2 hours ago
(CHAPTER CONTD)
FEW DAYS LATER AT YOD INDUSTRIES
The morning sunlight spilled across the polished floor of YOD Industries’ main lobby just as a Law Enforcement SUV screeched to a halt at the entrance. Security guards straightened immediately. Employees paused mid-task. From the vehicle stepped ACP Sanjana Ranawat, crisp in full uniform, holster at her side, eyes sharp as she scanned the buzzing industrial empire Hemant had built.
She walked inside with an authority that made even the most confident employees step aside. Kamya and Vaibhav froze when they recognized her.
"Manager’s office?" she asked curtly.
Kamya pointed nervously.
"Top floor… first door to the right"
Sanjana headed up the stairs. Her boots echoed through the corridor.
Inside Hemant’s Office
Hemant was reviewing the updated development charts for the BTR project when he looked up—and his face shifted in surprise.
"Sanjana…" he muttered.
She stepped in.
"Quite an empire you’ve built, Hemant"
Her tone was half-compliment, half-investigative.
He gestured for her to sit.
"All the credit goes to the workers. I’m just steering the ship"
Sanjana scanned the luxurious office, the maps, the models, the surveillance feeds—everything.
"I hope Anjali has recovered well?"
"She’s almost back to normal" Hemant replied, calm.
Sanjana nodded once.
"Good. Because Dilawar and Rafique? Still missing. And the search is widening"
Hemant kept his expression steady.
"I hope you find them"
Sanjana’s eyes narrowed—she had caught the subtle amusement behind his words.
"Interesting" she said.
"Because almost everyone who crossed paths with those brothers suffered—physically or mentally. And yet you…"
She leaned forward.
"You walked away from each encounter without a single scratch"
Hemant didn’t blink.
"You already know me, Sanjana. From college. I tend to ignore men like him"
"That’s my point" she said quietly.
"The man I loved back then and the man sitting here now? They are not the same"
His jaw tightened.
"You’re overthinking this because you’re a cop"
"Maybe" She stood.
"But I am investigating the brothers’s disappearance and their trafficking network. And if my instincts lead me back here—"
Her gaze hardened.
"—I won’t come with warnings next time. I’ll come with handcuffs"
Hemant held her stare. Inside, he acknowledged the threat—but it didn’t shake him. He had faced worse. A brief silence filled the room before he spoke, voice softened with genuine regret.
"I am sorry for leaving you back then, when I left for Kashmir for my army training" he said.
Sanjana’s eyes glistened, but she blinked the emotion away.
"So am I" she whispered.
Then she turned and walked out. Hemant allowed himself a slow exhale. Raquel Arrives. Raquel entered moments later, file in hand.
"Bhaijaan" he greeted.
Hemant straightened.
"Did you get everything on Vikram?"
Raquel placed the file on the desk.
"Yes. Vikram Bajaj is set to be the successor of BajajCorp. But he’s refusing the throne. Wants his sister to run the empire"
Hemant raised an eyebrow.
"So what does he want?"
"A quieter life" Raquel replied.
"He’s taking over a small hotel division. Planning to shift base to Goa. Renovation permits already under process"
Hemant’s expression darkened.
Raquel continued.
"He’s also scouting high-end villas. Private ones. One specifically listed as suitable for… married or cohabiting couples"
Hemant looked down for a moment, jaw locked.
"So he wants to take her to Goa" he murmured.
"Start a new life with her"
For a few seconds, he said nothing. The betrayal pricked—but he forced the bitterness down. He stood up, turning cold, focused. Raquel waited. Hemant looked him dead in the eye.
"Enough about Vikram" he said.
His voice shifted into the tone Michael King once used—the tone of command.
"How’s Operation Jewel Thief?"
"Nearly complete" Raquel answered instantly.
"Manav has finished his work—all trucks are ready"
Hemant nodded.
"Good" he said, stepping toward the window overlooking his factory floor.
"Finish the final preparations"
His tone became razor-sharp.
"We move soon"
Raquel saluted lightly.
"Yes, Bhaijaan"
He left. Hemant stayed still, watching his empire breathe below him—eyes cold, heart steeled.
Operation Jewel Thief was officially entering its endgame.
FEW DAYS LATER AT GURGAON
The SUV parked in the crescent-shaped driveway was unfamiliar, a hulking, black intrusion on the pristine symmetry of Ritesh’s Gurgaon villa. A long day at the corporate grind had left him drained, but the prospect of surprising his wife, Anjana, with an unexpected free evening lifted his spirits. He called her name as he crossed the marble lobby, the echo his only reply.
The silence felt… dense. He walked further in, his polished shoes clicking a rhythm of domestic anticipation. A trail of discarded clothing snaked from the foyer toward the master suite—a silk blouse, a pair of trousers that were not his own. His own pulse, a moment ago a steady drum of contentment, began to quicken.
The sound of the shower running drew him to the ensuite. Steam curled from the cracked door, carrying the faint, floral scent of Anjana’s expensive shampoo. He pushed the door open, a playful smile already forming on his lips.
"Anjana? Surprise"
She stood behind the fogged glass of the shower stall, a blurred silhouette of curves and dripping water. She turned, her face appearing through the steam, a slight, almost lazy smile gracing her features. She held the curtain closed just below her breasts, hinting at the nude form beneath.
"Ritesh. You’re home early"
"Wrapped up the merger. The whole day is ours"
He said, his voice husky with sudden desire as he began to unbutton his shirt. He took a step toward the shower, toward his beautiful, wet wife.
That’s when the shape behind her moved.
The glass door slid open with a sharp hiss. A man stepped out, water sluicing off a powerful, heavily tattooed torso. Long, dark hair was plastered to his broad shoulders, a thick beard covering a jawline set with arrogant confidence. Daraaksh Zarir. A business associate Anjana had insisted was crucial to their new ventures. He was utterly, completely nude, and he looked at Ritesh not with shock, but with a smug, possessive gleam in his dark eyes. He didn’t speak. He simply walked past Ritesh, a predator dismissing prey, and left the bathroom.
Ritesh’s world tilted. The unbuttoned shirt hung uselessly from his shoulders. He could only stare, his mind refusing to process the image. His wife. Naked. In their shower. With him. Anjana’s smile didn’t falter. She stepped out, coolly wrapping herself in a plush white towel, seemingly oblivious to the water dripping from her skin onto the floor. She walked past him as if he were a piece of furniture.
His voice, when it finally came, was a shattered, reedy thing.
"Anjana… why? What… what is this?"
She stopped at the bedroom threshold and turned. The warmth he had seen mere moments ago was gone, replaced by an expression of chilling calculation.
"The merger isn’t the only thing that wrapped up today, Ritesh. Our little arrangement has served its purpose"
"Arrangement?" he choked out.
"Our marriage" she said, the word a mockery on her lips.
"A brilliant performance, wasn’t it? Father always valued your dog-like loyalty to Bajaj Corp. Marrying you was the perfect way to secure my share of the empire. I needed your reputation, your dedication. And you gave it so freely"
A cruel smile touched her lips.
"I never loved you. Daraaksh… he is the only man who understands my ambition. The only one strong enough to stand beside me"
The raw, humiliating truth of it crashed down on him. The years, a lie. Their bed, a stage. His love, a tool. A guttural roar tore from his throat. He lunged, not at her, but at Zarir, who stood near the bed watching with detached amusement.
It was a hopeless gesture. Zarir moved with lethal grace, catching Ritesh’s swinging arm and twisting it with a brutal, practiced motion. The crack of bone was sickeningly loud. Agony blinded Ritesh for a second before a fist like forged iron connected with his jaw, snapping his head back. He was a desk-jockey; Zarir was a bruiser. The beating was swift, professional, and utterly merciless. Blow after blow rained down, a symphony of pain. Ritesh crumpled to the expensive Persian rug, his vision swimming with red.
Through a haze of suffering, he saw Zarir walk to a discarded leather jacket and pull out a long, wicked-looking hunter’s knife. Ritesh tried to plead, to beg, but only a bloody gurgle escaped his lips. Zarir’s cold eyes showed nothing—not anger, not hate, just a task to be completed. He drove the blade deep into Ritesh’s chest.
The pain was a white-hot sun, then a cold, shocking numbness. Zarir hauled him up by his armpits and hooked him over the high back of an ornate reading chair, the knife’s hilt protruding from his sternum, pinning him in place. His body spasmed, his life bleeding out onto the cream-colored upholstery.
Anjana watched it all, her expression one of mild interest. She untied her towel and let it drop to the floor.
"Enough of him" she said, her voice flat.
"Lets show him how a real man satisfies his woman!"
Zarir’s smirk returned. He walked to the bed, to their bed, and lay back against the pillows, his powerful body on full display, already semi-aroused again. Anjana climbed atop him, straddling his hips, her back to her dying husband.
Ritesh’s fading consciousness focused on the sight before him. The way her back muscles flexed as she moved. The sound of their skin meeting—a wet, rhythmic slap that was louder than his own struggling heart. Zarir’s large hands gripped her hips, pulling her down onto him with each deep, penetrating thrust.
“Yessss....ahhhh… just like that" Anjana moaned, her head falling back.
"So much better....Ahhhh....much better than he ever was....Ahhhh.....So much more…...MANLY!”
Each word was a fresh wound. Each groan from Zarir was a nail in his coffin. Ritesh could feel the last of his strength ebbing away with each pulse of blood from his chest, each synchronised push of Zarir’s body into his wife’s. He was a spectator at his own execution, forced to watch the ultimate betrayal play out in the sanctuary of his own bedroom.
Anjana’s moans grew louder, more frantic. She was close. She rode Zarir with a savage hunger, her nails digging into his chest. Ritesh watched the muscles in her back tense, saw the sheen of sweat on her skin. Zarir’s thrusts became harder, more possessive, his grip on her bruisingly tight.
"I’m going to fill you up" Zarir growled, his voice a low rumble.
"Make you mine completely"
Anjana’s cry was one of pure, unadulterated triumph as she came, her body shuddering violently above him. A final, powerful thrust from Zarir, a guttural groan, and he joined her, his own release pumping into her, claiming her in the most primal way possible right in front of her husband’s glazing eyes.
They collapsed together in a sweaty, sated heap, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room besides the faint, final rattle in Ritesh’s throat. As the last vestiges of light faded from his eyes, the last thing he saw was the curve of his wife’s smile as she lay in the arms of her lover.
Minutes later, Anjana propped herself up on an elbow, glancing dispassionately at the chair.
"He’s gone"
Zarir followed her gaze, grunting in acknowledgment. He ran a hand possessively over her hip.
"So, what’s next, queen of BajajCorp?"
Anjana’s mind was already calculating, the sexual haze clearing to reveal cold ambition.
"Next? I put on a spectacular widow’s performance. The sympathy will be invaluable. The board will hand me everything on a silver platter out of pity. Especially considering Vikram has made the decision to move to Goa"
"One step closer to your rightful place Anjana. To become the ruler of the Bajaj Empire!"
"True , plus , I will be utilising this sympathy act to tempt Sonarika too"
"How?"
"The best way to entice and pull a woman is through the family attachment. I will make Sonarika come close to my mother and me , show her our vulnerable side. When she starts to connect with us as a family then she will be tempted to get close to Vikram. Vikram is chasing after her to Goa anyways"
"And you think it will work"
"If I keep my act well , then yes. Regardless , she will feel a connection to my mother anyways. Now with Ritesh's death , I can initiate a family union full of grief and condolences and Sonarika will be forced to spend time with us through Vikram"
"Interesting plan Anjana. I'll make the arrangements for his death to look like an accident"
Daraaksh said as he picked up his phone and called someone. After the call , he turned to her.
"Let this be the beginning of our success story!"
"BajajCorp's throne is all mine now.....once Vikram leaves for Goa....I get the key to the kingdom"
Anjana says with a cold stare. Daraaksh matches her intensity as he finally declares.
"And once that is done....I will make my presence known....in Mumbai...to Michael King!"
THE DAY OF SEPARATION!
The apartment felt unusually quiet that morning. Karan was running around, excitedly stuffing action figures into his bag, while Anjali triple-checked her little diary where she had written a list titled “Delhi Summer Plans.” Their voices echoed with anticipation, innocence, and warmth.
But behind them, Sonarika and Hemant moved like shadows.
For Sonarika, every object in the living room looked like a memory — the sofa where they fell asleep watching a movie, the table where Hemant taught Karan math, the balcony where she and Hemant once planned their future. Now she was leaving this place behind. Not permanently, but long enough for it to feel like an ending.
For Hemant, every second felt like a countdown. This was the last morning he would see his family together under this roof. And though neither said it aloud, the truth sat heavily between them:
This was the day their marriage quietly broke.
He helped with the luggage silently. She avoided eye contact, fiddling with her dupatta every few seconds, twisting the fabric just to keep her trembling hands busy.
The drive to the airport was a strange blend of joy and grief. Karan and Anjali filled the car with nonstop chatter:
"Papa, Nana promised to take us to the water park!"
"And Nani said she’ll make that mango milkshake we love!"
"And we can go for cycling like we did when I was small!"
Hemant responded with soft smiles, nodding, keeping his eyes on the road. Sonarika stared out of the window, blinking too many times, swallowing too many feelings. She knew this wasn’t just a vacation.
After the summer, she would move to Goa. A new place. A new job. A new beginning. And Hemant believed she was choosing Vikram over their life. Each kilometer toward the airport felt like a string snapping between them.
The airport buzzed with crowds, loudspeaker announcements, rushing footsteps. But for them, it felt muted. Slow. Heavy. Near the departure gate, Hemant crouched and hugged Karan tightly.
"Be good, champ. When you come back, I’ll have a surprise ready for you"
Karan nodded vigorously. Anjali gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. Hemant promised to call regularly. Then came the moment both dreaded.
Sonarika extended her hand. A simple handshake. Formal. Polite. Cold.
"Take care, Hemant" she whispered.
"You too"
She turned, taking a few steps, guiding the kids toward the gate. Karan and Anjali waved happily. But Hemant wasn’t looking at them.
He was looking at her.
At the woman he had once believed he’d grow old with.
The woman he still loved even after the betrayal.
The woman he thought he was losing forever.
And Sonarika… felt it.
A sob caught in her throat. No. This was not how their story ended. Not with a handshake. Not with this poisonous silence.
She spun around, her dupatta flying. She didn’t walk; she ran, weaving through slow-moving travelers, her eyes locked on him. Hemant stood where she had left him, a statue of heartbreak, his shoulders slumped in a defeat she had caused.
He looked up, confusion etching his features, just as she crashed into him.
Her hands flew to his face, her fingers gripping his jaw, pulling him down to her. And then her mouth was on his.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a desperate, hungry, claiming. It was every unsaid apology, every buried desire, every memory of his skin against hers. Her lips moved over his with a frantic intensity, pouring a lifetime of love and regret into the connection. A soft, startled sound escaped him, a gasp she swallowed greedily.
For a heartbeat, he was rigid with shock. Then, with a groan that vibrated deep in his chest and into her very core, he yielded. His arms wrapped around her, one hand splaying against the small of her back, crushing her to him, the other sliding down to grip her buttock through the thin fabric of her salwar, pulling her flush against the hard ridge of his arousal straining against his trousers. The familiar scent of him, flooded her senses, intoxicating and heartbreakingly perfect.
The world dissolved. The giggles of onlookers, the murmur of comments about the bold couple—it all faded into a distant hum. There was only his mouth, hot and demanding on hers. Only the possessive pressure of his hand on her backside, a sensation so intimately known it made her knees buckle. She clung to him, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.
This. This was the inferno that had forged their son. This was the passion he thought she had given to another. She kissed him with everything she had, trying to brand the truth onto his lips.
'I am yours. I have always been yours'
His tongue swept into her mouth, a bold, familiar invasion that tasted of coffee and longing. She met it with her own, a slick, heated dance that was as much a battle as a reunion. She could feel the frantic beating of his heart against her own, a wild, syncopated rhythm that spoke of pain and a desperate, rekindled need. The rough texture of his day-old stubble scbangd against her chin, a delicious friction that sent sparks straight to the aching, empty place between her legs. She pressed herself harder against him, wanting to feel every hard line of his body, wanting to melt into him and never leave.
Time stretched and bent. It could have been a minute; it could have been an hour. When they finally broke apart, it was only far enough to gasp for air. A thin, glistening strand of their combined saliva stretched between their swollen, bruised lips, a fragile, intimate tether that finally snapped and fell away.
Her chest heaved. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t care. She looked directly into his dark, stunned eyes, her voice a raw, desperate whisper.
"Whatever happens, Hemant… I will always love you. This is not an ending. It’s just… a path we have to walk so we can find our way back to each other"
She touched his cheek.
"You are mine. I am yours. And we will learn that truth from our life forward!"
Her eyes glistened but held a quiet strength. Then she turned, breathing deeply, straightening her dupatta, and walked back to her child and sister.
Hemant watched as she disappeared through the gate.
For the first time in weeks, a tear escaped his eye. And just beneath the hurt, for the first time in months…
A spark ignited.
Maybe someday…He would find her again. And maybe someday…They would finally return to each other.
One thing was certain.
The morning sunlight spilled across the polished floor of YOD Industries’ main lobby just as a Law Enforcement SUV screeched to a halt at the entrance. Security guards straightened immediately. Employees paused mid-task. From the vehicle stepped ACP Sanjana Ranawat, crisp in full uniform, holster at her side, eyes sharp as she scanned the buzzing industrial empire Hemant had built.
She walked inside with an authority that made even the most confident employees step aside. Kamya and Vaibhav froze when they recognized her.
"Manager’s office?" she asked curtly.
Kamya pointed nervously.
"Top floor… first door to the right"
Sanjana headed up the stairs. Her boots echoed through the corridor.
Inside Hemant’s Office
Hemant was reviewing the updated development charts for the BTR project when he looked up—and his face shifted in surprise.
"Sanjana…" he muttered.
She stepped in.
"Quite an empire you’ve built, Hemant"
Her tone was half-compliment, half-investigative.
He gestured for her to sit.
"All the credit goes to the workers. I’m just steering the ship"
Sanjana scanned the luxurious office, the maps, the models, the surveillance feeds—everything.
"I hope Anjali has recovered well?"
"She’s almost back to normal" Hemant replied, calm.
Sanjana nodded once.
"Good. Because Dilawar and Rafique? Still missing. And the search is widening"
Hemant kept his expression steady.
"I hope you find them"
Sanjana’s eyes narrowed—she had caught the subtle amusement behind his words.
"Interesting" she said.
"Because almost everyone who crossed paths with those brothers suffered—physically or mentally. And yet you…"
She leaned forward.
"You walked away from each encounter without a single scratch"
Hemant didn’t blink.
"You already know me, Sanjana. From college. I tend to ignore men like him"
"That’s my point" she said quietly.
"The man I loved back then and the man sitting here now? They are not the same"
His jaw tightened.
"You’re overthinking this because you’re a cop"
"Maybe" She stood.
"But I am investigating the brothers’s disappearance and their trafficking network. And if my instincts lead me back here—"
Her gaze hardened.
"—I won’t come with warnings next time. I’ll come with handcuffs"
Hemant held her stare. Inside, he acknowledged the threat—but it didn’t shake him. He had faced worse. A brief silence filled the room before he spoke, voice softened with genuine regret.
"I am sorry for leaving you back then, when I left for Kashmir for my army training" he said.
Sanjana’s eyes glistened, but she blinked the emotion away.
"So am I" she whispered.
Then she turned and walked out. Hemant allowed himself a slow exhale. Raquel Arrives. Raquel entered moments later, file in hand.
"Bhaijaan" he greeted.
Hemant straightened.
"Did you get everything on Vikram?"
Raquel placed the file on the desk.
"Yes. Vikram Bajaj is set to be the successor of BajajCorp. But he’s refusing the throne. Wants his sister to run the empire"
Hemant raised an eyebrow.
"So what does he want?"
"A quieter life" Raquel replied.
"He’s taking over a small hotel division. Planning to shift base to Goa. Renovation permits already under process"
Hemant’s expression darkened.
Raquel continued.
"He’s also scouting high-end villas. Private ones. One specifically listed as suitable for… married or cohabiting couples"
Hemant looked down for a moment, jaw locked.
"So he wants to take her to Goa" he murmured.
"Start a new life with her"
For a few seconds, he said nothing. The betrayal pricked—but he forced the bitterness down. He stood up, turning cold, focused. Raquel waited. Hemant looked him dead in the eye.
"Enough about Vikram" he said.
His voice shifted into the tone Michael King once used—the tone of command.
"How’s Operation Jewel Thief?"
"Nearly complete" Raquel answered instantly.
"Manav has finished his work—all trucks are ready"
Hemant nodded.
"Good" he said, stepping toward the window overlooking his factory floor.
"Finish the final preparations"
His tone became razor-sharp.
"We move soon"
Raquel saluted lightly.
"Yes, Bhaijaan"
He left. Hemant stayed still, watching his empire breathe below him—eyes cold, heart steeled.
Operation Jewel Thief was officially entering its endgame.
FEW DAYS LATER AT GURGAON
The SUV parked in the crescent-shaped driveway was unfamiliar, a hulking, black intrusion on the pristine symmetry of Ritesh’s Gurgaon villa. A long day at the corporate grind had left him drained, but the prospect of surprising his wife, Anjana, with an unexpected free evening lifted his spirits. He called her name as he crossed the marble lobby, the echo his only reply.
The silence felt… dense. He walked further in, his polished shoes clicking a rhythm of domestic anticipation. A trail of discarded clothing snaked from the foyer toward the master suite—a silk blouse, a pair of trousers that were not his own. His own pulse, a moment ago a steady drum of contentment, began to quicken.
The sound of the shower running drew him to the ensuite. Steam curled from the cracked door, carrying the faint, floral scent of Anjana’s expensive shampoo. He pushed the door open, a playful smile already forming on his lips.
"Anjana? Surprise"
She stood behind the fogged glass of the shower stall, a blurred silhouette of curves and dripping water. She turned, her face appearing through the steam, a slight, almost lazy smile gracing her features. She held the curtain closed just below her breasts, hinting at the nude form beneath.
"Ritesh. You’re home early"
"Wrapped up the merger. The whole day is ours"
He said, his voice husky with sudden desire as he began to unbutton his shirt. He took a step toward the shower, toward his beautiful, wet wife.
That’s when the shape behind her moved.
The glass door slid open with a sharp hiss. A man stepped out, water sluicing off a powerful, heavily tattooed torso. Long, dark hair was plastered to his broad shoulders, a thick beard covering a jawline set with arrogant confidence. Daraaksh Zarir. A business associate Anjana had insisted was crucial to their new ventures. He was utterly, completely nude, and he looked at Ritesh not with shock, but with a smug, possessive gleam in his dark eyes. He didn’t speak. He simply walked past Ritesh, a predator dismissing prey, and left the bathroom.
Ritesh’s world tilted. The unbuttoned shirt hung uselessly from his shoulders. He could only stare, his mind refusing to process the image. His wife. Naked. In their shower. With him. Anjana’s smile didn’t falter. She stepped out, coolly wrapping herself in a plush white towel, seemingly oblivious to the water dripping from her skin onto the floor. She walked past him as if he were a piece of furniture.
His voice, when it finally came, was a shattered, reedy thing.
"Anjana… why? What… what is this?"
She stopped at the bedroom threshold and turned. The warmth he had seen mere moments ago was gone, replaced by an expression of chilling calculation.
"The merger isn’t the only thing that wrapped up today, Ritesh. Our little arrangement has served its purpose"
"Arrangement?" he choked out.
"Our marriage" she said, the word a mockery on her lips.
"A brilliant performance, wasn’t it? Father always valued your dog-like loyalty to Bajaj Corp. Marrying you was the perfect way to secure my share of the empire. I needed your reputation, your dedication. And you gave it so freely"
A cruel smile touched her lips.
"I never loved you. Daraaksh… he is the only man who understands my ambition. The only one strong enough to stand beside me"
The raw, humiliating truth of it crashed down on him. The years, a lie. Their bed, a stage. His love, a tool. A guttural roar tore from his throat. He lunged, not at her, but at Zarir, who stood near the bed watching with detached amusement.
It was a hopeless gesture. Zarir moved with lethal grace, catching Ritesh’s swinging arm and twisting it with a brutal, practiced motion. The crack of bone was sickeningly loud. Agony blinded Ritesh for a second before a fist like forged iron connected with his jaw, snapping his head back. He was a desk-jockey; Zarir was a bruiser. The beating was swift, professional, and utterly merciless. Blow after blow rained down, a symphony of pain. Ritesh crumpled to the expensive Persian rug, his vision swimming with red.
Through a haze of suffering, he saw Zarir walk to a discarded leather jacket and pull out a long, wicked-looking hunter’s knife. Ritesh tried to plead, to beg, but only a bloody gurgle escaped his lips. Zarir’s cold eyes showed nothing—not anger, not hate, just a task to be completed. He drove the blade deep into Ritesh’s chest.
The pain was a white-hot sun, then a cold, shocking numbness. Zarir hauled him up by his armpits and hooked him over the high back of an ornate reading chair, the knife’s hilt protruding from his sternum, pinning him in place. His body spasmed, his life bleeding out onto the cream-colored upholstery.
Anjana watched it all, her expression one of mild interest. She untied her towel and let it drop to the floor.
"Enough of him" she said, her voice flat.
"Lets show him how a real man satisfies his woman!"
Zarir’s smirk returned. He walked to the bed, to their bed, and lay back against the pillows, his powerful body on full display, already semi-aroused again. Anjana climbed atop him, straddling his hips, her back to her dying husband.
Ritesh’s fading consciousness focused on the sight before him. The way her back muscles flexed as she moved. The sound of their skin meeting—a wet, rhythmic slap that was louder than his own struggling heart. Zarir’s large hands gripped her hips, pulling her down onto him with each deep, penetrating thrust.
“Yessss....ahhhh… just like that" Anjana moaned, her head falling back.
"So much better....Ahhhh....much better than he ever was....Ahhhh.....So much more…...MANLY!”
Each word was a fresh wound. Each groan from Zarir was a nail in his coffin. Ritesh could feel the last of his strength ebbing away with each pulse of blood from his chest, each synchronised push of Zarir’s body into his wife’s. He was a spectator at his own execution, forced to watch the ultimate betrayal play out in the sanctuary of his own bedroom.
Anjana’s moans grew louder, more frantic. She was close. She rode Zarir with a savage hunger, her nails digging into his chest. Ritesh watched the muscles in her back tense, saw the sheen of sweat on her skin. Zarir’s thrusts became harder, more possessive, his grip on her bruisingly tight.
"I’m going to fill you up" Zarir growled, his voice a low rumble.
"Make you mine completely"
Anjana’s cry was one of pure, unadulterated triumph as she came, her body shuddering violently above him. A final, powerful thrust from Zarir, a guttural groan, and he joined her, his own release pumping into her, claiming her in the most primal way possible right in front of her husband’s glazing eyes.
They collapsed together in a sweaty, sated heap, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room besides the faint, final rattle in Ritesh’s throat. As the last vestiges of light faded from his eyes, the last thing he saw was the curve of his wife’s smile as she lay in the arms of her lover.
Minutes later, Anjana propped herself up on an elbow, glancing dispassionately at the chair.
"He’s gone"
Zarir followed her gaze, grunting in acknowledgment. He ran a hand possessively over her hip.
"So, what’s next, queen of BajajCorp?"
Anjana’s mind was already calculating, the sexual haze clearing to reveal cold ambition.
"Next? I put on a spectacular widow’s performance. The sympathy will be invaluable. The board will hand me everything on a silver platter out of pity. Especially considering Vikram has made the decision to move to Goa"
"One step closer to your rightful place Anjana. To become the ruler of the Bajaj Empire!"
"True , plus , I will be utilising this sympathy act to tempt Sonarika too"
"How?"
"The best way to entice and pull a woman is through the family attachment. I will make Sonarika come close to my mother and me , show her our vulnerable side. When she starts to connect with us as a family then she will be tempted to get close to Vikram. Vikram is chasing after her to Goa anyways"
"And you think it will work"
"If I keep my act well , then yes. Regardless , she will feel a connection to my mother anyways. Now with Ritesh's death , I can initiate a family union full of grief and condolences and Sonarika will be forced to spend time with us through Vikram"
"Interesting plan Anjana. I'll make the arrangements for his death to look like an accident"
Daraaksh said as he picked up his phone and called someone. After the call , he turned to her.
"Let this be the beginning of our success story!"
"BajajCorp's throne is all mine now.....once Vikram leaves for Goa....I get the key to the kingdom"
Anjana says with a cold stare. Daraaksh matches her intensity as he finally declares.
"And once that is done....I will make my presence known....in Mumbai...to Michael King!"
THE DAY OF SEPARATION!
The apartment felt unusually quiet that morning. Karan was running around, excitedly stuffing action figures into his bag, while Anjali triple-checked her little diary where she had written a list titled “Delhi Summer Plans.” Their voices echoed with anticipation, innocence, and warmth.
But behind them, Sonarika and Hemant moved like shadows.
For Sonarika, every object in the living room looked like a memory — the sofa where they fell asleep watching a movie, the table where Hemant taught Karan math, the balcony where she and Hemant once planned their future. Now she was leaving this place behind. Not permanently, but long enough for it to feel like an ending.
For Hemant, every second felt like a countdown. This was the last morning he would see his family together under this roof. And though neither said it aloud, the truth sat heavily between them:
This was the day their marriage quietly broke.
He helped with the luggage silently. She avoided eye contact, fiddling with her dupatta every few seconds, twisting the fabric just to keep her trembling hands busy.
The drive to the airport was a strange blend of joy and grief. Karan and Anjali filled the car with nonstop chatter:
"Papa, Nana promised to take us to the water park!"
"And Nani said she’ll make that mango milkshake we love!"
"And we can go for cycling like we did when I was small!"
Hemant responded with soft smiles, nodding, keeping his eyes on the road. Sonarika stared out of the window, blinking too many times, swallowing too many feelings. She knew this wasn’t just a vacation.
After the summer, she would move to Goa. A new place. A new job. A new beginning. And Hemant believed she was choosing Vikram over their life. Each kilometer toward the airport felt like a string snapping between them.
The airport buzzed with crowds, loudspeaker announcements, rushing footsteps. But for them, it felt muted. Slow. Heavy. Near the departure gate, Hemant crouched and hugged Karan tightly.
"Be good, champ. When you come back, I’ll have a surprise ready for you"
Karan nodded vigorously. Anjali gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. Hemant promised to call regularly. Then came the moment both dreaded.
Sonarika extended her hand. A simple handshake. Formal. Polite. Cold.
"Take care, Hemant" she whispered.
"You too"
She turned, taking a few steps, guiding the kids toward the gate. Karan and Anjali waved happily. But Hemant wasn’t looking at them.
He was looking at her.
At the woman he had once believed he’d grow old with.
The woman he still loved even after the betrayal.
The woman he thought he was losing forever.
And Sonarika… felt it.
A sob caught in her throat. No. This was not how their story ended. Not with a handshake. Not with this poisonous silence.
She spun around, her dupatta flying. She didn’t walk; she ran, weaving through slow-moving travelers, her eyes locked on him. Hemant stood where she had left him, a statue of heartbreak, his shoulders slumped in a defeat she had caused.
He looked up, confusion etching his features, just as she crashed into him.
Her hands flew to his face, her fingers gripping his jaw, pulling him down to her. And then her mouth was on his.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a desperate, hungry, claiming. It was every unsaid apology, every buried desire, every memory of his skin against hers. Her lips moved over his with a frantic intensity, pouring a lifetime of love and regret into the connection. A soft, startled sound escaped him, a gasp she swallowed greedily.
For a heartbeat, he was rigid with shock. Then, with a groan that vibrated deep in his chest and into her very core, he yielded. His arms wrapped around her, one hand splaying against the small of her back, crushing her to him, the other sliding down to grip her buttock through the thin fabric of her salwar, pulling her flush against the hard ridge of his arousal straining against his trousers. The familiar scent of him, flooded her senses, intoxicating and heartbreakingly perfect.
The world dissolved. The giggles of onlookers, the murmur of comments about the bold couple—it all faded into a distant hum. There was only his mouth, hot and demanding on hers. Only the possessive pressure of his hand on her backside, a sensation so intimately known it made her knees buckle. She clung to him, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.
This. This was the inferno that had forged their son. This was the passion he thought she had given to another. She kissed him with everything she had, trying to brand the truth onto his lips.
'I am yours. I have always been yours'
His tongue swept into her mouth, a bold, familiar invasion that tasted of coffee and longing. She met it with her own, a slick, heated dance that was as much a battle as a reunion. She could feel the frantic beating of his heart against her own, a wild, syncopated rhythm that spoke of pain and a desperate, rekindled need. The rough texture of his day-old stubble scbangd against her chin, a delicious friction that sent sparks straight to the aching, empty place between her legs. She pressed herself harder against him, wanting to feel every hard line of his body, wanting to melt into him and never leave.
Time stretched and bent. It could have been a minute; it could have been an hour. When they finally broke apart, it was only far enough to gasp for air. A thin, glistening strand of their combined saliva stretched between their swollen, bruised lips, a fragile, intimate tether that finally snapped and fell away.
Her chest heaved. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t care. She looked directly into his dark, stunned eyes, her voice a raw, desperate whisper.
"Whatever happens, Hemant… I will always love you. This is not an ending. It’s just… a path we have to walk so we can find our way back to each other"
She touched his cheek.
"You are mine. I am yours. And we will learn that truth from our life forward!"
Her eyes glistened but held a quiet strength. Then she turned, breathing deeply, straightening her dupatta, and walked back to her child and sister.
Hemant watched as she disappeared through the gate.
For the first time in weeks, a tear escaped his eye. And just beneath the hurt, for the first time in months…
A spark ignited.
Maybe someday…He would find her again. And maybe someday…They would finally return to each other.
One thing was certain.
Their Love Wasn't Dead. Not Yet.
END OF CHAPTER 27
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)