulled Sonarika’s strings, guiding her towards destruction. And when Rocky finally abandoned her, Meghna savored the bitter tears Sonarika shed. It was a private symphony only she could hear.
But fate had its own way of mocking. Meghna planned to entangle her with Subhash her boss in TANISHQ at that time. She cherished that plan to see how Sonarika's family will react when their daughter become the keep of an older man. But her plans crumbled when Hemant entered Sonarika’s life. His presence steadied her, gave her new purpose. Meghna had watched helplessly as Sonarika rose again, building a family, a life. The rage in her heart screamed louder than ever. And the striking similarities between Hemant and Javed's behavior only fuelled her dissent towards Hemant when Javed vanished.
And then Vikram appeared. Like a gift from the void, he became the crack in the wall Meghna had been waiting for. His affair with Sonarika was the perfect storm. It ripped through her marriage, shattered Hemant’s world, and handed Meghna a dagger sharp enough to pierce them all. Now, Hemant is broken , his body barely survived a stroke. Sonarika had confessed everything to him, her sins spilling out like blood. The news had reached Meghna, and it felt like the universe itself was bowing to her vengeance. She had broken them. She had finally broken them.
And yet, as she stared at the photos, her chest ached. Her tears fell silently, blurring Sonarika’s image. Why do you make me doubt myself? she screamed inwardly. Why do you still pull at a string in my heart that should have been cut years ago? The whiskey scorched her throat as she gulped more, trying to drown the conflict. She wanted to see Sonarika ruined, crawling, begging for breath. She wanted Jagjeet to watch his beloved daughter suffer, just as her mother had suffered. But deep down, the faint echo of sisterhood clawed for air. Her fingernails dug into the wooden desk as her breathing grew uneven.
"No" she hissed to the silence.
"She must suffer. She must know pain. There is no redemption for her… for me. Only ashes. Only ruin"
Yet another voice—fragile, treacherous—whispered from the back of her mind. She saved you. She bled for you. Could you not save her now? Meghna slammed her fist against the desk, silencing the thought, shattering the glass in her hand. Blood mingled with whiskey across her palm, dripping onto papers littered with plans. The red spread like an omen, like a reminder of the blood already on her hands. Samhita’s face appeared in her mind, innocent, terrified. The guilt strangled her, but vengeance quickly pushed it aside.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would meet Sonarika. Tomorrow she would look into her broken eyes and decide whether to twist the knife deeper or to… no. She stopped herself. There was no 'or' There was only vengeance. Her phone buzzed against the desk, jolting her from her spiraling thoughts. She picked it up, staring at the screen, before pressing call. Her voice, low and steady, hid the storm raging inside her.
"I’m back in the city. Tomorrow, I’ll see her. I’ll see how broken she truly is"
A pause. The voice on the other end was cold, commanding, almost serpentine.
"Remember our deal, Meghna. Sonarika and Vikram must become a couplle. Do not forget what is at stake"
Meghna’s lips curled into a half-smile, bitter and tired.
"Yes. I remember"
Her voice shook slightly, betraying the conflict she desperately wanted to bury. As the call ended, she lowered the phone slowly, her hand trembling. Across several states state, in the gleaming towers of BajajCorp Complex in Gurgaon, Anjana Bajaj disconnected the other side of the phone call, her eyes narrowed over the skyline, pulling her own strings in this web of ruin.
But here, in the dim solitude of her office, Meghna was left alone with her demons. Surrounded by photographs, drowned in whiskey, and haunted by her own choices, she whispered into the silence,
"Tomorrow… we’ll see if I destroy you, Sonarika…and the ironic part is.....there is no one that will save you from me!!!!"
FEW HOURS BACK IN AZERBAIJAN
The dusty road wound like a scar across the face of Mount Bazardüzü. Lai Tong’s convoy climbed in silence, headlights cutting through the mist, black SUVs crawling like armored vipers toward the village of Qamarvan. The mountain loomed above, vast and unforgiving, as though nature itself waited to pass judgment on the trespassers. Inside the lead vehicle, Lai Tong leaned back in his seat, cigar smoke curling around his sharp jawline. His eyes burned with arrogance and fury—the confidence of a man who had carved his way into the underworld with bullets and blood. His brother had been a shadow, but Lai dreamed of being the storm.
The convoy rumbled into the outskirts of Qamarvan. The villagers scattered like dry leaves before a gust. Mothers pulled children indoors. Men stood in silence, heads bowed, eyes refusing to meet Lai’s gaze. Respect, fear—it mattered little. What Lai wanted was dominance, not admiration. The Zarir Mansion rose from the village like a fortress. Its white stone walls bore the weight of generations. Its iron gates creaked open, and Lai’s men poured out, weapons flashing under their jackets. They moved with the aggression of conquerors, though the village air seemed thick with an unspoken warning. Lai stepped onto the gravel, his shoes crunching against the earth. He glanced once at the bowed villagers, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"They know power when they see it" he muttered, as his men formed around him like shadows.
Inside the mansion, Daraaksh Zarir stood at the balcony, feeding pigeons from his palm. His calmness was eerie, his gaze fixed beyond the horizon, as though he had already seen the storm approaching. When his servant informed him of guests, Daraaksh nodded slowly, finishing his ritual before turning inward with deliberate grace. Lai entered the grand hall and paused. The place was dbangd in silence. Heavy curtains blocked out most of the light. Portraits lined the walls, garlanded with flowers. Each frame was a memory of power now reduced to death. The air smelled of incense and grief.
"A graveyard" Lai muttered under his breath, lips curling.
The doors opened, and Daraaksh appeared. His black kurta and white pyjama flowed with effortless dignity. His calmness was unnerving. His presence filled the hall without effort.
"Welcome, Lai Tong" Daraaksh said softly, his voice calm yet unyielding.
"You carry storms into my home. Sit, and let us speak"
Lai’s arrogance burned in his smirk.
"You’ve heard the news, haven’t you? Ricky Tan is gone. A Red Pole butchered in his own sanctuary. That’s what happens when anyone forgets the name Tong"
Daraaksh sat across from him, hands folded, his eyes like still water hiding an ocean’s depth.
"Yes… bold. But the bold die quickly, Lai. You carved a message in Ricky Tan’s blood. But tell me—who was that message for?"
Lai leaned forward. His tone sharpened like a blade.
"For Michael King. He needs to know I am coming"
Silence. Then Daraaksh laughed softly, like a man pitying a child who reached for fire.
"Michael… is no man to taunt. He is ruin. He is war itself. He was named Michael by a priest, do you know why? Because he saw in him the Archangel Michael himself. God’s soldier. Sent to punish the wicked. And you think yourself his equal?"
SAME TIME IN SHANGHAI
Thousands of miles away, in Fengxin Town. Heavy booze and moans of prostitutes echoed at Lai's base near the sea. Some men were teasing the hookers , others were talking about their cold blooded work of bloodbath at Golden Yang hotel slaughter. And then the mood changed. The lights flickered. Then darkness swallowed Lai’s base whole. Music died, laughter turned to murmurs, murmurs to dread. Shadows moved. Boots scbangd floors. Someone cursed. Then a scream ripped through the dark.
Red suits flashed in the gloom. Blades hissed. Men dropped one after another, throats slit, screams cut short. Blood pooled unseen in the dark. The killers moved like ghosts, their katana strokes whispering death.
BACK IN QAMARVAN , AZERBAIJAN
Back in Azerbaijan, Daraaksh’s voice deepened.
"My family mocked Michael once. They thought he was a man to be hunted, just another rival to be crushed. My father. My brothers. They underestimated him. And he destroyed them"
Daraaksh clapped his hands once. From the shadows, a wheelchair rolled forward. Gilshah Zarir, body burned, face melted, soul consumed by pain, emerged under the dim chandelier light. Lai’s cocky smile faltered for the first time. Daraaksh pointed at the portraits.
"My father Iranshah. To his left, Raakin, my elder brother. To his right, Kamshad, my brother-in-law. Michael slaughtered them all. He left Gilshah alive… alive to suffer. That is Michael King"
BACK IN FENGXIN TOWN , SHANGHAI
In Shanghai, rain hammered down. Lai’s men fled into the open yard, the sea roaring at one side, the gates sealed at the other. Suddenly, headlights flared in unison. Howard Tsao. Vincent Ma. Sam Lin. Conroy Wu. Red Poles of the Triads. They stood in silence, eyes locked on the prey before them. Lai’s men steadied their guns, desperation etched into their faces. But confusion struck when the Red Poles didn’t advance. Instead, their eyes drifted past them—beyond them—into the storm.
Slowly, Lai’s men turned.
Lightning split the sky open. For a heartbeat, the world turned white. In that flash, a figure stood in the center of the yard. Alone. Immovable. A silhouette carved by fury itself.
Michael King.
His black suit was drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead. In one hand, he held the Inquisitor, its blade gleaming wet. On his fingers, the Archangel and Garuda rings shimmered. In the lightning’s glare, it seemed as though wings spread from his back, shadow and light colliding into a vision of dread. In the storm, Michael King moved. He was fury and grace, lightning incarnate. His blade—the Inquisitor—shined in the lightning making it appear like a celestial weapon. For a moment, silence reigned. Even the storm seemed to pause. Then one of Lai’s men screamed, raising his rifle. The spell shattered. The massacre began.
Michael moved like a warrior fuelled with vengeance. His blade cut through the first man, cleaving chest from shoulder. Blood sprayed across the surface. The storm roared in approval. Another lunged. Michael spun, his sword slicing the man’s legs clean. He dropped, screaming, before Michael’s boot ended his voice forever. Guns cracked, muzzle flashes blinding in the dark. Michael ducked, his sword singing through the rain, severing limbs, piercing hearts. Each strike was surgical, yet feral. He was both judge and executioner. The Red Poles watched. Silent. They bore witness, not participants—men who understood they stood before something beyond ordinary flesh and blood.
BACK IN QAMARVAN , AZERBAIJAN
At the Zarir Mansion, Daraaksh leaned closer to Lai.
"Do you see? That is what you chase. That storm. That fury. Alone, you are nothing. But together, perhaps we can carve his legend into pieces"
BACK IN FENGXIN TOWN , SHANGHAI
In Shanghai, the yard was painted red. Michael’s suit clung to him, soaked in blood and rain. His face twisted with pain, fury, grief. He remembered Ricky Tan’s lifeless eyes. He remembered betrayal. He remembered everything.
Only one man remained. Michael dragged him by the collar, pressing the Inquisitor against his throat. His voice was a low growl.
"Where is Lai Tong?"
The man stuttered, gasping.
"Az—Azerbaijan… Zarir… Mansion"
Michael’s eyes burned. The name—Zarir—crashed into his soul like thunder. Memories ignited. A house aflame. Screams. Corpses burning. The Rustom family. His nightmares. His rage. With a roar that split the storm, Michael brought the Inquisitor down. The man’s body split clean in two, halves collapsing in a spray of gore. Blood splashed across Michael’s face, mingling with the rain. He staggered back, chest heaving, his entire body trembling with fury. He turned toward the sea, the storm raging in unison with his soul. He screamed—a sound not human but primal, the cry of a man reborn into chaos.
BACK IN QAMARVAN , AZERBAIJAN
Back at Zarir Mansion, Daraaksh slid two briefcases across the table.
"A token" he said.
"To remind you that we walk the same path, Lai Tong"
Lai closed the briefcases, eyes sharp, ambitions sharper.
"Together then. Michael will fall"
He rose, his men following, their boots echoing across the marble floor. Daraaksh watched them leave, lips curling into a smile both amused and sinister. Outside, the villagers dared not lift their gaze as Lai’s convoy roared away.
Daraaksh walked into the storm-drenched balcony, watching clouds gather. His phone buzzed. Daraaksh answered, his face softening. A woman’s voice purred across the line—Anjana Bajaj.
"It worked" she cooed.
"Soon my brother Vikram and Sonarika will be united. The plan moves forward"
Daraaksh chuckled.
"And only good things await you, Anjana. You will have your kingdom. And I…" His eyes darkened.
"…I will bring a man back from the grave, only to bury him again"
"Why?" she teased.
"Why obsess over him?"
Daraaksh’s voice dropped to a whisper.
"Because that is what Family is for. After all this is all a family business. And he has a big debt towards me , and I intend to get it back , piece by piece , from his life"
In Shanghai, Michael stood drenched, blood dripping from the Inquisitor. Rain washed crimson from his face, but it could not cleanse his soul. His rings glowed faintly. His breathing slowed, but his eyes remained wild—eyes of a man who had returned to the darkness he once escaped. Lightning split the sky again. In that flash, the Inquisitor gleamed like judgment. Water and blood dripped from its edge, forming a puddle at Michael’s feet.
Across the world, Daraaksh whispered into the storm.
"Welcome back, Michael. Our war begins now"
Michael raised his head toward the heavens, rain lashing his face. His lips curled into a snarl, his voice a vow carved in thunder.
"Zarir , Your Judgement Is Coming!!!"
And as storm and blood embraced, the stage was set. Two men, oceans apart, now bound by fate. Their war would not be a battle. It would be a cataclysm.
END OF CHAPTER 21
Meghna unlocked the door to her Mumbai apartment, Disha following her, the faint hum of the city outside following her in. She set her luggage down when she was engulfed by warm arms. Disha’s fragrance—jasmine and sandalwood—wrapped around her. Soon it was Meghna's turn to take control. She moved her mouth lower, lips grazing the edge of Disha’s throat. She could feel the warmth of the other woman a hairsbreath from her lips and inhaled deeply - sweat and salt and jasmine.
"Fuck. Meghna" Disha whispered.
Meghna looked up at her to see Disha’s eyes closed, head canted back. She smiled before pushing the other woman back against the wall and burying her face in Disha’s neck. Disha felt the pain of Meghna’s teeth against her neck. She would have marks tomorrow but she didn’t care, she wanted to give in, to let her body be scarred by whatever this was between them. Meghna had pulled up Disha’s tank top and unclasped her bra. There was a desperate freneticness to the other woman’s motions - it was a storm Disha allowed to engulf her. At the feel of the other woman’s mouth on her nipple a wanton moan tore from Disha’s chest. She swallowed it down, the sound of it surprising her. Meghna’s mouth released her nipple and moved to her ear, breath hot as she bit Disha’s earlobe.
"I’m going to enjoy fucking you Disha" Meghna uttered.
The voice was searing with an edge of danger and Disha started to understand the violence in Meghna’s need. It caused the heat coursing through her body to rush between her legs. This she could handle, desire that wasn’t safe, something that needed her, that wanted her without regard for her feeling. It had been something she had done for most of her life to escape all the other emotions , and yet this time it felt like more than that.
She grabbed Meghna’s face with both hands and pulled their lips together, biting Meghna’s lower lip before kissing her hard, invading the other woman’s mouth with her tongue. Meghna pushed back, tongues fighting, invading, retreating as Meghna’s hands found their way to the band of Disha’s trousers.
Disha felt coolness hit the throbbing between her thighs as Meghna pulled her trousers down with both hands and slid a hand under the fabric of her panties. Meghna pulled back from their increasingly rough kiss to meet Disha’s eyes. There was a softness in them Disha hadn’t expected and she realised Meghna, for all her bluster, was checking for consent. Disha nodded breathlessly. Meghna watched intently as her fingers found the wetness between Disha’s thighs but Disha’s head fell back at the touch as she tried to bite off a moan. It was a strangled thing, the sound that erupted from her chest before being muzzled. She couldn’t stop her hips from thrusting on to the fingers Meghna slid inside her, wanting more, needing release from this unexpected torrent of need.
"Harder" Disha said, her voice cracking.
Meghna withdrew and Disha bit her lip to stop herself from the discontented whine that formed in her throat at the absence. The fingers returned, more of them, thrusting inside her without pretence. It felt perfectly, filling her as she continued to push herself on to them, wanting them impossibly deeper inside. She heard herself panting, felt the beads of sweat on her forehead, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to break apart to the fingers inside her.
Meghna’s thumb brushed her clit and she exhaled sharply at the touch - the too-much/not-enough pressure that threatened to take her over while being something she wanted to ride forever. The thumb returned in circles, slowly increasing pressure that was always soft enough to stop her from climaxing but hard enough to drive her closer. Pushing her closer and closer to an edge she couldn’t see.
Their lips met again, urgent, tugging them both toward the familiar gravity of each other.
As they stumbled into the bedroom, the city lights painted the walls in fractured gold. Passion overran restraint. The storm between them was not new, but tonight it felt fiercer, edged by longing and hunger. They lost themselves beneath the sheets, skin on skin, silence broken only by breaths that grew ragged and names whispered like prayers.
"Fuck you’re beautiful"
Slipped from Meghna’s mouth before she realised she hadn’t kept it as a thought. Disha gave a small chuckle, a true and slightly modest smile crossing her face.
"I’m sure you say that to all the girls straddling you mostly naked"
She diverted before leaning over Meghna again. Meghna felt the soft weight of Disha’s breasts press against her as Disha kissed her shoulder, a hand trying to squeeze under Meghna’s back to her bra. Meghna tilted her body just a little and reached her own hand behind and unlatched it. This last bit of exposure felt unexpectedly vulnerable and she had to force herself to ignore the panic and focus on the desire - wanting Disha’s touch on every part of her bare skin.
Disha met her eyes in thanks before leaning over again, tongue behind Meghna’s ear as she softly sucked a trail from there to the hollow above her collarbone, moving the bra strap and easing off the fabric. Bra thrown aside, she held Meghna’s breasts in her hands, thumb lightly skimming over hardening nipples. Meghna bit her lip, her hip bucking just a little as the pressure of Disha’s thumb on her nipples felt like a jolt of electricity between her thighs. Disha met Meghna’s eyes again, a smirk on her face before she leaned down and replaced one of her thumbs with her mouth, sucking on Meghna’s left nippled while her thumb continued to tease her right. Meghna bit harder at her lip as a moan seeped out, her legs wriggling beneath Disha in a useless attempt at relieving the pressure building between them. Disha switched nipples, her expression flagrantly devilish. Meghna pushed down the need to run, trying to ground herself in her body. Her body that wanted this. There was no need to think or flee. She could feel. She regrounded herself in her body. When she finally accomplished it Disha had moved down Meghna’s body and was starting to take off her panties.
Meghna could feel the cool air against wetness and huffed against another moan. She watched as Disha tossed her panties aside before meeting her eyes again, devilish smile gone as she checked Meghna was okay. The expectation of mutual trust in that small motion made Meghna’s eyes water.
"God Disha, do you want me to beg?" Meghna uttered, crass and deep.
It was a facade and by the small curve of Disha’s smile she knew it. And then Disha’s tongue was between her legs and Meghna couldn’t stop the groans, expletives and pleads as it found her clit and circled it infuriatingly - Disha’s fingers pushing inside her. Meghna had no control over her hips which bucked wildly against Disha’s face and hand as fingers delved deeper and tongue pressed hard. Released. Circled, pressed, and released. It was an excruciating dance and Meghna could feel herself getting closer just by the sheer pressure of Disha’s fingers crooked deep inside her. And then Disha took Meghna’s clit in her mouth and sucked.
The trail of nonsense Meghna had been uttering turned into a keening wail and her body arched off the bed as she climaxed hard, body rigid as Disha kept the pressure on. Meghna held on for as long as she could, the bliss trying to overtake her, until it did and Meghna fell back to her bed with an opaque whiteness floating before her closed eyes. It may have been minutes but eventually she opened her eyes to see Disha propped on an arm next to her, watching her patiently.
"Glad I didn’t kill you" she offered with a grin.
"Give me two minutes and you’ll wish I had… wish you hard… wish you had"
Meghna stumbled over her words, brain still fuzzy. Disha laughed lightly as she laid down on the bed beside her. As the tingly edge of the orgasm retreated she turned to look at Disha. Goodie-two-shoe and vibrant woman in her life. But fuck she was beautiful and the way she watched Meghna with a patient warmth made Meghna’s heart swell in a way that was incredibly uncomfortable.
Tangled in warmth and damp sheets, Disha traced lazy circles on Meghna’s bare shoulder. Her eyes sparkled with contentment.
"You’re glowing, you know. That trip must’ve been incredible. I can see it in your eyes"
"You’re half right" Meghna chuckled softly, her lips curving.
"Half right?" Disha tilted her head.
"I am happy… but not because of the trip" Meghna’s smile thinned, her voice lowering.
"Then what is it?" Disha frowned, her hand pausing mid-circle.
"Oh....I'll let you know soon enough.....first I wanna see it with my own eyes"
"See what?"
"Destruction"
The word disturbed Disha. She looked at Meghna puzzled. Meghna giggled and responded.
"Don't be surprised Disha , I am no saint. Lets just say I have some evil plans. And one day , it will benefit you"
"Benefit me how?"
"Like I said , I'll tell you in time. First I need to see it with my own eyes. After that I will show you the truth"
Disha was a little unsettled by it. She was seeing a side of Meghna she never saw. As Meghna embraced her , Disha felt the strange feeling , that she is walking into a danger that might ruin her life as well.
SOME TIME LATER
The amber liquid swirled in her glass, catching the dim desk light in fractured glimmers as Meghna leaned back in her leather chair. Her office room, tucked within the confines of her lavish apartment, smelled of whiskey and burning wax. The half-melted candle flickered in the corner, its flame bending as if shivering under the tension hanging in the air. On the wall across her desk, an entire board was plastered with photographs—Sonarika’s smile caught mid-laughter, Sonarika’s profile in candid shadows, Sonarika cradling her son. Each image was a pin driven deep into Meghna’s heart, twisted until it bled hatred. Yet her eyes, half-clouded with tears, betrayed an emotion she could not admit even to herself.
'Why you?'
She whispered, the words curling in her throat like smoke. Her trembling hand traced Sonarika’s photograph.
'Why did you get everything that was mine? The life I should have lived. The family that should have been mine. You stole it… you, who don’t even know'
Her gaze drifted to another photo, faded at the edges—a younger Jagjeet smiling alongside Amrita, her mother. The image always cut deeper than a knife. A reminder of betrayal. A reminder that her mother had died at the hands of a violent husband, while Jagjeet—the man who should have saved her—let her perish. Her jaw tightened, teeth grinding as memories assaulted her.
That day in Nainital, the cliff, the scream. Little Samhita, Sonarika's younger sister who was barely four , her tiny fingers reaching out, her eyes wide with terror, before a ten year old Meghna’s push sent her tumbling into the abyss. Meghna’s pulse raced. That was the moment her revenge was born, black and unrelenting. Yet even vengeance is not pure. It had been contaminated by a single act—Sonarika’s sacrifice.
The accident. An incident that happened when Sonarika was sixteen and enjoying a wonderful time with her friends in the outdoors of her New Delhi house. And then as Meghna was plotting to exact her next revenge , it happened. A grill that was being fit at an upper floor lost its support and spiralled down. Sonarika seeing the danger , lunged. The way Sonarika threw herself forward, shoving Meghna out of death’s path, only to be struck down herself. The image of her lying unconscious in a hospital bed had haunted Meghna for years.
For weeks, Meghna had waited in that sterile room, watching machines breathe for Sonarika. Every beep felt like judgment. Every rise and fall of her chest was a reminder of the debt she did not want to owe. Humanity had clawed its way into Meghna’s soul that day, and she hated it. Jagjeet’s voice echoed in her skull. You are a curse. An omen. You brought this upon us. His words, spat like venom, carved scars that never healed. They became kindling for the fire inside her, reminding her of her place, reminding her that she was never meant to belong.
And then, when Sonarika recovered, she had smiled at Meghna with warmth. She had reached out, as if sensing something deeper, becoming a sister she had never been before. That smile—the damnable smile—made guilt fester. The murder of Samhita burned like acid in her chest. But hatred was stronger. It always was. Her revenge found new shape in Sonarika’s changed self. The head injury had unlocked something raw, primal. Her restraint dissolved. With Rocky, she became compliant, reckless, lost in desires she couldn’t control. Meghna had seen the cracks and widened them, pushing her into temptations, feeding her the poison of instability. She remembered every manipulated moment—the switched pills for her recovery, the staged opportunities, the whispered encouragements. Like a puppeteer, she pulled Sonarika’s strings, guiding her towards destruction. And when Rocky finally abandoned her, Meghna savored the bitter tears Sonarika shed. It was a private symphony only she could hear.
But fate had its own way of mocking. Meghna planned to entangle her with Subhash her boss in TANISHQ at that time. She cherished that plan to see how Sonarika's family will react when their daughter become the keep of an older man. But her plans crumbled when Hemant entered Sonarika’s life. His presence steadied her, gave her new purpose. Meghna had watched helplessly as Sonarika rose again, building a family, a life. The rage in her heart screamed louder than ever. And the striking similarities between Hemant and Javed's behavior only fuelled her dissent towards Hemant when Javed vanished.
And then Vikram appeared. Like a gift from the void, he became the crack in the wall Meghna had been waiting for. His affair with Sonarika was the perfect storm. It ripped through her marriage, shattered Hemant’s world, and handed Meghna a dagger sharp enough to pierce them all. Now, Hemant is broken , his body barely survived a stroke. Sonarika had confessed everything to him, her sins spilling out like blood. The news had reached Meghna, and it felt like the universe itself was bowing to her vengeance. She had broken them. She had finally broken them.
And yet, as she stared at the photos, her chest ached. Her tears fell silently, blurring Sonarika’s image. Why do you make me doubt myself? she screamed inwardly. Why do you still pull at a string in my heart that should have been cut years ago? The whiskey scorched her throat as she gulped more, trying to drown the conflict. She wanted to see Sonarika ruined, crawling, begging for breath. She wanted Jagjeet to watch his beloved daughter suffer, just as her mother had suffered. But deep down, the faint echo of sisterhood clawed for air. Her fingernails dug into the wooden desk as her breathing grew uneven.
"No" she hissed to the silence.
"She must suffer. She must know pain. There is no redemption for her… for me. Only ashes. Only ruin"
Yet another voice—fragile, treacherous—whispered from the back of her mind. She saved you. She bled for you. Could you not save her now? Meghna slammed her fist against the desk, silencing the thought, shattering the glass in her hand. Blood mingled with whiskey across her palm, dripping onto papers littered with plans. The red spread like an omen, like a reminder of the blood already on her hands. Samhita’s face appeared in her mind, innocent, terrified. The guilt strangled her, but vengeance quickly pushed it aside.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would meet Sonarika. Tomorrow she would look into her broken eyes and decide whether to twist the knife deeper or to… no. She stopped herself. There was no 'or' There was only vengeance. Her phone buzzed against the desk, jolting her from her spiraling thoughts. She picked it up, staring at the screen, before pressing call. Her voice, low and steady, hid the storm raging inside her.
"I’m back in the city. Tomorrow, I’ll see her. I’ll see how broken she truly is"
A pause. The voice on the other end was cold, commanding, almost serpentine.
"Remember our deal, Meghna. Sonarika and Vikram must become a couplle. Do not forget what is at stake"
Meghna’s lips curled into a half-smile, bitter and tired.
"Yes. I remember"
Her voice shook slightly, betraying the conflict she desperately wanted to bury. As the call ended, she lowered the phone slowly, her hand trembling. Across several states state, in the gleaming towers of BajajCorp Complex in Gurgaon, Anjana Bajaj disconnected the other side of the phone call, her eyes narrowed over the skyline, pulling her own strings in this web of ruin.
But here, in the dim solitude of her office, Meghna was left alone with her demons. Surrounded by photographs, drowned in whiskey, and haunted by her own choices, she whispered into the silence,
"Tomorrow… we’ll see if I destroy you, Sonarika…and the ironic part is.....there is no one that will save you from me!!!!"
FEW HOURS BACK IN AZERBAIJAN
The dusty road wound like a scar across the face of Mount Bazardüzü. Lai Tong’s convoy climbed in silence, headlights cutting through the mist, black SUVs crawling like armored vipers toward the village of Qamarvan. The mountain loomed above, vast and unforgiving, as though nature itself waited to pass judgment on the trespassers. Inside the lead vehicle, Lai Tong leaned back in his seat, cigar smoke curling around his sharp jawline. His eyes burned with arrogance and fury—the confidence of a man who had carved his way into the underworld with bullets and blood. His brother had been a shadow, but Lai dreamed of being the storm.
The convoy rumbled into the outskirts of Qamarvan. The villagers scattered like dry leaves before a gust. Mothers pulled children indoors. Men stood in silence, heads bowed, eyes refusing to meet Lai’s gaze. Respect, fear—it mattered little. What Lai wanted was dominance, not admiration. The Zarir Mansion rose from the village like a fortress. Its white stone walls bore the weight of generations. Its iron gates creaked open, and Lai’s men poured out, weapons flashing under their jackets. They moved with the aggression of conquerors, though the village air seemed thick with an unspoken warning. Lai stepped onto the gravel, his shoes crunching against the earth. He glanced once at the bowed villagers, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"They know power when they see it" he muttered, as his men formed around him like shadows.
Inside the mansion, Daraaksh Zarir stood at the balcony, feeding pigeons from his palm. His calmness was eerie, his gaze fixed beyond the horizon, as though he had already seen the storm approaching. When his servant informed him of guests, Daraaksh nodded slowly, finishing his ritual before turning inward with deliberate grace. Lai entered the grand hall and paused. The place was dbangd in silence. Heavy curtains blocked out most of the light. Portraits lined the walls, garlanded with flowers. Each frame was a memory of power now reduced to death. The air smelled of incense and grief.
"A graveyard" Lai muttered under his breath, lips curling.
The doors opened, and Daraaksh appeared. His black kurta and white pyjama flowed with effortless dignity. His calmness was unnerving. His presence filled the hall without effort.
"Welcome, Lai Tong" Daraaksh said softly, his voice calm yet unyielding.
"You carry storms into my home. Sit, and let us speak"
Lai’s arrogance burned in his smirk.
"You’ve heard the news, haven’t you? Ricky Tan is gone. A Red Pole butchered in his own sanctuary. That’s what happens when anyone forgets the name Tong"
Daraaksh sat across from him, hands folded, his eyes like still water hiding an ocean’s depth.
"Yes… bold. But the bold die quickly, Lai. You carved a message in Ricky Tan’s blood. But tell me—who was that message for?"
Lai leaned forward. His tone sharpened like a blade.
"For Michael King. He needs to know I am coming"
Silence. Then Daraaksh laughed softly, like a man pitying a child who reached for fire.
"Michael… is no man to taunt. He is ruin. He is war itself. He was named Michael by a priest, do you know why? Because he saw in him the Archangel Michael himself. God’s soldier. Sent to punish the wicked. And you think yourself his equal?"
SAME TIME IN SHANGHAI
Thousands of miles away, in Fengxin Town. Heavy booze and moans of prostitutes echoed at Lai's base near the sea. Some men were teasing the hookers , others were talking about their cold blooded work of bloodbath at Golden Yang hotel slaughter. And then the mood changed. The lights flickered. Then darkness swallowed Lai’s base whole. Music died, laughter turned to murmurs, murmurs to dread. Shadows moved. Boots scbangd floors. Someone cursed. Then a scream ripped through the dark.
Red suits flashed in the gloom. Blades hissed. Men dropped one after another, throats slit, screams cut short. Blood pooled unseen in the dark. The killers moved like ghosts, their katana strokes whispering death.
BACK IN QAMARVAN , AZERBAIJAN
Back in Azerbaijan, Daraaksh’s voice deepened.
"My family mocked Michael once. They thought he was a man to be hunted, just another rival to be crushed. My father. My brothers. They underestimated him. And he destroyed them"
Daraaksh clapped his hands once. From the shadows, a wheelchair rolled forward. Gilshah Zarir, body burned, face melted, soul consumed by pain, emerged under the dim chandelier light. Lai’s cocky smile faltered for the first time. Daraaksh pointed at the portraits.
"My father Iranshah. To his left, Raakin, my elder brother. To his right, Kamshad, my brother-in-law. Michael slaughtered them all. He left Gilshah alive… alive to suffer. That is Michael King"
BACK IN FENGXIN TOWN , SHANGHAI
In Shanghai, rain hammered down. Lai’s men fled into the open yard, the sea roaring at one side, the gates sealed at the other. Suddenly, headlights flared in unison. Howard Tsao. Vincent Ma. Sam Lin. Conroy Wu. Red Poles of the Triads. They stood in silence, eyes locked on the prey before them. Lai’s men steadied their guns, desperation etched into their faces. But confusion struck when the Red Poles didn’t advance. Instead, their eyes drifted past them—beyond them—into the storm.
Slowly, Lai’s men turned.
Lightning split the sky open. For a heartbeat, the world turned white. In that flash, a figure stood in the center of the yard. Alone. Immovable. A silhouette carved by fury itself.
Michael King.
His black suit was drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead. In one hand, he held the Inquisitor, its blade gleaming wet. On his fingers, the Archangel and Garuda rings shimmered. In the lightning’s glare, it seemed as though wings spread from his back, shadow and light colliding into a vision of dread. In the storm, Michael King moved. He was fury and grace, lightning incarnate. His blade—the Inquisitor—shined in the lightning making it appear like a celestial weapon. For a moment, silence reigned. Even the storm seemed to pause. Then one of Lai’s men screamed, raising his rifle. The spell shattered. The massacre began.
Michael moved like a warrior fuelled with vengeance. His blade cut through the first man, cleaving chest from shoulder. Blood sprayed across the surface. The storm roared in approval. Another lunged. Michael spun, his sword slicing the man’s legs clean. He dropped, screaming, before Michael’s boot ended his voice forever. Guns cracked, muzzle flashes blinding in the dark. Michael ducked, his sword singing through the rain, severing limbs, piercing hearts. Each strike was surgical, yet feral. He was both judge and executioner. The Red Poles watched. Silent. They bore witness, not participants—men who understood they stood before something beyond ordinary flesh and blood.
BACK IN QAMARVAN , AZERBAIJAN
At the Zarir Mansion, Daraaksh leaned closer to Lai.
"Do you see? That is what you chase. That storm. That fury. Alone, you are nothing. But together, perhaps we can carve his legend into pieces"
BACK IN FENGXIN TOWN , SHANGHAI
In Shanghai, the yard was painted red. Michael’s suit clung to him, soaked in blood and rain. His face twisted with pain, fury, grief. He remembered Ricky Tan’s lifeless eyes. He remembered betrayal. He remembered everything.
Only one man remained. Michael dragged him by the collar, pressing the Inquisitor against his throat. His voice was a low growl.
"Where is Lai Tong?"
The man stuttered, gasping.
"Az—Azerbaijan… Zarir… Mansion"
Michael’s eyes burned. The name—Zarir—crashed into his soul like thunder. Memories ignited. A house aflame. Screams. Corpses burning. The Rustom family. His nightmares. His rage. With a roar that split the storm, Michael brought the Inquisitor down. The man’s body split clean in two, halves collapsing in a spray of gore. Blood splashed across Michael’s face, mingling with the rain. He staggered back, chest heaving, his entire body trembling with fury. He turned toward the sea, the storm raging in unison with his soul. He screamed—a sound not human but primal, the cry of a man reborn into chaos.
BACK IN QAMARVAN , AZERBAIJAN
Back at Zarir Mansion, Daraaksh slid two briefcases across the table.
"A token" he said.
"To remind you that we walk the same path, Lai Tong"
Lai closed the briefcases, eyes sharp, ambitions sharper.
"Together then. Michael will fall"
He rose, his men following, their boots echoing across the marble floor. Daraaksh watched them leave, lips curling into a smile both amused and sinister. Outside, the villagers dared not lift their gaze as Lai’s convoy roared away.
Daraaksh walked into the storm-drenched balcony, watching clouds gather. His phone buzzed. Daraaksh answered, his face softening. A woman’s voice purred across the line—Anjana Bajaj.
"It worked" she cooed.
"Soon my brother Vikram and Sonarika will be united. The plan moves forward"
Daraaksh chuckled.
"And only good things await you, Anjana. You will have your kingdom. And I…" His eyes darkened.
"…I will bring a man back from the grave, only to bury him again"
"Why?" she teased.
"Why obsess over him?"
Daraaksh’s voice dropped to a whisper.
"Because that is what Family is for. After all this is all a family business. And he has a big debt towards me , and I intend to get it back , piece by piece , from his life"
In Shanghai, Michael stood drenched, blood dripping from the Inquisitor. Rain washed crimson from his face, but it could not cleanse his soul. His rings glowed faintly. His breathing slowed, but his eyes remained wild—eyes of a man who had returned to the darkness he once escaped. Lightning split the sky again. In that flash, the Inquisitor gleamed like judgment. Water and blood dripped from its edge, forming a puddle at Michael’s feet.
Across the world, Daraaksh whispered into the storm.
"Welcome back, Michael. Our war begins now"
Michael raised his head toward the heavens, rain lashing his face. His lips curled into a snarl, his voice a vow carved in thunder.
"Zarir , Your Judgement Is Coming!!!"
And as storm and blood embraced, the stage was set. Two men, oceans apart, now bound by fate. Their war would not be a battle. It would be a cataclysm.
END OF CHAPTER 21
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