16-01-2026, 10:45 PM
(CONTD)
THAT NOON AT YOD INDUSTRIES
YOD Enterprise breathed differently from the villa. Here, the air was sharp with purpose—glass, steel, quiet authority. The headquarters rose from the abandoned port side of Mumbai like a reclaimed fortress, its glass walls reflecting cranes, small trolley ships, and the distant sprawl of a city that never truly slept. From the upper floor of the Manager's office, Mumbai looked conquerable.
Hemant sat at the head of the long conference table, jacket off, sleeves rolled, eyes steady.
Files were spread before him—growth projections, investment blueprints, diversification charts. YOD was no longer just a weapons manufacturer whispered about in defense circles. It had evolved.
Secure vaults and biometric lockers.
Advanced security systems.
Armored vehicles—first for the Indian Army, now adapted for civilian protection.
An enterprise.
A machine built on precision, foresight, and control. Here, Sonarika didn’t exist. Neither did Vikram. Neither did his nightmares.
Until today.
A soft knock broke the rhythm.
"Come in" Hemant said, without looking up.
Raquel entered. He was immaculate as always—well-ironed suit, posture disciplined—but something was off. His expression carried a weight that no tailoring could hide. In his hand was a thick file.
Hemant looked up then. His jaw tightened.
"You did what I asked?" Hemant said.
"Yes Bhaijaan.Every detail. I've trailed and surveilled Bhabhijaan's activities in Delhi for the past few weeks.....also did a detailed background check on Vikram Bajaj and the Bajaj Family"
Raquel nodded.
"Sit"
Raquel took the chair opposite him and placed the file carefully on the table, as if it might explode.
"Tell me about Vikram Bajaj" Hemant leaned back.
"He’s… not what you’d expect" Raquel exhaled once, controlled.
Hemant raised an eyebrow.
"No flamboyance. No excess wealth habits. No scandal trails. He lives reserved. Keeps a low profile. His finances are clean. His reputation is pretty quiet and closeted"
Hemant listened, face unreadable.
"There’s something else.....Something from his past" Raquel continued.
He opened the file and slid out a photograph. A woman.Her eyes were soft. Her smile gentle. And the resemblance hit Hemant like a physical blow.
Sonarika.
Not identical—but close enough to hurt.
"This is Sarika. Vikram’s first love. They were betrothed young. Families were involved and were close to each other. He loved her deeply"
Raquel said quietly. Hemant said nothing.
"She suffered from a rare genetic disease.Inherited from past generation. Unfortunately there was no cure. She passed away years ago"
Raquel went on. The silence thickened. Raquel tapped the photo lightly.
"That resemblance may explain why Vikram and Bhabhijaan grew close.....it makes sense"
Hemant’s fingers curled slowly against the table.
"Where is Vikram now?" Hemant asked.
"Delhi Bhaijaan.....he is in New Delhi" Raquel hesitated.
"Of course he is.......after all she is his true love now!" Hemant’s lips curved faintly.
Raquel’s eyes lowered.
"Officially, he’s there for BajajCorp matters. Unofficially… he has no business there"
Hemant already knew the answer.
"Let me guess....they've been meeting outside for weeks now isn't it? cafes , gardens?"
"Yes....Bhaijaan" Raquel said in a sad tone as he opened another section of the file.
"He’s booked a premium viewing booth for the Arijit Singh concert in Delhi tomorrow night. Group booking"
Hemant’s gaze sharpened.
"The guest list includes Bhabhijaan , her friends—Ragini, Meghna, Disha, Mouni, Sagar"
Raquel continued. Hemant for that moment remembered that terrible dream he had of Sonarika and Vikram's wedding night. He saw the couples , all standing together celebrating while he silently suffered. The pain in his chest winced.
"Of course.....all the lovebird couples.....in one night of music....the music of love!"
Hemant’s voice was calm.
"Not just them Bhaijaan"
Hemant wondered when he realized the list wasn't done.
"The list also has Ragini , and then there is also Bhabhijaan's new boss"
"Sreelekha Naik?"
"Yes. Owner of VATIKA Botanical Research Center, Goa"
"Odd for an old woman be part of their group. Maybe she likes music a lot!"
Hemant paused.
"Does Mrs. Naik have any connection to Vikram?"
"She’s close friends with Vikram’s mother. Neelam Bajaj" Raquel nodded grimly.
That was it. The final piece clicked into place.
Hemant leaned back, eyes distant.
"So she’s being integrated not just into his life—but his family as well" he said quietly.
"Bhaijaan, you might be—" Raquel opened his mouth.
"Enough Raquel.....I've listened enough....leave the files" Hemant cut in, voice sharp.
"And from now on no more surveillance on Sonarika.....its done!"
Raquel stiffened.
"We have more important business....some modern warfare to be conducted here!"
Hemant said, final. Raquel stood slowly, disappointment etched across his face. He gathered the file and turned toward the door. Then he stopped. He turned back.
"Bhaijaan"
Hemant looked at him.
"I’m one of the few who knows about Michael King....I've seen some of his legend , his unmatched charisma....the brutality.....and lately I was worried that the very Michael King was returning again!"
Raquel’s voice softened. The name hung in the room like a ghost.
"But Operation Jewel Thief , it opened by eyes. I finally was able to see the real truth. The way you handled that whole heist , the surveillance , the planning , it was very different from King. You need to understand something"
Raquel said.
"You’re not him anymore"
Hemant didn’t interrupt.
"Everything you’ve built—this company, this growth—it’s not Michael’s legacy resurfacing. It’s yours. Hemant Kumar’s clarity. His strategy. His restraint. The ambitious man only my brother saw....now I see him"
Raquel swallowed.
"What I am trying to say is Bhaijaan.....that you still have a lot to live for.....even though you feel you are alone.....you need to understand you have built a family.....a family that has all of us with you....and this family cares for you. Who believe in you.....I don't want to be Michael King's right hand.....I want to be Hemant Kumar's enforcer!"
For a moment, something unguarded flickered across Hemant’s face.
Warmth. Unexpected. Undeniable.
He nodded once.
"Thank you Raquel.....I needed that little brother......and don't worry.....I am honestly glad that I have a big family now!"
Hemant said quietly. Raquel gave a small, respectful smile—almost brotherly—then turned and left. The door closed. Hemant remained seated.
On the table, the photos lay exposed—Sonarika and Vikram sitting across from each other in a café in Delhi. Talking. Smiling. The exact scene his mind had tortured him with nights before.
Dreams. Or the real future.
Hemant stared at them for a long moment… then stood and walked toward the glass wall.
Mumbai stretched endlessly before him—the skyline glowing. The future waited somewhere between those lights and that darkness.
Maybe his dreams weren’t prophecies.
Maybe they were fears.
And maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t a man being erased. He rested his hand against the glass, eyes steady. The question wasn’t whether Michael King would return. It was whether Hemant Kumar was truly ready to show the world what he truly is.
THE NIGHT OF NIGHTMARES!
![[Image: Gemini-Generated-Image-d3d07rd3d07rd3d0.png]](https://i.ibb.co/bjrKjyRG/Gemini-Generated-Image-d3d07rd3d07rd3d0.png)
Hemant’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat that drowned out the string quartet. The silk of his Armani suit felt like a cheap, constricting skin. Across the marble floor of the Bajaj Mansion, bathed in golden light, stood Sonarika.
His wife.
No. Not his. Not anymore.
The red wedding saree clung to her curves like a lover’s caress, the fabric whispering secrets with her every graceful movement. The jewels at her throat and ears caught the light, but they were dull compared to the glow on her face. Her smile, wide and unreserved, was aimed at Vikram Bajaj. He stood beside her, a prince in a cream sherwani, his hand possessively low on her back. They leaned into each other, whispering, their lips almost touching, a private world humming between them.
A small hand tugged his pant leg. Karan. His son’s innocent eyes, so like Sonarika’s, looked up at him, confused by the spectacle.
"Papa?"
Before Hemant could form a lie, Anjali was there. Sonarika’s teenage sister, her face a mask of concern.
"Bhaiya? Are you okay?"
The kindness in her voice was a shard of glass in his throat.
"I’m fine" he managed, the words gravelly.
He forced a smile that felt like a crack in plaster. She hesitated, then took Karan’s hand, leading him toward the bridal couple. Hemant watched, paralyzed, as his son was absorbed into the happy scene. Vikram bent down, saying something that made Karan grin. Sonarika ruffled his hair, her eyes soft. It was a perfect picture. A perfect family.
From which he had been surgically removed.
He turned and walked away, the elegant room blurring into a wash of meaningless color and sound. He found a quieter hall, only to see his friend Kunal slumped against a pillar, a half-empty glass in his hand. Following his gaze, Hemant saw Mouni, dbangd over Sagar. She was feeding him a strawberry, her laughter tinkling and sharp. Kunal’s shoulders were slumped in defeat, a posture of accepted humiliation.
"Hemant, You surviving?" Kunal murmured, not looking at him.
"Fine"
Hemant repeated the hollow word. Kunal just nodded, his eyes saying he knew the truth. The air grew thick with whispered conversations that seemed to seek him out.
"…like love birds, isn’t it?"
"She looks breathtaking. Who would guess she’s a mother?"
A lower, more salacious voice cut through.
"I hear they were always… compatible. Very, very compatible. In every way"
A chuckle, mean and knowing.
"Good she upgraded. Her ex was only…..adequate. Vikram? He is a different package!"
Then, the final blow, delivered with a conspiratorial leer.
"My cousin smuggled Viagra to him. Vikram said he doesn’t plan on letting his wife sleep tonight!"
Each word was a nail. Hemant fled again, but the mansion offered no sanctuary. He found himself on an open gallery overlooking manicured gardens. And there they were.
Sonarika and Vikram were a single silhouette against the twilight sky. His arms enveloped her from behind, his lips tracing the shell of her ear. She melted into him, her head falling back against his shoulder, a sigh of pure contentment visible even from a distance. Nearby, Mouni and Sagar were locked in a deep, exploring kiss. And to his right, Meghna, Sonarika’s best friend, had Disha, Hemant’s quirky ex-asisstant, pinned playfully against a pillar, their mouths moving together with practiced ease.
Everyone was paired. Everyone was tasting passion. He was a ghost in his own life.
The night dragged on, a torture of forced smiles and averted eyes. Finally, the crowd began to thin. He was heading to the guest wing when he saw Meghna, Disha, Mouni, and a gaggle of others, giggling like teenagers, shepherding Sonarika and Vikram down a corridor. The door they ushered them through was adorned with fresh marigolds—the marital suite.
Hemant’s feet carried him to his assigned room on autopilot. Karan was inside, engrossed in a game.
"Where’s Anju Didi?" he asked.
"Different room, champ" Hemant’s voice was raw.
A pause. Then, the innocent knife.
"Papa? Will Mumma sleep here tonight?"
Hemant’s knuckles turned white.
"No, Karan. She won’t"
Another pause, the game forgotten.
"Is Dance Uncle my papa also?"
Rage, hot and blinding, erupted. Hemant whirled.
"No!"
The word was a whip-crack. Karan flinched, his small face crumpling in fear. The sight doused the fire instantly, leaving only cold, sickening ash. Hemant knelt, pulling his son into a shaky hug.
"I’m your papa. Always. Mumma loves you, she will always be your mumma… but she’s not with me anymore. Okay?"
Karan nodded, a single tear tracking down his cheek before he turned back to his game, seeking solace in digital worlds.
Hemant stumbled back into the hallway, needing air, needing silence. He checked on Anjali, who gave him a sleepy, reassuring smile. As he walked back, he saw Meghna and Disha leaning against the wall near the marital suite, Mouni and Sagar a few feet away. They were giggling, their eyes bright with voyeuristic thrill.
That’s when he heard it.
Dhuk…. Dhuk…. Dhuk…
A deep, rhythmic thumping from behind the ornate door. Slow. Steady. Inexorable. His blood ran cold.
He tried to walk past, to flee the sound, but Meghna’s hand shot out, landing lightly on his chest. Her grin was predatory.
"Leaving so soon, Hemant? The show’s just starting" The thumping grew faster, more urgent.
Dhuk dhuk dhuk dhuk…
It was joined by a low, guttural grunt. Vikram’s. Then, a high, breathy gasp that unraveled Hemant’s soul. Sonarika’s.
Meghna leaned in, her perfume suffocating.
"Sounds like she’s finally getting what she needs. A real man. One who knows how to make a woman scream. Not just… sigh politely"
She laughed, a sound like breaking glass, and pulled Disha into a hungry kiss, their hands roaming as if to mock his solitude. Hemant wrenched himself away, the sounds pursuing him down the hall—the accelerating thuds of the headboard, Vikram’s animalistic growls, and Sonarika’s crescendoing moans, each one a symphony of pleasure he had never been able to elicit.
He threw open his room door.
Kunal was sitting on the edge of the spare bed, head in his hands. He looked up, eyes red-rimmed.
"Mouni… her boyfriend… they wanted the room. Do you mind if I…?"
Something in Hemant snapped.
"Why?" he hissed, voice trembling with fury.
"Why do you just take it? Why are you so… so submissive?"
Kunal’s smile was a grim, terrible thing.
"It’s your first day as a cuckold. The first cut is the deepest. It gets easier. You'll eventually learn your place"
His place. The words detonated inside Hemant. A raw, primal scream built in his chest, tearing at his lungs to be let out. He opened his mouth—
And jolted upright, gasping.
The sheets were tangled around his legs, soaked with cold sweat. The thumping was his own frantic heartbeat. The grunts and moans were the echoes of a shattered dream.
Silence.
Not the lavish Bajaj Mansion. His bedroom. In Silver Beach, Mumbai. The faint smell of salt air from the open window.
Alone.
The ghost of Sonarika’s pleasure still vibrated in his bones, a phantom pain more acute than any waking truth. He sat there in the dark, the emptiness of the king-size bed yawning beside him, the remnants of the dream clinging to him like a shameful, sensual stain.
Morning arrived quietly at Silver Beach, pale sunlight slipping through the glass walls of the villa like it didn’t want to disturb him.
Hemant was more than awake. The nightmare gave a different kind of fuel to his workout for the day. His body moved on instinct—push-ups, pull-ups, controlled breathing, the steady rhythm of exertion grounding him. Sweat rolled down his spine as he pushed harder than necessary, as if fatigue could outrun thought. The gym echoed with nothing but his breath and the dull thud of discipline.
When he finished, he stood still for a moment, hands on his knees, heart pounding—alive, controlled.
He showered, dressed simply, and made himself a light breakfast. There was no urgency today. No board meetings. No inspections. A rare, quiet day at home.
Or so he thought.
With his coffee in hand, he sat on the balcony and unlocked his phone. Muscle memory betrayed him immediately.
Sonarika’s profile.
He barely realized he’d tapped it until the image filled his screen.
A fresh post.
She stood in front of a mirror, sunlight brushing her face, full makeup flawless, confidence effortless. A blue mini-skirt dress hugged her frame—elegant, celebratory, unmistakably intentional.
The caption stared back at him:
"A day full of family, laughter, love and music"
Hemant’s jaw tightened. Blue was his favorite color. But that was the moment he realized.
Tonight.
The realization landed slowly, then all at once.
Tonight was the Arijit Singh concert.
The premium booth. The laughter. The friends. Vikram.
In his mind, the evening unfolded without his permission—music swelling, lights dimming, Sonarika smiling freely, leaning closer to someone who wasn’t him. A celebration not just of music, but of release. Of beginnings.
She would be free soon. Free of him. Free to forget.
The thought clawed at him, sharp enough to summon old nightmares—faces, voices, imagined touches. He shut the screen abruptly, breath shallow.
Enough.
He swiped away and opened another profile.
Tamanna
Her feed was calm, warm—photos from Germany. Coffee cups on wooden tables. Streets dusted with winter light. Her daughter Shraddha laughing, bundled up, arms flung wide like the world still felt safe. Mother and daughter, unbroken.
Hemant felt something in his chest ease.
Tamanna had never asked him to be anything other than present. In her quiet strength, he’d found sanity when everything else cracked.
He lingered for a moment… then moved on.
Pranitha
Amsterdam.
The video loaded.
She surfaced from a swimming pool, water streaming down her skin, laughter bright and unapologetic. The bikini—skimpy, daring—left little to imagination. The way she glanced at the camera was deliberate, teasing, as if she knew exactly who would be watching.
Hemant hissed softly under his breath, body reacting before his mind caught up.
Ever since she’d flied out for business, the calls, the messages—playful, provocative, unfiltered—had been relentless. And right now, with his villa too quiet and his thoughts too loud, he wished she were here.
Very much.
The phone rang.
He blinked, pulled back into the present.
"Kunal?" Hemant answered.
"Morning Hemant.....are you free in the morning....would like to hangout for breakfast!"
Kunal said cheerfully.
"I know just the spot. Beachside restaurant near my place. Twenty minutes"
Hemant smiled faintly.
"Perfect. See you"
The call ended.
Hemant set the phone down and looked out at the sea again.
Tonight belonged to Delhi. To music. To endings and beginnings that no longer included him.
But this morning—this morning still belonged to him.
And for now, that was enough.
The beachside restaurant was already alive with the morning—cutlery clinking, waves rolling in lazy rhythm, the smell of coffee and salt braided together. Sunlight glimmered off the water, scattering gold across the tables.
Hemant was seated when Kunal arrived.
They shook hands, firm and familiar, two men who had learned to smile despite carrying fractures inside.
"Hey man.....congratulations on the Fortune Magazine cover and interview.....it was definitely well deserved....looked like a moviestar in it...plus the growth of YOD Enterprise!!"
Kunal said as he sat down, nodding toward Hemant with genuine admiration.
"Didn’t plan for the cover. But the growth—yeah, that part was intentional"
Hemant exhaled lightly.
"As it should be, You’ve built something real" Kunal said.
"And you—your new banking investment. I heard it’s already turning profit"
Hemant raised his cup.
"That was the idea. Something steady. Something that keeps flowing, even when everything else doesn’t"
Kunal smiled faintly.
"For the family" Hemant said.
"Always" Kunal nodded.
For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, watching the waves curl and retreat. Then Hemant’s expression shifted—subtle, but Kunal caught it.
"She posted this in the morning"
Hemant said finally, unlocking his phone and sliding it across the table.
Kunal glanced at the screen. Blue dress. Bright caption. Love and music.
"Tonight she is joining Vikram for an Arijit Singh Concert in Delhi...Mouni and Sagar will joing them too"
Hemant added.
"I know" Kunal nodded once.
"You do?" Hemant frowned.
"Mouni told me before she left.....She and Sagar are on their 'annual honeymoon' trip. Delhi tonight is a pit stop , a small get together for a double date with them!"
Kunal said calmly. The words landed heavy.
Hemant leaned back, the chair creaking under the shift of his weight. Something inside him recoiled—then went quiet.
"A celebration Of endings" Hemant muttered.
"Most likely a celebration of beginnings" Kunal corrected gently.
"And you’re… okay with this?" Hemant looked at him, confused by the lack of bitterness.
Kunal took a slow sip of water.
"No..But I’m done pretending that pain gives me ownership" he said honestly.
Hemant stilled.
"When Mouni comes back next month, the divorce papers will be waiting"
Kunal continued, eyes steady.
"You’re filing?" Hemant’s brow furrowed.
"I already have"
There was no drama in his voice. No tremor.
"I’ve transferred eighty percent of my assets to her, Everything. Properties. Accounts. She’s the legal guardian until the kids come of age"
"Kunal… why?" Hemant’s heart thudded.
Kunal smiled—not sadly, not bitterly. Peacefully.
"Because I took enough from her already"
"And you? What happens to you?" Hemant searched his face.
"I’m keeping enough cash to move, Nothing more" Kunal said.
"Move where?" Hemant asked, concern creeping in.
Kunal’s gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the sea met the sky.
"A Journey , something I wanted to do. I always believed life should feel like motion, like a road. You don’t stop to build monuments—you move until the road ends. I want to see the world Hemant , see it in its natural form. For now I don't have a destination , just a direction. To go north , and keep going. That way I can finally live a life on my terms , fullfill something that I truly desire"
Kunal said
Hemant swallowed.
"You’re leaving?...You can’t just disappear"
A knot tightened in Hemant’s chest.
"I’m not. Hemant I am not abandoning my family , I've set all their future up with my earnings, and my legacy as a person, it will only harm them rather than uplift them. And this trip is not meant to be forever , I am just gonna go until my mind is fullfilled enough. Once that is done , I will return. Also I am not going right away. I will be here when Mouni returns from her special honeymoon , to give her the happy news and release her from my terribe existence"
Kunal replied gently. Hemant shook his head slowly, stunned.
"This… this takes courage Kunal" Hemnat said sighing
"No. It takes exhaustion" Kunal laughed softly.
He looked down at his hands.
"I’ve cried enough in this life. My choices broke her long before she broke away. The kids deserve better than two parents poisoning the same room"
Hemant said nothing. There was nothing to argue with. Kunal continued.
"My legacy?...its too fractured to repair. So I’ll let it go. I’ll walk away before it hurts anyone else. My kids , Mouni , they're all better without me. Atleast with all the things I've earned , that will give them a much needed financial stability and a better future. But they don't need me , and for this awakening , I thank you Hemant , or else I would've been that same miserable man in her life!"
He looked back up, eyes clear.
"For once, I’ll live on my own terms that fit me , not live as someone that was infected with humiliating kinks. Do something I love. Find peace— with myself and my existence"
They stood a while later, the bill settled, the morning drifting forward.
Kunal clasped Hemant’s shoulder.
"And I wish the same for you Hemant. YOD Enterprise is your best achievement. It has not only brought the best of you , but I have a feeling it has brought out your purpose in life. Your life is not just Sonarika , there is Karan , there is Anjali , there are people in YOD Industries. There are more people in your life than you think. And if you are thinking about a partner. Look no further. Pranitha , she fancies you a lot. From what I've learned from Jess , she has already developed a deep infactuation with you. You two are way too compatible and on a social standpoint too , you will put even the best film couples to shame. Just....if Sonarika has truly moved on , you should too. And life is not dark for you like you think , there is sunshine ahead!"
As Kunal walked away, his figure shrinking against the bright sprawl of the beach, Hemant remained still.
Something had shifted.
Kunal’s choice wasn’t surrender—it was clarity. A clean break. A future not built on resentment, but acceptance.
Hemant looked out at the sea again, the wind lifting against his face. Kunal's motivation echoing in his ears
Maybe letting go didn’t mean losing.
Maybe it meant choosing how the road continued—even without Sonarika.
FEW HOURS LATER AT YOD ENTERPRISE HQ
YOD Enterprise was quieter than usual that afternoon.
The upper floors hummed with restrained efficiency—glass corridors, muted conversations, the distant thrum of machines far below. Hemant stood near the panoramic window of his office, hands in his pockets, Mumbai spread out like a living organism beneath him.
Kunal’s words wouldn’t leave him alone.
His journey. Motion. Acceptance.
Kunal had reached a conclusion—not born from weakness, but clarity. And that unsettled Hemant more than despair ever had.
His thoughts drifted, uninvited, toward the two women who had steadied him when everything else collapsed.
Tamanna.
Calm. Grounded. A woman who had already survived loss—an absent husband swallowed by his family’s violent legacy, a daughter she now raised with quiet resilience. With her, life would be structured. Gentle. Predictable in the best way. On paper, she was perfect.
But his life was not paper.
Then there she was.
Pranitha.
Fire. Energy. Desire sharpened into honesty. She didn’t flinch at his simplicity , she tweaked him to regain his lost self—she teased it, provoked it, matched it. Pranitha didn’t want safety. She wanted someone real , someone exciting, and she brought that out of him. And a man like Hemant—he knew it deep down—she is the most compatible one with his new life.
Who should he go after? his mind asked him.
Before he could answer, the door opened.
Sanjana Ranawat walked in.
Law Enforcement uniform. Crisp. Immaculate. Authority woven into every step. She paused, studying him with the same sharp eyes that had once memorized his smiles in college corridors.
"Hemant" she said evenly.
“Sanjana....I assume you’re here to interrogate me again!" he replied, guarded.
"Even though I still have my doubts.....No that is not why I am here!"
She exhaled, then surprised him with a small smile. That alone made him straighten.
"I'm here to tell you.....that I’m taking voluntary retirement" she said.
"You’re… what?" Hemant blinked.
"The department’s in chaos. Recent incidents, the serial blasts , the gang wars , internal politics, pressure from every direction. It’s bleeding into my personal life. My family deserves better than a ghost in uniform"
Hemant scoffed lightly.
"Well if its any consolation , I am not at all relieved with your retirement. My life is already in ruins like usual. And you can be happy knowing that your miserable ex is still suffering!"
Sanjana’s expression softened—not pity, but understanding. She stepped closer.
"Do you really think I want you to suffer? If you believe that, then you don’t understand me at all anymore.”"
She asked quietly. He looked away.
That is when she stood up and walked. She came close to him and grabbed onto his hand. She then led his hand to land it on her buttcheeks from over the uniform. The moment his hand landed , Sanjana left a quiet muffling moan. Hemant was startled by her gesture. After which Sanjana opened her eyes and confessed.
"Do you remember our college's annual day? A year after our dating?"
"Of course"
"You remember the crazy wish I had regarding us"
"Definitely , you wanted to do it in the open on that night at our college roof. Something I wasn't sure about"
Hemant confessed as Sanjana remembered those days.
"And you do remember what I did" Sanjana teased back.
"Yeah , you tried to act naughty and flirty with the second year Rishi to piss me off!"
Hemant revealed to which Sanjana giggled. After that she confessed.
"But thanks to that , you gave us our most memorable night of our relationship. You remember that night right?"
"How can I forget , when everyone else was cheering in the great hall with the annual celebration. I was dogging you at the roof near the flagpole and cumming inside you at the right time of the fireworks"
"And that is exactly why I will never forget. Because you were the best 'first love' a girl can have"
Hemant felt a short reprieve from his nightmarish thoughts thanks to revisiting some cool memories.
"Do you know why I fell for you?" Sanjana asked.
"My singing?" Hemant answered doubfully.
"No...well partially. It is something else"
"umm....my looks!" Hemant said with a raised eyebrow
"Its your discipline idiot....when the first time I noticed you , it was through my hostel window when I saw you training in the college grounds....even all the professors and teachers said Hemant was the epitome of discipline and punctuality.....there was life in you.....there was purpose. You were an adventure guy , and people looked upto you. When boys your age were drinking and smoking , you lead your friends to a healthier lifestyle. Hell , you literally made me stop drinking in our relationship!"
Hemant giggled in shyness.
"The problem is , you think you are suffering here because of Sonarika when the truth is you're not. You just stopped believing in yourself. Love is not the curse for you. When we broke up did you stop believing in Love? No , did I stop believing in Love? No , we both found love again. The problem with you is not your heartbreak or your suffering. Its that you've stopped getting back up. That was your best part. When you failed , you didn't give up , you aimed higher the next time and many times you succeeded. And look at you now , you were once an average overweight man with a regular salary job and now you are running a fast growing industrial comple. You simply refused to acknowledge that because of your own ego and your need to be in pain. Pain is not your motivation Hemant , determination is. There is more to life than heartbreak"
"You’re part of my life, Hemant" she said.
"But part of my past. And I’ve made peace with that. What we had—our college days, that reckless romance—it mattered. It always will"
She met his eyes again.
"But I don’t love you anymore. I moved on"
The words were firm, not cruel.
"You should too" she added.
"If Sonarika doesn’t care for you anymore, then holding on won’t make you noble—it’ll only make you smaller"
Hemant’s jaw tightened.
"Don’t pretend this is the end of your story. It isn’t" Sanjana said.
She paused, then lowered her voice.
"The problem was never your love life, Hemant. The problem is—you stopped believing in yourself"
Something cracked. She smiled faintly.
"The Hemant I knew and loved , he was a fighter , a warrior. He is not someone who gives up , he was someone who gets back up"
The words landed with terrifying clarity.
"Good luck Hemant for your future. Because I know you will win in life if you know yourself"
Sanjana finished. She turned and left without waiting for a response. The door closed.
Silence rushed in.
Hemant stayed frozen, breath shallow.
She was right.
Sonarika’s images haunted him because he was still trying to be the vulnerable man she fell in love with—soft, accommodating, shrinking himself to fit into a life that never truly belonged to him. With a hope that she will come back , but his life never was about hope , it was about action. And its time he lived an optimistic life , it was time to embrace his natural instincts and carve out a better path. That was his blueprint , a blueprint that created Michael King!
That man was real. But he wasn’t complete.
Michael King hadn’t been born from cruelty. He’d been born from action. From conviction. From a refusal to be powerless.
Hemant lifted his head. He learned Hemant is his real identity , not a violent past!
His phone rang. The number of an old friend. Richard Williams , an ally of Michael King. He answered instinctively.
"Michael" a familiar British voice said, strained.
"I have Bad News!"
"What happened?" Hemant’s stomach dropped.
There was a pause. Heavy. Respectful.
"Father Dominic....He passed away this morning" Richard said softly.
Hemant closed his eyes.
The world dulled.
Father Dominic—the man who had looked into his eyes and seen something other than a gangster. The man who had named him. Anchored him. Believed he could be more than violence. A symbol of God's Wrath!
"I’ll be there for the funeral" Hemant said, voice steady despite the fracture beneath.
The call ended. Hemant turned back to the window. Mumbai glowed behind him. London called ahead. Loss had a way of stripping choices down to their truth. And as he stood there, grieving, resolute, Hemant knew— no matter his conflictions. The ghost of Michael King demands him to visit the past and pay his respects!
(TO BE CONTD)
YOD Enterprise breathed differently from the villa. Here, the air was sharp with purpose—glass, steel, quiet authority. The headquarters rose from the abandoned port side of Mumbai like a reclaimed fortress, its glass walls reflecting cranes, small trolley ships, and the distant sprawl of a city that never truly slept. From the upper floor of the Manager's office, Mumbai looked conquerable.
Hemant sat at the head of the long conference table, jacket off, sleeves rolled, eyes steady.
Files were spread before him—growth projections, investment blueprints, diversification charts. YOD was no longer just a weapons manufacturer whispered about in defense circles. It had evolved.
Secure vaults and biometric lockers.
Advanced security systems.
Armored vehicles—first for the Indian Army, now adapted for civilian protection.
An enterprise.
A machine built on precision, foresight, and control. Here, Sonarika didn’t exist. Neither did Vikram. Neither did his nightmares.
Until today.
A soft knock broke the rhythm.
"Come in" Hemant said, without looking up.
Raquel entered. He was immaculate as always—well-ironed suit, posture disciplined—but something was off. His expression carried a weight that no tailoring could hide. In his hand was a thick file.
Hemant looked up then. His jaw tightened.
"You did what I asked?" Hemant said.
"Yes Bhaijaan.Every detail. I've trailed and surveilled Bhabhijaan's activities in Delhi for the past few weeks.....also did a detailed background check on Vikram Bajaj and the Bajaj Family"
Raquel nodded.
"Sit"
Raquel took the chair opposite him and placed the file carefully on the table, as if it might explode.
"Tell me about Vikram Bajaj" Hemant leaned back.
"He’s… not what you’d expect" Raquel exhaled once, controlled.
Hemant raised an eyebrow.
"No flamboyance. No excess wealth habits. No scandal trails. He lives reserved. Keeps a low profile. His finances are clean. His reputation is pretty quiet and closeted"
Hemant listened, face unreadable.
"There’s something else.....Something from his past" Raquel continued.
He opened the file and slid out a photograph. A woman.Her eyes were soft. Her smile gentle. And the resemblance hit Hemant like a physical blow.
Sonarika.
Not identical—but close enough to hurt.
"This is Sarika. Vikram’s first love. They were betrothed young. Families were involved and were close to each other. He loved her deeply"
Raquel said quietly. Hemant said nothing.
"She suffered from a rare genetic disease.Inherited from past generation. Unfortunately there was no cure. She passed away years ago"
Raquel went on. The silence thickened. Raquel tapped the photo lightly.
"That resemblance may explain why Vikram and Bhabhijaan grew close.....it makes sense"
Hemant’s fingers curled slowly against the table.
"Where is Vikram now?" Hemant asked.
"Delhi Bhaijaan.....he is in New Delhi" Raquel hesitated.
"Of course he is.......after all she is his true love now!" Hemant’s lips curved faintly.
Raquel’s eyes lowered.
"Officially, he’s there for BajajCorp matters. Unofficially… he has no business there"
Hemant already knew the answer.
"Let me guess....they've been meeting outside for weeks now isn't it? cafes , gardens?"
"Yes....Bhaijaan" Raquel said in a sad tone as he opened another section of the file.
"He’s booked a premium viewing booth for the Arijit Singh concert in Delhi tomorrow night. Group booking"
Hemant’s gaze sharpened.
"The guest list includes Bhabhijaan , her friends—Ragini, Meghna, Disha, Mouni, Sagar"
Raquel continued. Hemant for that moment remembered that terrible dream he had of Sonarika and Vikram's wedding night. He saw the couples , all standing together celebrating while he silently suffered. The pain in his chest winced.
"Of course.....all the lovebird couples.....in one night of music....the music of love!"
Hemant’s voice was calm.
"Not just them Bhaijaan"
Hemant wondered when he realized the list wasn't done.
"The list also has Ragini , and then there is also Bhabhijaan's new boss"
"Sreelekha Naik?"
"Yes. Owner of VATIKA Botanical Research Center, Goa"
"Odd for an old woman be part of their group. Maybe she likes music a lot!"
Hemant paused.
"Does Mrs. Naik have any connection to Vikram?"
"She’s close friends with Vikram’s mother. Neelam Bajaj" Raquel nodded grimly.
That was it. The final piece clicked into place.
Hemant leaned back, eyes distant.
"So she’s being integrated not just into his life—but his family as well" he said quietly.
"Bhaijaan, you might be—" Raquel opened his mouth.
"Enough Raquel.....I've listened enough....leave the files" Hemant cut in, voice sharp.
"And from now on no more surveillance on Sonarika.....its done!"
Raquel stiffened.
"We have more important business....some modern warfare to be conducted here!"
Hemant said, final. Raquel stood slowly, disappointment etched across his face. He gathered the file and turned toward the door. Then he stopped. He turned back.
"Bhaijaan"
Hemant looked at him.
"I’m one of the few who knows about Michael King....I've seen some of his legend , his unmatched charisma....the brutality.....and lately I was worried that the very Michael King was returning again!"
Raquel’s voice softened. The name hung in the room like a ghost.
"But Operation Jewel Thief , it opened by eyes. I finally was able to see the real truth. The way you handled that whole heist , the surveillance , the planning , it was very different from King. You need to understand something"
Raquel said.
"You’re not him anymore"
Hemant didn’t interrupt.
"Everything you’ve built—this company, this growth—it’s not Michael’s legacy resurfacing. It’s yours. Hemant Kumar’s clarity. His strategy. His restraint. The ambitious man only my brother saw....now I see him"
Raquel swallowed.
"What I am trying to say is Bhaijaan.....that you still have a lot to live for.....even though you feel you are alone.....you need to understand you have built a family.....a family that has all of us with you....and this family cares for you. Who believe in you.....I don't want to be Michael King's right hand.....I want to be Hemant Kumar's enforcer!"
For a moment, something unguarded flickered across Hemant’s face.
Warmth. Unexpected. Undeniable.
He nodded once.
"Thank you Raquel.....I needed that little brother......and don't worry.....I am honestly glad that I have a big family now!"
Hemant said quietly. Raquel gave a small, respectful smile—almost brotherly—then turned and left. The door closed. Hemant remained seated.
On the table, the photos lay exposed—Sonarika and Vikram sitting across from each other in a café in Delhi. Talking. Smiling. The exact scene his mind had tortured him with nights before.
Dreams. Or the real future.
Hemant stared at them for a long moment… then stood and walked toward the glass wall.
Mumbai stretched endlessly before him—the skyline glowing. The future waited somewhere between those lights and that darkness.
Maybe his dreams weren’t prophecies.
Maybe they were fears.
And maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t a man being erased. He rested his hand against the glass, eyes steady. The question wasn’t whether Michael King would return. It was whether Hemant Kumar was truly ready to show the world what he truly is.
THE NIGHT OF NIGHTMARES!
Hemant’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat that drowned out the string quartet. The silk of his Armani suit felt like a cheap, constricting skin. Across the marble floor of the Bajaj Mansion, bathed in golden light, stood Sonarika.
His wife.
No. Not his. Not anymore.
The red wedding saree clung to her curves like a lover’s caress, the fabric whispering secrets with her every graceful movement. The jewels at her throat and ears caught the light, but they were dull compared to the glow on her face. Her smile, wide and unreserved, was aimed at Vikram Bajaj. He stood beside her, a prince in a cream sherwani, his hand possessively low on her back. They leaned into each other, whispering, their lips almost touching, a private world humming between them.
A small hand tugged his pant leg. Karan. His son’s innocent eyes, so like Sonarika’s, looked up at him, confused by the spectacle.
"Papa?"
Before Hemant could form a lie, Anjali was there. Sonarika’s teenage sister, her face a mask of concern.
"Bhaiya? Are you okay?"
The kindness in her voice was a shard of glass in his throat.
"I’m fine" he managed, the words gravelly.
He forced a smile that felt like a crack in plaster. She hesitated, then took Karan’s hand, leading him toward the bridal couple. Hemant watched, paralyzed, as his son was absorbed into the happy scene. Vikram bent down, saying something that made Karan grin. Sonarika ruffled his hair, her eyes soft. It was a perfect picture. A perfect family.
From which he had been surgically removed.
He turned and walked away, the elegant room blurring into a wash of meaningless color and sound. He found a quieter hall, only to see his friend Kunal slumped against a pillar, a half-empty glass in his hand. Following his gaze, Hemant saw Mouni, dbangd over Sagar. She was feeding him a strawberry, her laughter tinkling and sharp. Kunal’s shoulders were slumped in defeat, a posture of accepted humiliation.
"Hemant, You surviving?" Kunal murmured, not looking at him.
"Fine"
Hemant repeated the hollow word. Kunal just nodded, his eyes saying he knew the truth. The air grew thick with whispered conversations that seemed to seek him out.
"…like love birds, isn’t it?"
"She looks breathtaking. Who would guess she’s a mother?"
A lower, more salacious voice cut through.
"I hear they were always… compatible. Very, very compatible. In every way"
A chuckle, mean and knowing.
"Good she upgraded. Her ex was only…..adequate. Vikram? He is a different package!"
Then, the final blow, delivered with a conspiratorial leer.
"My cousin smuggled Viagra to him. Vikram said he doesn’t plan on letting his wife sleep tonight!"
Each word was a nail. Hemant fled again, but the mansion offered no sanctuary. He found himself on an open gallery overlooking manicured gardens. And there they were.
Sonarika and Vikram were a single silhouette against the twilight sky. His arms enveloped her from behind, his lips tracing the shell of her ear. She melted into him, her head falling back against his shoulder, a sigh of pure contentment visible even from a distance. Nearby, Mouni and Sagar were locked in a deep, exploring kiss. And to his right, Meghna, Sonarika’s best friend, had Disha, Hemant’s quirky ex-asisstant, pinned playfully against a pillar, their mouths moving together with practiced ease.
Everyone was paired. Everyone was tasting passion. He was a ghost in his own life.
The night dragged on, a torture of forced smiles and averted eyes. Finally, the crowd began to thin. He was heading to the guest wing when he saw Meghna, Disha, Mouni, and a gaggle of others, giggling like teenagers, shepherding Sonarika and Vikram down a corridor. The door they ushered them through was adorned with fresh marigolds—the marital suite.
Hemant’s feet carried him to his assigned room on autopilot. Karan was inside, engrossed in a game.
"Where’s Anju Didi?" he asked.
"Different room, champ" Hemant’s voice was raw.
A pause. Then, the innocent knife.
"Papa? Will Mumma sleep here tonight?"
Hemant’s knuckles turned white.
"No, Karan. She won’t"
Another pause, the game forgotten.
"Is Dance Uncle my papa also?"
Rage, hot and blinding, erupted. Hemant whirled.
"No!"
The word was a whip-crack. Karan flinched, his small face crumpling in fear. The sight doused the fire instantly, leaving only cold, sickening ash. Hemant knelt, pulling his son into a shaky hug.
"I’m your papa. Always. Mumma loves you, she will always be your mumma… but she’s not with me anymore. Okay?"
Karan nodded, a single tear tracking down his cheek before he turned back to his game, seeking solace in digital worlds.
Hemant stumbled back into the hallway, needing air, needing silence. He checked on Anjali, who gave him a sleepy, reassuring smile. As he walked back, he saw Meghna and Disha leaning against the wall near the marital suite, Mouni and Sagar a few feet away. They were giggling, their eyes bright with voyeuristic thrill.
That’s when he heard it.
Dhuk…. Dhuk…. Dhuk…
A deep, rhythmic thumping from behind the ornate door. Slow. Steady. Inexorable. His blood ran cold.
He tried to walk past, to flee the sound, but Meghna’s hand shot out, landing lightly on his chest. Her grin was predatory.
"Leaving so soon, Hemant? The show’s just starting" The thumping grew faster, more urgent.
Dhuk dhuk dhuk dhuk…
It was joined by a low, guttural grunt. Vikram’s. Then, a high, breathy gasp that unraveled Hemant’s soul. Sonarika’s.
Meghna leaned in, her perfume suffocating.
"Sounds like she’s finally getting what she needs. A real man. One who knows how to make a woman scream. Not just… sigh politely"
She laughed, a sound like breaking glass, and pulled Disha into a hungry kiss, their hands roaming as if to mock his solitude. Hemant wrenched himself away, the sounds pursuing him down the hall—the accelerating thuds of the headboard, Vikram’s animalistic growls, and Sonarika’s crescendoing moans, each one a symphony of pleasure he had never been able to elicit.
He threw open his room door.
Kunal was sitting on the edge of the spare bed, head in his hands. He looked up, eyes red-rimmed.
"Mouni… her boyfriend… they wanted the room. Do you mind if I…?"
Something in Hemant snapped.
"Why?" he hissed, voice trembling with fury.
"Why do you just take it? Why are you so… so submissive?"
Kunal’s smile was a grim, terrible thing.
"It’s your first day as a cuckold. The first cut is the deepest. It gets easier. You'll eventually learn your place"
His place. The words detonated inside Hemant. A raw, primal scream built in his chest, tearing at his lungs to be let out. He opened his mouth—
And jolted upright, gasping.
The sheets were tangled around his legs, soaked with cold sweat. The thumping was his own frantic heartbeat. The grunts and moans were the echoes of a shattered dream.
Silence.
Not the lavish Bajaj Mansion. His bedroom. In Silver Beach, Mumbai. The faint smell of salt air from the open window.
Alone.
The ghost of Sonarika’s pleasure still vibrated in his bones, a phantom pain more acute than any waking truth. He sat there in the dark, the emptiness of the king-size bed yawning beside him, the remnants of the dream clinging to him like a shameful, sensual stain.
Morning arrived quietly at Silver Beach, pale sunlight slipping through the glass walls of the villa like it didn’t want to disturb him.
Hemant was more than awake. The nightmare gave a different kind of fuel to his workout for the day. His body moved on instinct—push-ups, pull-ups, controlled breathing, the steady rhythm of exertion grounding him. Sweat rolled down his spine as he pushed harder than necessary, as if fatigue could outrun thought. The gym echoed with nothing but his breath and the dull thud of discipline.
When he finished, he stood still for a moment, hands on his knees, heart pounding—alive, controlled.
He showered, dressed simply, and made himself a light breakfast. There was no urgency today. No board meetings. No inspections. A rare, quiet day at home.
Or so he thought.
With his coffee in hand, he sat on the balcony and unlocked his phone. Muscle memory betrayed him immediately.
Sonarika’s profile.
He barely realized he’d tapped it until the image filled his screen.
A fresh post.
She stood in front of a mirror, sunlight brushing her face, full makeup flawless, confidence effortless. A blue mini-skirt dress hugged her frame—elegant, celebratory, unmistakably intentional.
The caption stared back at him:
"A day full of family, laughter, love and music"
Hemant’s jaw tightened. Blue was his favorite color. But that was the moment he realized.
Tonight.
The realization landed slowly, then all at once.
Tonight was the Arijit Singh concert.
The premium booth. The laughter. The friends. Vikram.
In his mind, the evening unfolded without his permission—music swelling, lights dimming, Sonarika smiling freely, leaning closer to someone who wasn’t him. A celebration not just of music, but of release. Of beginnings.
She would be free soon. Free of him. Free to forget.
The thought clawed at him, sharp enough to summon old nightmares—faces, voices, imagined touches. He shut the screen abruptly, breath shallow.
Enough.
He swiped away and opened another profile.
Tamanna
Her feed was calm, warm—photos from Germany. Coffee cups on wooden tables. Streets dusted with winter light. Her daughter Shraddha laughing, bundled up, arms flung wide like the world still felt safe. Mother and daughter, unbroken.
Hemant felt something in his chest ease.
Tamanna had never asked him to be anything other than present. In her quiet strength, he’d found sanity when everything else cracked.
He lingered for a moment… then moved on.
Pranitha
Amsterdam.
The video loaded.
She surfaced from a swimming pool, water streaming down her skin, laughter bright and unapologetic. The bikini—skimpy, daring—left little to imagination. The way she glanced at the camera was deliberate, teasing, as if she knew exactly who would be watching.
Hemant hissed softly under his breath, body reacting before his mind caught up.
Ever since she’d flied out for business, the calls, the messages—playful, provocative, unfiltered—had been relentless. And right now, with his villa too quiet and his thoughts too loud, he wished she were here.
Very much.
The phone rang.
He blinked, pulled back into the present.
"Kunal?" Hemant answered.
"Morning Hemant.....are you free in the morning....would like to hangout for breakfast!"
Kunal said cheerfully.
"I know just the spot. Beachside restaurant near my place. Twenty minutes"
Hemant smiled faintly.
"Perfect. See you"
The call ended.
Hemant set the phone down and looked out at the sea again.
Tonight belonged to Delhi. To music. To endings and beginnings that no longer included him.
But this morning—this morning still belonged to him.
And for now, that was enough.
The beachside restaurant was already alive with the morning—cutlery clinking, waves rolling in lazy rhythm, the smell of coffee and salt braided together. Sunlight glimmered off the water, scattering gold across the tables.
Hemant was seated when Kunal arrived.
They shook hands, firm and familiar, two men who had learned to smile despite carrying fractures inside.
"Hey man.....congratulations on the Fortune Magazine cover and interview.....it was definitely well deserved....looked like a moviestar in it...plus the growth of YOD Enterprise!!"
Kunal said as he sat down, nodding toward Hemant with genuine admiration.
"Didn’t plan for the cover. But the growth—yeah, that part was intentional"
Hemant exhaled lightly.
"As it should be, You’ve built something real" Kunal said.
"And you—your new banking investment. I heard it’s already turning profit"
Hemant raised his cup.
"That was the idea. Something steady. Something that keeps flowing, even when everything else doesn’t"
Kunal smiled faintly.
"For the family" Hemant said.
"Always" Kunal nodded.
For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, watching the waves curl and retreat. Then Hemant’s expression shifted—subtle, but Kunal caught it.
"She posted this in the morning"
Hemant said finally, unlocking his phone and sliding it across the table.
Kunal glanced at the screen. Blue dress. Bright caption. Love and music.
"Tonight she is joining Vikram for an Arijit Singh Concert in Delhi...Mouni and Sagar will joing them too"
Hemant added.
"I know" Kunal nodded once.
"You do?" Hemant frowned.
"Mouni told me before she left.....She and Sagar are on their 'annual honeymoon' trip. Delhi tonight is a pit stop , a small get together for a double date with them!"
Kunal said calmly. The words landed heavy.
Hemant leaned back, the chair creaking under the shift of his weight. Something inside him recoiled—then went quiet.
"A celebration Of endings" Hemant muttered.
"Most likely a celebration of beginnings" Kunal corrected gently.
"And you’re… okay with this?" Hemant looked at him, confused by the lack of bitterness.
Kunal took a slow sip of water.
"No..But I’m done pretending that pain gives me ownership" he said honestly.
Hemant stilled.
"When Mouni comes back next month, the divorce papers will be waiting"
Kunal continued, eyes steady.
"You’re filing?" Hemant’s brow furrowed.
"I already have"
There was no drama in his voice. No tremor.
"I’ve transferred eighty percent of my assets to her, Everything. Properties. Accounts. She’s the legal guardian until the kids come of age"
"Kunal… why?" Hemant’s heart thudded.
Kunal smiled—not sadly, not bitterly. Peacefully.
"Because I took enough from her already"
"And you? What happens to you?" Hemant searched his face.
"I’m keeping enough cash to move, Nothing more" Kunal said.
"Move where?" Hemant asked, concern creeping in.
Kunal’s gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the sea met the sky.
"A Journey , something I wanted to do. I always believed life should feel like motion, like a road. You don’t stop to build monuments—you move until the road ends. I want to see the world Hemant , see it in its natural form. For now I don't have a destination , just a direction. To go north , and keep going. That way I can finally live a life on my terms , fullfill something that I truly desire"
Kunal said
Hemant swallowed.
"You’re leaving?...You can’t just disappear"
A knot tightened in Hemant’s chest.
"I’m not. Hemant I am not abandoning my family , I've set all their future up with my earnings, and my legacy as a person, it will only harm them rather than uplift them. And this trip is not meant to be forever , I am just gonna go until my mind is fullfilled enough. Once that is done , I will return. Also I am not going right away. I will be here when Mouni returns from her special honeymoon , to give her the happy news and release her from my terribe existence"
Kunal replied gently. Hemant shook his head slowly, stunned.
"This… this takes courage Kunal" Hemnat said sighing
"No. It takes exhaustion" Kunal laughed softly.
He looked down at his hands.
"I’ve cried enough in this life. My choices broke her long before she broke away. The kids deserve better than two parents poisoning the same room"
Hemant said nothing. There was nothing to argue with. Kunal continued.
"My legacy?...its too fractured to repair. So I’ll let it go. I’ll walk away before it hurts anyone else. My kids , Mouni , they're all better without me. Atleast with all the things I've earned , that will give them a much needed financial stability and a better future. But they don't need me , and for this awakening , I thank you Hemant , or else I would've been that same miserable man in her life!"
He looked back up, eyes clear.
"For once, I’ll live on my own terms that fit me , not live as someone that was infected with humiliating kinks. Do something I love. Find peace— with myself and my existence"
They stood a while later, the bill settled, the morning drifting forward.
Kunal clasped Hemant’s shoulder.
"And I wish the same for you Hemant. YOD Enterprise is your best achievement. It has not only brought the best of you , but I have a feeling it has brought out your purpose in life. Your life is not just Sonarika , there is Karan , there is Anjali , there are people in YOD Industries. There are more people in your life than you think. And if you are thinking about a partner. Look no further. Pranitha , she fancies you a lot. From what I've learned from Jess , she has already developed a deep infactuation with you. You two are way too compatible and on a social standpoint too , you will put even the best film couples to shame. Just....if Sonarika has truly moved on , you should too. And life is not dark for you like you think , there is sunshine ahead!"
As Kunal walked away, his figure shrinking against the bright sprawl of the beach, Hemant remained still.
Something had shifted.
Kunal’s choice wasn’t surrender—it was clarity. A clean break. A future not built on resentment, but acceptance.
Hemant looked out at the sea again, the wind lifting against his face. Kunal's motivation echoing in his ears
Maybe letting go didn’t mean losing.
Maybe it meant choosing how the road continued—even without Sonarika.
FEW HOURS LATER AT YOD ENTERPRISE HQ
YOD Enterprise was quieter than usual that afternoon.
The upper floors hummed with restrained efficiency—glass corridors, muted conversations, the distant thrum of machines far below. Hemant stood near the panoramic window of his office, hands in his pockets, Mumbai spread out like a living organism beneath him.
Kunal’s words wouldn’t leave him alone.
His journey. Motion. Acceptance.
Kunal had reached a conclusion—not born from weakness, but clarity. And that unsettled Hemant more than despair ever had.
His thoughts drifted, uninvited, toward the two women who had steadied him when everything else collapsed.
Tamanna.
Calm. Grounded. A woman who had already survived loss—an absent husband swallowed by his family’s violent legacy, a daughter she now raised with quiet resilience. With her, life would be structured. Gentle. Predictable in the best way. On paper, she was perfect.
But his life was not paper.
Then there she was.
Pranitha.
Fire. Energy. Desire sharpened into honesty. She didn’t flinch at his simplicity , she tweaked him to regain his lost self—she teased it, provoked it, matched it. Pranitha didn’t want safety. She wanted someone real , someone exciting, and she brought that out of him. And a man like Hemant—he knew it deep down—she is the most compatible one with his new life.
Who should he go after? his mind asked him.
Before he could answer, the door opened.
Sanjana Ranawat walked in.
Law Enforcement uniform. Crisp. Immaculate. Authority woven into every step. She paused, studying him with the same sharp eyes that had once memorized his smiles in college corridors.
"Hemant" she said evenly.
“Sanjana....I assume you’re here to interrogate me again!" he replied, guarded.
"Even though I still have my doubts.....No that is not why I am here!"
She exhaled, then surprised him with a small smile. That alone made him straighten.
"I'm here to tell you.....that I’m taking voluntary retirement" she said.
"You’re… what?" Hemant blinked.
"The department’s in chaos. Recent incidents, the serial blasts , the gang wars , internal politics, pressure from every direction. It’s bleeding into my personal life. My family deserves better than a ghost in uniform"
Hemant scoffed lightly.
"Well if its any consolation , I am not at all relieved with your retirement. My life is already in ruins like usual. And you can be happy knowing that your miserable ex is still suffering!"
Sanjana’s expression softened—not pity, but understanding. She stepped closer.
"Do you really think I want you to suffer? If you believe that, then you don’t understand me at all anymore.”"
She asked quietly. He looked away.
That is when she stood up and walked. She came close to him and grabbed onto his hand. She then led his hand to land it on her buttcheeks from over the uniform. The moment his hand landed , Sanjana left a quiet muffling moan. Hemant was startled by her gesture. After which Sanjana opened her eyes and confessed.
"Do you remember our college's annual day? A year after our dating?"
"Of course"
"You remember the crazy wish I had regarding us"
"Definitely , you wanted to do it in the open on that night at our college roof. Something I wasn't sure about"
Hemant confessed as Sanjana remembered those days.
"And you do remember what I did" Sanjana teased back.
"Yeah , you tried to act naughty and flirty with the second year Rishi to piss me off!"
Hemant revealed to which Sanjana giggled. After that she confessed.
"But thanks to that , you gave us our most memorable night of our relationship. You remember that night right?"
"How can I forget , when everyone else was cheering in the great hall with the annual celebration. I was dogging you at the roof near the flagpole and cumming inside you at the right time of the fireworks"
"And that is exactly why I will never forget. Because you were the best 'first love' a girl can have"
Hemant felt a short reprieve from his nightmarish thoughts thanks to revisiting some cool memories.
"Do you know why I fell for you?" Sanjana asked.
"My singing?" Hemant answered doubfully.
"No...well partially. It is something else"
"umm....my looks!" Hemant said with a raised eyebrow
"Its your discipline idiot....when the first time I noticed you , it was through my hostel window when I saw you training in the college grounds....even all the professors and teachers said Hemant was the epitome of discipline and punctuality.....there was life in you.....there was purpose. You were an adventure guy , and people looked upto you. When boys your age were drinking and smoking , you lead your friends to a healthier lifestyle. Hell , you literally made me stop drinking in our relationship!"
Hemant giggled in shyness.
"The problem is , you think you are suffering here because of Sonarika when the truth is you're not. You just stopped believing in yourself. Love is not the curse for you. When we broke up did you stop believing in Love? No , did I stop believing in Love? No , we both found love again. The problem with you is not your heartbreak or your suffering. Its that you've stopped getting back up. That was your best part. When you failed , you didn't give up , you aimed higher the next time and many times you succeeded. And look at you now , you were once an average overweight man with a regular salary job and now you are running a fast growing industrial comple. You simply refused to acknowledge that because of your own ego and your need to be in pain. Pain is not your motivation Hemant , determination is. There is more to life than heartbreak"
"You’re part of my life, Hemant" she said.
"But part of my past. And I’ve made peace with that. What we had—our college days, that reckless romance—it mattered. It always will"
She met his eyes again.
"But I don’t love you anymore. I moved on"
The words were firm, not cruel.
"You should too" she added.
"If Sonarika doesn’t care for you anymore, then holding on won’t make you noble—it’ll only make you smaller"
Hemant’s jaw tightened.
"Don’t pretend this is the end of your story. It isn’t" Sanjana said.
She paused, then lowered her voice.
"The problem was never your love life, Hemant. The problem is—you stopped believing in yourself"
Something cracked. She smiled faintly.
"The Hemant I knew and loved , he was a fighter , a warrior. He is not someone who gives up , he was someone who gets back up"
The words landed with terrifying clarity.
"Good luck Hemant for your future. Because I know you will win in life if you know yourself"
Sanjana finished. She turned and left without waiting for a response. The door closed.
Silence rushed in.
Hemant stayed frozen, breath shallow.
She was right.
Sonarika’s images haunted him because he was still trying to be the vulnerable man she fell in love with—soft, accommodating, shrinking himself to fit into a life that never truly belonged to him. With a hope that she will come back , but his life never was about hope , it was about action. And its time he lived an optimistic life , it was time to embrace his natural instincts and carve out a better path. That was his blueprint , a blueprint that created Michael King!
That man was real. But he wasn’t complete.
Michael King hadn’t been born from cruelty. He’d been born from action. From conviction. From a refusal to be powerless.
Hemant lifted his head. He learned Hemant is his real identity , not a violent past!
His phone rang. The number of an old friend. Richard Williams , an ally of Michael King. He answered instinctively.
"Michael" a familiar British voice said, strained.
"I have Bad News!"
"What happened?" Hemant’s stomach dropped.
There was a pause. Heavy. Respectful.
"Father Dominic....He passed away this morning" Richard said softly.
Hemant closed his eyes.
The world dulled.
Father Dominic—the man who had looked into his eyes and seen something other than a gangster. The man who had named him. Anchored him. Believed he could be more than violence. A symbol of God's Wrath!
"I’ll be there for the funeral" Hemant said, voice steady despite the fracture beneath.
The call ended. Hemant turned back to the window. Mumbai glowed behind him. London called ahead. Loss had a way of stripping choices down to their truth. And as he stood there, grieving, resolute, Hemant knew— no matter his conflictions. The ghost of Michael King demands him to visit the past and pay his respects!
(TO BE CONTD)
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