01-11-2025, 11:31 PM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
FEW HOURS LATER AT AIROLI
The deep growl of the BMW E39 M5 sliced through the Airoli morning like a knife through silk. Its race-green paint shimmered under the sun, the golden eagle crest glinting on the hood. Raquel, in a crisp black suit, parked the car with militant precision and slipped out to open the back door. Hemant Kumar stepped out—not in a stiff boardroom suit but in a dark green buttoned vest over a rich emerald shirt, blazer-cut pants hugging his tall frame, Italian leather gleaming underfoot. He didn’t need a tie. His very walk was authority.
The guards at the glass entrance of RegalCorp straightened unconsciously as Hemant strode past. The receptionist—a young woman with sharp eyeliner and sharper instincts—flushed slightly when he leaned in, lowered his voice, and said.
"You’ve got the warmest smile in this entire icebox. Dangerous asset"
She laughed, flustered, as he signed in. The way he owned the space made the polished marble floors seem like his personal runway. Raquel remained outside, scanning the perimeter like a hawk—hand resting casually on the steering wheel but eyes moving constantly. Inside, Hemant pushed through the tall doors of the next floor boardroom. Siddharth Mehta was already standing at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, arrogance woven into every line of his posture.
"Well" Siddharth said, forcing a smile.
"Not many walk into my office without an appointment. But you seem to have a flair for breaking patterns"
Hemant smiled—slow, deliberate.
"Patterns are useful. Until they’re predictable"
He replied, pulling out the chair opposite Siddharth without waiting to be offered. He sat with a lazy, predatory grace. Siddharth took a second longer than he should have to recover, then chuckled.
"Congratulations, Hemant. First shipment of Alignment Knots exceeded expectations. RegalCorp is ready for more"
"I appreciate that" Hemant said, folding his hands.
"But I’m not here just to talk knots. YOD Industries is expanding—security equipment, vaults, high-grade safes. We’re starting operations at a newly acquired warehouse across town"
Siddharth’s brow furrowed.
"That warehouse belonged to Dilawar" he said flatly.
"A dead man’s empire doesn’t simply change hands"
Hemant leaned forward, his voice silk over steel.
"Oh, but it does when his entire estate was… let’s say… made available to the right bidder. And when the bidder happens to know which Mehta puppet signed off Dilawar’s corporator routes, it’s an easy game"
Siddharth’s smile faltered. The air tightened.
"Careful" Siddharth said softly
"You’re walking a dangerous line" Hemant didn’t blink.
"I know exactly where the line is. That’s why I’m standing on it"
"I’m not here to compete with you"
Hemant continued, adjusting his cuff.
"I’m offering an alliance. Dilawar was a liability. I can be an asset. My networks are disciplined. Clean. Profitable. You and your family want control of this city’s spine? I’ll help you build the nerves around it"
Siddharth tilted his head, studying him, and then smirked.
"I heard you bought a private hangar at the new Navi Mumbai Airport. Quite a move for a man who pretends to be just a manufacturer"
"That hangar is for ANVIL" Hemant said calmly.
"They want secure infrastructure. I provide security to my allies. Family isn’t just blood, Siddharth—it’s who stands with you when everyone else runs. Work with me, and you’ll never have to look over your shoulder again"
Siddharth chuckled, but it lacked the earlier bite.
"I’ve only tolerated this sudden rise of yours because of my sister. Pranitha seems… lighter when you’re around. If this ‘friendship’ turns into something more, I’ll be the first to know"
Hemant’s jaw tightened briefly but his eyes stayed warm.
"Pranitha’s a remarkable woman. I respect her. Whatever path our friendship takes—it’ll be with honor"
He rose then, slow and controlled.
"Let this be the beginning of something meaningful. RegalCorp gets cleaner channels, my network gets scale. And if we succeed together, Siddharth…..you can play its king , while I'll be your best advisor"
Siddharth stood too, mirroring the motion almost instinctively. They shook hands, grip firm—two predators sizing each other up while pretending to dance. As Hemant walked out, his footfalls echoed like war drums. Siddharth’s confident smirk dimmed into suspicion.
'He’s either the best ally I’ll ever have… or the storm that’ll tear this empire apart'
Siddharth thought. Outside, Raquel revved the M5’s engine. Hemant slipped into the back seat, gaze cold and calculating. The trap had been set—not with threats, but with promises.
A WEEK LATER AT SEWRI
The air at Sewri carried a faint tang of salt, diesel, and fresh paint. Hemant Kumar stepped out of his black SUV, the low hum of its engine dying as his polished shoes touched the concrete. The massive warehouse loomed ahead — once the fortress of Dilawar, a man whose empire had bled the city for years. Now, the metal shutters bore a new emblem: YOD Industries — clean, cold, and authoritative. Hemant walked forward, hands tucked in his coat pockets, a storm calm behind his eyes. Dilawar’s ghost won’t haunt this place anymore, he thought. This belongs to me now.
Inside, the warehouse smelled of steel and ambition. Rows of machines stood idle, freshly installed, gleaming beneath bright halogens. Engineers and security heads straightened the moment they saw him.
"Sir" one of them greeted.
"The final shipment of vault alloys is coming tomorrow morning. YOD Security Systems is ready for launch"
Hemant nodded, his voice steady.
"Good. I want this place functional in less than a week. Dilawar ran contraband through these walls. We’ll run security and technology"
A faint smile crept at the corner of his lips — not of joy, but of power reclaimed.
As they walked deeper into the facility, his lieutenant, Raquel, lowered his tone.
"Bhaijaan… feels strange seeing this place like this. This place here…"
Hemant cut him off.
"This place was once blood and bullets. This time, it’s business"
His gaze hardened as memories flickered — the night Michael King ignited Dilawar's empire down in cold precision, erasing a monster from Mumbai’s underbelly. Michael King lays dormant inside him. Hemant Kumar builds, not destroys. In the center of the warehouse, a sleek black podium held the prototype of the new YOD security lock — a piece of engineering genius modeled from the same tech behind the Alignment Knots that made YOD Industries legendary. He ran a hand across its smooth surface.
"This" Hemant said to his team,
"Is the spine of a safer future. If we control the locks, we control the doors to power"
Raquel whistled softly.
"And to think this was once where they used to cook illegal contraband"
Hemant didn’t answer. But his silence was louder than any boast. A convoy of two black sedans entered the compound. Out stepped a well-dressed government liaison, flanked by security.
"Mr. Kumar" the man extended a hand.
"The Home Ministry approves your expansion into defense-grade security equipment. Mumbai could use companies like yours"
Hemant shook his hand with quiet dominance.
"We don’t just make equipment, Mr. Menon. We build trust. And trust is more expensive than gold"
The man chuckled nervously. Beneath that charm, everyone knew — no one crossed Hemant Kumar and slept soundly. As the meeting concluded, Hemant lingered alone in the shadows of the warehouse, looking at the spot where Dilawar had once chained people to steel columns. The echoes of his old self — the ruthless Michael King — stirred faintly in the corners of his mind.
Later that afternoon, Hemant drove toward Navi Mumbai International Airport. The private hangar he’d leased was buzzing with movement. Engineers from YOD and operatives from ANVIL were clustered around a massive drone frame — sleek, predatory, and designed for the skies. This wasn’t just business. This was strategy.
Roy Harper was already there, wearing that infuriatingly casual smirk.
"Damn, Egghead. Every time I see you now, you’re building your own empire"
Hemant smirked back.
"Empires keep the wolves at bay, Roy"
They walked toward the drone, its alloy skin catching the afternoon light.
"So this is it" Roy said, tapping the side.
"A high-altitude, multi-purpose surveillance bird. Looks like something out of a war movie"
Hemant folded his arms.
"Not war. Control. This drone will watch places where men like Dilawar hid. Where law doesn’t reach. Where we will reach"
Roy gave him a knowing look.
"That’s Michael talking, not Mr.Kumar"
For a second, the silence was sharp. Then Hemant exhaled slowly.
"Michael’s buried beneath me. I have evolved him to be my ultimate weapon. And I’ll use his fire to build my empire"
Inside the hangar office, maps of coastal and border zones spread across the table. Roy poured them both coffee.
"You really have turned your life around" he said, half-proud, half-stunned.
"YOD Industries was already a giant. Now YOD Security Systems? You’re rewriting the game"
Hemant leaned back.
"This is just the beginning. Michael King had the tagline of the underworld embedded to him , but Hemant Kumar isn't. Gangsters , Vigilantes , they're all relics of the past…"
His voice dropped to steel.
"…But this corporate life , this is the new norm. Besides , it gives a nice cover , because Corporates are the new kingdoms , the CEO's and Owners the new Kings , and I intend to build a legacy where I can be my best self and benefit others....and settle old scores"
Roy’s grin softened into something loyal.
"You’re going after them, aren’t you? The old guard. The ones left after you left Azerbaijaan"
Hemant met his gaze without flinching.
"I believed that when I walked away , I was finding a new path. But I let my loved ones's death lay meaningless. I have to avenge them Roy , and for that , I have to erase that bloodline for good!"
Roy leaned in.
"Everytime you waged a war , the world felt its wrath one way or another. Whatever storm you’re going to create next, you know ANVIL’s got your back. You point, we move"
A rare warmth flickered in Hemant’s chest.
"My faith in people is still intact Roy , That’s why I am backing ANVIL , so that there is a better order of justice!!"
Outside, the hangar buzzed with activity — a symphony of ambition. As Hemant stepped out, the wind from the runway hit his face, crisp and grounding. In few weeks , Sonarika would be leaving to Delhi with Karan and Anjali and then move away to Goa on her new workplace after returning Karan and Anjali back to him, she will never witness his dream house , she will be out of his life, out of their broken promises. But he will still have Karan. He will still have Anjali. He would still have something worth living for. And now, he had an empire to build.
Roy joined him at the doorway, looking at the skyline.
"What now?"
Hemant smirked, sliding his hands into his coat pockets.
"Now we build. And we plan out our tactics!"
Roy laughed.
"God help whoever stands in your way"
Hemant’s eyes hardened like obsidian.
"God won’t help them. Because God has awakened me to punish them!!"
The engines roared somewhere in the background. For the first time in years, Hemant Kumar didn’t feel like a ghost of Michael King. He felt like the storm itself.
THAT EVENING AT ANDHERI
The evening sun melted over Andheri’s Silver Beach as Hemant Kumar’s vehicle rolled to a stop before his new home — Silver Beach Villa. The villa stood immaculate against the orange horizon, a sculpture of glass, steel, and sorrow. What was meant to be a symbol of his family’s new beginning had now become a monument to everything he’d lost. His dream home was finally complete… and yet, it felt like a tomb. He walked through the marble foyer in silence. The faint echo of his footsteps filled the air, every tap of his shoe reminding him how empty the space was. This was supposed to be their home — his, Sonarika's, and Karan's and Anjali's — a refuge from the chaos of life. Now, it was nothing but a shrine to a marriage that had bled out long before the walls were painted.
Hemant let his fingers trail along the polished wooden railing of the staircase.
"You got your dream house, Hemant" he whispered bitterly.
"Shame it’s haunted by someone still alive"
He moved into the living room — vast, open, and facing the sea. The sound of the waves whispered against the glass panels, like distant laughter mocking him. He sat on the couch, staring into the horizon where the sun disappeared into the Arabian Sea. This was supposed to be their view. Now it belonged to him alone. He exhaled, shutting his eyes, letting the silence wrap around him like a cruel embrace. For a moment, he almost drifted into peace.
"Hemant"
His head snapped up. The voice, so familiar, so loved, so resented, echoed in the emptiness. And then she was there. Sonarika. Standing before him, ethereal and devastatingly real. But it was her attire that stole the air from his lungs—the deep red wedding saree, the gold zariwork glinting in the afternoon light. The same one she’d worn when she vowed to be his forever. But her smile was different. Not the joyful beam from their wedding day, but something softer, sadder.
"I’m sorry for hurting you, Hemant"
She said, her voice a whisper that seemed to come from the walls themselves.
"But with Vikram… I felt awake. I felt complete in a way I never did with you"
The front door, which he’d locked behind him, swung open silently. Vikram strode in, dressed in a sleek black silk shirt and chinos, a picture of casual arrogance. His warm gaze swept past Hemant as if he were part of the furniture, landing solely on Sonarika. Hemant’s skin crawled. Vikram stepped close to her, too close, and with a tenderness that felt like violence, he swept his thumb across her forehead. The vermillion, the symbol of her marital status, of being his wife, was smeared away. Sonarika’s eyes fluttered closed, a soft sigh escaping her lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief. She was being unmade as his.
She turned her tear-filled eyes to Hemant, but they were tears of joy.
"I’m finally free from your life. I’m ready to be his woman"
Her hands flew to her neck, grasping the sacred mangalsutra. With a sharp, definitive tug, the black beads and gold pendant snapped. She threw the symbol of their union, and it hit him square in the face.
The world dissolved.
The cool Mumbai sea breeze vanished, replaced by a humid, salty air. The minimalist living room morphed into a sun-drenched bedroom with a familiar Goan vista. Her new life. The realization was a spike of ice in his heart. And there they were. Sonarika, her vermillion and mangalsutra gone. Vikram, now shirtless, his body lean and confident. They stared at each other with the same deep connection he’d seen in those damned photographs, a world of understanding passing between them that Hemant had never been part of.
Then Vikram’s hands were on her face, and he was kissing her. Not a gentle kiss. It was a claiming. And Sonarika… Sonarika kissed him back with a wild, desperate abandon Hemant had never witnessed, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. This wasn’t just lust. It was the beginning of something far more intimate, far more devastating. Vikram’s fingers worked deftly, unwrapping her saree’s pallu until it pooled on the floor, leaving her in just a blouse and petticoat. He kissed her with a ferocious hunger, his mouth moving down her neck, nuzzling into the exposed swell of her cleavage. Hemant heard the soft, wet sounds of his lips on her skin. A white-hot rage ignited in his gut. He tried to surge forward, to tear them apart, and only then did he realize—he was tied to a heavy armchair, forced to watch.
"Untie me! I don’t want to be here!" he roared, straining against the bonds.
Sonarika moaned, breaking from Vikram’s kiss, her eyes glazed with desire.
"You should be here. You need to see… see how a real man makes love to his woman!!!"
Vikram gave a low, dark chuckle, his eyes locking with Hemant’s as his hands went to her blouse. Buttons flew. Then the clasp of her red bra was undone. Her full breasts spilled into his hands, and he lowered his mouth to one peaked nipple, sucking hard, claiming. Hemant had always been so careful, so gentle, believing that was what she cherished. But now, Sonarika wasn’t crying out in pain. She was arching her back, her cries were of pure, unbridled pleasure as he bit and suckled, marking her pale skin with reddened love bites, his saliva making her glisten under the Goa sun. He was erasing Hemant’s gentle touches, replacing them with his own possessive brand. The rest of their clothes became a forgotten heap on the floor. Vikram turned her, his hands firm on her hips, positioning her on her knees on the edge of the bed. He held himself for a moment, the thick length of him pressing against her entrance, and then with one powerful, unforgiving thrust, he was inside her.
Hemant flinched as if he’d been struck. The sound—the wet, solid sound of their joining—echoed in the room. And then they were moving. Vikram’s hips pistoned, setting a ruthless, vigorous rhythm. The bed began to protest, its wooden frame creaking and slamming against the wall in time with their bodies. On a nearby nightstand, a single framed photo of Hemant, Sonarika, and a young Karan shook with every impact.
"Ahhh! Ahh! Yess!, Vicky! You’re the man I wanted!" she screamed, her voice raw.
"You’re the only one who can make me feel this… make me feel complete!!!"
The sounds of their skin meeting, slap after wet slap, filled Hemant’s world. The ruthless gangster from his youth, long buried, roared to life inside him, screaming for violence, for blood. They shifted. Now she was on top, riding him with a ferocious energy, her head thrown back, her breasts bouncing. Vikram’s hands gripped her ass, guiding her, grinding her down onto him.
"Can’t wait to do this every day" he grunted, his voice thick.
"Make this our routine"
And in her ecstasy, Sonarika confessed it all.
"I want it… I want to be pregnant again. I want to give Karan a sibling"
The words were a knife to Hemant’s soul.
"I’ll give you that" Vikram groaned, his hips bucking up to meet her downward plunge.
"I’ll give you everything"
He rolled her beneath him, missionary now, and drove into her with a new, profound intensity. This was no longer just fucking. This was a ritual. A transfer of ownership.
"I love you" he whispered against her mouth.
"I love you too" she cried back, her eyes seeing only him.
"Goa is our beginning. This is where our world grows"
"Yes! Our world!" she chanted, her moans becoming shrill, desperate.
Hemant stopped struggling. The fire in him had condensed into a cold, dense star of hatred. He was just a spectator to his own annihilation. Vikram’s pace became frantic, animalistic.
"Will you marry me?" he grunted, the words punched out with each thrust.
"Yes! God, yes!"
"We’ll be perfect… have wonderful kids… I’ll give you Karan’s sibling…"
"I need your child… inside me… now…" she begged, pulling him down for a savage kiss.
Vikram’s body went rigid. A guttural, primal groan tore from his throat, a sound of absolute release. At the same moment, Sonarika’s scream peaked, her body bowing off the bed. Hemant’s eyes were drawn, horrifically, to where their bodies were joined. He saw the base of Vikram’s buried dick pulse violently, saw his balls tighten and draw up, the unmistakable,tell-tale sign of his climax. He was claiming her, breeding her, planting his seed deep in the womb that had once carried Hemant’s son. He was making her his, in the most fundamental way possible, right before his eyes.
The rage exploded. Hemant roared, the sound inhuman, and the restraints around his wrists ripped apart as he surged to his feet, ready to kill. He stood, eyes blazing, ready to unleash everything he had buried for years. But before he could take a single step — everything shattered. The sound of breaking glass rang out, and suddenly… he was back. Back in the Silver Beach Villa, alone.
The photo frame from his wedding had fallen, its glass splintered across the floor. The smiling faces of him and Sonarika stared up from the cracked frame — a ghost of what once was.
Hemant dropped to one knee, staring at the fragments. For the first time in a long time, his rage didn’t find a target — only exhaustion. The hallucination had passed, but the truth it revealed still lingered. Deep down, he knew Sonarika’s heart was already gone. He stood, walked toward the door, and whispered to the empty house.
"I won't let this house to be a monument of my failures.....but rather the legacy of my rise!!"
As he stepped out into the night breeze, the villa stood silent behind him — beautiful, complete, and utterly hollow. For Hemant Kumar, the dream was dead. But somewhere beneath the ruin, a different kind of ambition rose within him.
(TO BE CONTD)
The deep growl of the BMW E39 M5 sliced through the Airoli morning like a knife through silk. Its race-green paint shimmered under the sun, the golden eagle crest glinting on the hood. Raquel, in a crisp black suit, parked the car with militant precision and slipped out to open the back door. Hemant Kumar stepped out—not in a stiff boardroom suit but in a dark green buttoned vest over a rich emerald shirt, blazer-cut pants hugging his tall frame, Italian leather gleaming underfoot. He didn’t need a tie. His very walk was authority.
The guards at the glass entrance of RegalCorp straightened unconsciously as Hemant strode past. The receptionist—a young woman with sharp eyeliner and sharper instincts—flushed slightly when he leaned in, lowered his voice, and said.
"You’ve got the warmest smile in this entire icebox. Dangerous asset"
She laughed, flustered, as he signed in. The way he owned the space made the polished marble floors seem like his personal runway. Raquel remained outside, scanning the perimeter like a hawk—hand resting casually on the steering wheel but eyes moving constantly. Inside, Hemant pushed through the tall doors of the next floor boardroom. Siddharth Mehta was already standing at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, arrogance woven into every line of his posture.
"Well" Siddharth said, forcing a smile.
"Not many walk into my office without an appointment. But you seem to have a flair for breaking patterns"
Hemant smiled—slow, deliberate.
"Patterns are useful. Until they’re predictable"
He replied, pulling out the chair opposite Siddharth without waiting to be offered. He sat with a lazy, predatory grace. Siddharth took a second longer than he should have to recover, then chuckled.
"Congratulations, Hemant. First shipment of Alignment Knots exceeded expectations. RegalCorp is ready for more"
"I appreciate that" Hemant said, folding his hands.
"But I’m not here just to talk knots. YOD Industries is expanding—security equipment, vaults, high-grade safes. We’re starting operations at a newly acquired warehouse across town"
Siddharth’s brow furrowed.
"That warehouse belonged to Dilawar" he said flatly.
"A dead man’s empire doesn’t simply change hands"
Hemant leaned forward, his voice silk over steel.
"Oh, but it does when his entire estate was… let’s say… made available to the right bidder. And when the bidder happens to know which Mehta puppet signed off Dilawar’s corporator routes, it’s an easy game"
Siddharth’s smile faltered. The air tightened.
"Careful" Siddharth said softly
"You’re walking a dangerous line" Hemant didn’t blink.
"I know exactly where the line is. That’s why I’m standing on it"
"I’m not here to compete with you"
Hemant continued, adjusting his cuff.
"I’m offering an alliance. Dilawar was a liability. I can be an asset. My networks are disciplined. Clean. Profitable. You and your family want control of this city’s spine? I’ll help you build the nerves around it"
Siddharth tilted his head, studying him, and then smirked.
"I heard you bought a private hangar at the new Navi Mumbai Airport. Quite a move for a man who pretends to be just a manufacturer"
"That hangar is for ANVIL" Hemant said calmly.
"They want secure infrastructure. I provide security to my allies. Family isn’t just blood, Siddharth—it’s who stands with you when everyone else runs. Work with me, and you’ll never have to look over your shoulder again"
Siddharth chuckled, but it lacked the earlier bite.
"I’ve only tolerated this sudden rise of yours because of my sister. Pranitha seems… lighter when you’re around. If this ‘friendship’ turns into something more, I’ll be the first to know"
Hemant’s jaw tightened briefly but his eyes stayed warm.
"Pranitha’s a remarkable woman. I respect her. Whatever path our friendship takes—it’ll be with honor"
He rose then, slow and controlled.
"Let this be the beginning of something meaningful. RegalCorp gets cleaner channels, my network gets scale. And if we succeed together, Siddharth…..you can play its king , while I'll be your best advisor"
Siddharth stood too, mirroring the motion almost instinctively. They shook hands, grip firm—two predators sizing each other up while pretending to dance. As Hemant walked out, his footfalls echoed like war drums. Siddharth’s confident smirk dimmed into suspicion.
'He’s either the best ally I’ll ever have… or the storm that’ll tear this empire apart'
Siddharth thought. Outside, Raquel revved the M5’s engine. Hemant slipped into the back seat, gaze cold and calculating. The trap had been set—not with threats, but with promises.
A WEEK LATER AT SEWRI
The air at Sewri carried a faint tang of salt, diesel, and fresh paint. Hemant Kumar stepped out of his black SUV, the low hum of its engine dying as his polished shoes touched the concrete. The massive warehouse loomed ahead — once the fortress of Dilawar, a man whose empire had bled the city for years. Now, the metal shutters bore a new emblem: YOD Industries — clean, cold, and authoritative. Hemant walked forward, hands tucked in his coat pockets, a storm calm behind his eyes. Dilawar’s ghost won’t haunt this place anymore, he thought. This belongs to me now.
Inside, the warehouse smelled of steel and ambition. Rows of machines stood idle, freshly installed, gleaming beneath bright halogens. Engineers and security heads straightened the moment they saw him.
"Sir" one of them greeted.
"The final shipment of vault alloys is coming tomorrow morning. YOD Security Systems is ready for launch"
Hemant nodded, his voice steady.
"Good. I want this place functional in less than a week. Dilawar ran contraband through these walls. We’ll run security and technology"
A faint smile crept at the corner of his lips — not of joy, but of power reclaimed.
As they walked deeper into the facility, his lieutenant, Raquel, lowered his tone.
"Bhaijaan… feels strange seeing this place like this. This place here…"
Hemant cut him off.
"This place was once blood and bullets. This time, it’s business"
His gaze hardened as memories flickered — the night Michael King ignited Dilawar's empire down in cold precision, erasing a monster from Mumbai’s underbelly. Michael King lays dormant inside him. Hemant Kumar builds, not destroys. In the center of the warehouse, a sleek black podium held the prototype of the new YOD security lock — a piece of engineering genius modeled from the same tech behind the Alignment Knots that made YOD Industries legendary. He ran a hand across its smooth surface.
"This" Hemant said to his team,
"Is the spine of a safer future. If we control the locks, we control the doors to power"
Raquel whistled softly.
"And to think this was once where they used to cook illegal contraband"
Hemant didn’t answer. But his silence was louder than any boast. A convoy of two black sedans entered the compound. Out stepped a well-dressed government liaison, flanked by security.
"Mr. Kumar" the man extended a hand.
"The Home Ministry approves your expansion into defense-grade security equipment. Mumbai could use companies like yours"
Hemant shook his hand with quiet dominance.
"We don’t just make equipment, Mr. Menon. We build trust. And trust is more expensive than gold"
The man chuckled nervously. Beneath that charm, everyone knew — no one crossed Hemant Kumar and slept soundly. As the meeting concluded, Hemant lingered alone in the shadows of the warehouse, looking at the spot where Dilawar had once chained people to steel columns. The echoes of his old self — the ruthless Michael King — stirred faintly in the corners of his mind.
Later that afternoon, Hemant drove toward Navi Mumbai International Airport. The private hangar he’d leased was buzzing with movement. Engineers from YOD and operatives from ANVIL were clustered around a massive drone frame — sleek, predatory, and designed for the skies. This wasn’t just business. This was strategy.
Roy Harper was already there, wearing that infuriatingly casual smirk.
"Damn, Egghead. Every time I see you now, you’re building your own empire"
Hemant smirked back.
"Empires keep the wolves at bay, Roy"
They walked toward the drone, its alloy skin catching the afternoon light.
"So this is it" Roy said, tapping the side.
"A high-altitude, multi-purpose surveillance bird. Looks like something out of a war movie"
Hemant folded his arms.
"Not war. Control. This drone will watch places where men like Dilawar hid. Where law doesn’t reach. Where we will reach"
Roy gave him a knowing look.
"That’s Michael talking, not Mr.Kumar"
For a second, the silence was sharp. Then Hemant exhaled slowly.
"Michael’s buried beneath me. I have evolved him to be my ultimate weapon. And I’ll use his fire to build my empire"
Inside the hangar office, maps of coastal and border zones spread across the table. Roy poured them both coffee.
"You really have turned your life around" he said, half-proud, half-stunned.
"YOD Industries was already a giant. Now YOD Security Systems? You’re rewriting the game"
Hemant leaned back.
"This is just the beginning. Michael King had the tagline of the underworld embedded to him , but Hemant Kumar isn't. Gangsters , Vigilantes , they're all relics of the past…"
His voice dropped to steel.
"…But this corporate life , this is the new norm. Besides , it gives a nice cover , because Corporates are the new kingdoms , the CEO's and Owners the new Kings , and I intend to build a legacy where I can be my best self and benefit others....and settle old scores"
Roy’s grin softened into something loyal.
"You’re going after them, aren’t you? The old guard. The ones left after you left Azerbaijaan"
Hemant met his gaze without flinching.
"I believed that when I walked away , I was finding a new path. But I let my loved ones's death lay meaningless. I have to avenge them Roy , and for that , I have to erase that bloodline for good!"
Roy leaned in.
"Everytime you waged a war , the world felt its wrath one way or another. Whatever storm you’re going to create next, you know ANVIL’s got your back. You point, we move"
A rare warmth flickered in Hemant’s chest.
"My faith in people is still intact Roy , That’s why I am backing ANVIL , so that there is a better order of justice!!"
Outside, the hangar buzzed with activity — a symphony of ambition. As Hemant stepped out, the wind from the runway hit his face, crisp and grounding. In few weeks , Sonarika would be leaving to Delhi with Karan and Anjali and then move away to Goa on her new workplace after returning Karan and Anjali back to him, she will never witness his dream house , she will be out of his life, out of their broken promises. But he will still have Karan. He will still have Anjali. He would still have something worth living for. And now, he had an empire to build.
Roy joined him at the doorway, looking at the skyline.
"What now?"
Hemant smirked, sliding his hands into his coat pockets.
"Now we build. And we plan out our tactics!"
Roy laughed.
"God help whoever stands in your way"
Hemant’s eyes hardened like obsidian.
"God won’t help them. Because God has awakened me to punish them!!"
The engines roared somewhere in the background. For the first time in years, Hemant Kumar didn’t feel like a ghost of Michael King. He felt like the storm itself.
THAT EVENING AT ANDHERI
The evening sun melted over Andheri’s Silver Beach as Hemant Kumar’s vehicle rolled to a stop before his new home — Silver Beach Villa. The villa stood immaculate against the orange horizon, a sculpture of glass, steel, and sorrow. What was meant to be a symbol of his family’s new beginning had now become a monument to everything he’d lost. His dream home was finally complete… and yet, it felt like a tomb. He walked through the marble foyer in silence. The faint echo of his footsteps filled the air, every tap of his shoe reminding him how empty the space was. This was supposed to be their home — his, Sonarika's, and Karan's and Anjali's — a refuge from the chaos of life. Now, it was nothing but a shrine to a marriage that had bled out long before the walls were painted.
Hemant let his fingers trail along the polished wooden railing of the staircase.
"You got your dream house, Hemant" he whispered bitterly.
"Shame it’s haunted by someone still alive"
He moved into the living room — vast, open, and facing the sea. The sound of the waves whispered against the glass panels, like distant laughter mocking him. He sat on the couch, staring into the horizon where the sun disappeared into the Arabian Sea. This was supposed to be their view. Now it belonged to him alone. He exhaled, shutting his eyes, letting the silence wrap around him like a cruel embrace. For a moment, he almost drifted into peace.
"Hemant"
His head snapped up. The voice, so familiar, so loved, so resented, echoed in the emptiness. And then she was there. Sonarika. Standing before him, ethereal and devastatingly real. But it was her attire that stole the air from his lungs—the deep red wedding saree, the gold zariwork glinting in the afternoon light. The same one she’d worn when she vowed to be his forever. But her smile was different. Not the joyful beam from their wedding day, but something softer, sadder.
"I’m sorry for hurting you, Hemant"
She said, her voice a whisper that seemed to come from the walls themselves.
"But with Vikram… I felt awake. I felt complete in a way I never did with you"
The front door, which he’d locked behind him, swung open silently. Vikram strode in, dressed in a sleek black silk shirt and chinos, a picture of casual arrogance. His warm gaze swept past Hemant as if he were part of the furniture, landing solely on Sonarika. Hemant’s skin crawled. Vikram stepped close to her, too close, and with a tenderness that felt like violence, he swept his thumb across her forehead. The vermillion, the symbol of her marital status, of being his wife, was smeared away. Sonarika’s eyes fluttered closed, a soft sigh escaping her lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief. She was being unmade as his.
She turned her tear-filled eyes to Hemant, but they were tears of joy.
"I’m finally free from your life. I’m ready to be his woman"
Her hands flew to her neck, grasping the sacred mangalsutra. With a sharp, definitive tug, the black beads and gold pendant snapped. She threw the symbol of their union, and it hit him square in the face.
The world dissolved.
The cool Mumbai sea breeze vanished, replaced by a humid, salty air. The minimalist living room morphed into a sun-drenched bedroom with a familiar Goan vista. Her new life. The realization was a spike of ice in his heart. And there they were. Sonarika, her vermillion and mangalsutra gone. Vikram, now shirtless, his body lean and confident. They stared at each other with the same deep connection he’d seen in those damned photographs, a world of understanding passing between them that Hemant had never been part of.
Then Vikram’s hands were on her face, and he was kissing her. Not a gentle kiss. It was a claiming. And Sonarika… Sonarika kissed him back with a wild, desperate abandon Hemant had never witnessed, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. This wasn’t just lust. It was the beginning of something far more intimate, far more devastating. Vikram’s fingers worked deftly, unwrapping her saree’s pallu until it pooled on the floor, leaving her in just a blouse and petticoat. He kissed her with a ferocious hunger, his mouth moving down her neck, nuzzling into the exposed swell of her cleavage. Hemant heard the soft, wet sounds of his lips on her skin. A white-hot rage ignited in his gut. He tried to surge forward, to tear them apart, and only then did he realize—he was tied to a heavy armchair, forced to watch.
"Untie me! I don’t want to be here!" he roared, straining against the bonds.
Sonarika moaned, breaking from Vikram’s kiss, her eyes glazed with desire.
"You should be here. You need to see… see how a real man makes love to his woman!!!"
Vikram gave a low, dark chuckle, his eyes locking with Hemant’s as his hands went to her blouse. Buttons flew. Then the clasp of her red bra was undone. Her full breasts spilled into his hands, and he lowered his mouth to one peaked nipple, sucking hard, claiming. Hemant had always been so careful, so gentle, believing that was what she cherished. But now, Sonarika wasn’t crying out in pain. She was arching her back, her cries were of pure, unbridled pleasure as he bit and suckled, marking her pale skin with reddened love bites, his saliva making her glisten under the Goa sun. He was erasing Hemant’s gentle touches, replacing them with his own possessive brand. The rest of their clothes became a forgotten heap on the floor. Vikram turned her, his hands firm on her hips, positioning her on her knees on the edge of the bed. He held himself for a moment, the thick length of him pressing against her entrance, and then with one powerful, unforgiving thrust, he was inside her.
Hemant flinched as if he’d been struck. The sound—the wet, solid sound of their joining—echoed in the room. And then they were moving. Vikram’s hips pistoned, setting a ruthless, vigorous rhythm. The bed began to protest, its wooden frame creaking and slamming against the wall in time with their bodies. On a nearby nightstand, a single framed photo of Hemant, Sonarika, and a young Karan shook with every impact.
"Ahhh! Ahh! Yess!, Vicky! You’re the man I wanted!" she screamed, her voice raw.
"You’re the only one who can make me feel this… make me feel complete!!!"
The sounds of their skin meeting, slap after wet slap, filled Hemant’s world. The ruthless gangster from his youth, long buried, roared to life inside him, screaming for violence, for blood. They shifted. Now she was on top, riding him with a ferocious energy, her head thrown back, her breasts bouncing. Vikram’s hands gripped her ass, guiding her, grinding her down onto him.
"Can’t wait to do this every day" he grunted, his voice thick.
"Make this our routine"
And in her ecstasy, Sonarika confessed it all.
"I want it… I want to be pregnant again. I want to give Karan a sibling"
The words were a knife to Hemant’s soul.
"I’ll give you that" Vikram groaned, his hips bucking up to meet her downward plunge.
"I’ll give you everything"
He rolled her beneath him, missionary now, and drove into her with a new, profound intensity. This was no longer just fucking. This was a ritual. A transfer of ownership.
"I love you" he whispered against her mouth.
"I love you too" she cried back, her eyes seeing only him.
"Goa is our beginning. This is where our world grows"
"Yes! Our world!" she chanted, her moans becoming shrill, desperate.
Hemant stopped struggling. The fire in him had condensed into a cold, dense star of hatred. He was just a spectator to his own annihilation. Vikram’s pace became frantic, animalistic.
"Will you marry me?" he grunted, the words punched out with each thrust.
"Yes! God, yes!"
"We’ll be perfect… have wonderful kids… I’ll give you Karan’s sibling…"
"I need your child… inside me… now…" she begged, pulling him down for a savage kiss.
Vikram’s body went rigid. A guttural, primal groan tore from his throat, a sound of absolute release. At the same moment, Sonarika’s scream peaked, her body bowing off the bed. Hemant’s eyes were drawn, horrifically, to where their bodies were joined. He saw the base of Vikram’s buried dick pulse violently, saw his balls tighten and draw up, the unmistakable,tell-tale sign of his climax. He was claiming her, breeding her, planting his seed deep in the womb that had once carried Hemant’s son. He was making her his, in the most fundamental way possible, right before his eyes.
The rage exploded. Hemant roared, the sound inhuman, and the restraints around his wrists ripped apart as he surged to his feet, ready to kill. He stood, eyes blazing, ready to unleash everything he had buried for years. But before he could take a single step — everything shattered. The sound of breaking glass rang out, and suddenly… he was back. Back in the Silver Beach Villa, alone.
The photo frame from his wedding had fallen, its glass splintered across the floor. The smiling faces of him and Sonarika stared up from the cracked frame — a ghost of what once was.
Hemant dropped to one knee, staring at the fragments. For the first time in a long time, his rage didn’t find a target — only exhaustion. The hallucination had passed, but the truth it revealed still lingered. Deep down, he knew Sonarika’s heart was already gone. He stood, walked toward the door, and whispered to the empty house.
"I won't let this house to be a monument of my failures.....but rather the legacy of my rise!!"
As he stepped out into the night breeze, the villa stood silent behind him — beautiful, complete, and utterly hollow. For Hemant Kumar, the dream was dead. But somewhere beneath the ruin, a different kind of ambition rose within him.
(TO BE CONTD)
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