14-03-2026, 04:00 PM
Chapter 6: The twist and the Truths
“Mango, mango! 3 Mango for 50 Rupees!”
That vendor’s shout—five minutes ago, crossing this very street—echoed in his memory.
And it was echoing now, through the phone speaker.
Sam’s office was just a kilometer from here.
Rahul connected the dots in a cold, sharp instant.
The mango vendor had reached near Sam’s office. That’s why his voice bled through the call in perfect sync.
Sam was not standing at the hotel thirty kilometers away.
Sam was lying.
If Sam were truly that far, the vendor’s cry wouldn’t reach the microphone in real time.
Unless Sam was close.
Very close.
Within this stretch.
And Rahul predicted: Sam was in his office right now, manipulating something.
Rage surged through him like hot oil.
Sam was lying about the location.
Sam was lying about being “in the lobby.”
And Sam was feeding him another video—perfectly timed—to push him deeper into the same spiral that had sent him crashing off that bridge.
Rahul wanted to test him. He decided to speak with Sam further to see how deep the lie ran.
“Sam,” he said into the still-live line, voice low and deliberate, “do one thing—call our friends, break into that hotel room—beat those bastards senseless. Beat Anandhi too. Do the revenge on behalf of me. Beat John mercilessly.”
Sam’s laugh came quick, a jagged bark through the static.
“Wait, Rahul—I’ve got a better plan. John is seduced by her, he even has a family, Anandhi turned like a bitch now, she is cock hungry… Making her a bitch is perfect revenge—an eye for an eye. I’ll round up some friends—barge into your home—fuck her melons out—teach her a lesson she won’t forget. I will take John to our side.”
Rahul’s breath caught—his heart thudded against his ribs—Sam’s glee twisted into something darker—“Their motive”—a chill crawled up his spine. Rahul kind of got the motive of Sam and others.
Whats your answer Rahul ?
Rahul? Shall i make a move? Tomorrrow? or tonight?
Rahul ended the call without a word. No goodbye. No explanation.
He stared at Anandhi one last time—still waving to a student, still oblivious, still
radiant.
Then he leaned forward to the driver, voice low and deliberate.
“Go.”
The cab lurched forward, tires crunching gravel—his mind raced—“Test them—play this.”
As they neared Sam’s office—a squat brick building with faded red paint—he cut any remaining connection, slipped the phone into record mode, tucked it deep in his pocket—camera lens peeking out just enough. Rahul decided to catch them, watch them record their doings before he made a move. He bet on his new identity, which they wouldn’t suspect.
A kid’s shout pierced the air “Jeeva, pick that ball!” two boys darted past, kicking up dust. Rahul froze “Jeeva?” a name sparked “Hide play.” He liked the name. He decided to name himself Jeeva.
Until he dug deep enough to uncover the truths.
He stepped out, cab door slamming shut—dust swirled around his polished shoes—6'5", white skin gleaming, beard neat—20’s charm reborn—no fat, no bags.
He strode toward the office, footsteps muffled by the hum of a nearby tailor’s shop—scissors snipped, a radio crooned—then spotted a cracked side window open just enough. He reached near, placed his mobile phone with recorder on the sill, angled perfectly toward the room inside.
He stepped back into shadow, listening, watching, recording.
Inside, the air hung thick with cigarette smoke, Sam lounged on a sagging sofa, wiry frame slouched,John stood by a chipped desk, tall and lean, dark hair slick with sweat,, Kiran, stocky and restless, paced near a cracked window, bottles clinked on a table—whiskey fumes curled upward
.
John blinked—“Did Rahul believe it?”
Sam smirked, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “We’ve got videos in tons. I went to Mumbai myself—won’t he buy it?” His grin widened—cigarette dangled. “Spent 20,000 per clip—Chennai-based AI engineers, designers—to make sexual clips of Anandhi.”
Sam exhaled smoke slowly. “But it’s risky to involve you in the video. What if Rahul came back and had a fight with you… If we maintain she bedded strangers, Rahul will be fine for us to have her as revenge. In that way it will be clean win. Rahul loser will agree to revenge, we will enjoy her body. Anandhi won’t make it an issue if she realises it was her own husband orchestrated it. I have call recorders—once Rahul says ‘go and fuck her,’ I will record it as proof.”
“But now as a reason I included you in the fake video,” Sam continued. “I had to convince him to take you into the gang who will punish her for his revenge.”
John laughed, a low rumble—“Seven years in politics—no woman’s said no to me or my cash. She despised me.”
Sam rubbed his hands. “Same story here… I got slaps—lucky I grabbed her melons once.”
Kiran’s eyes glinted—“How was it?”
Sam continued… “First time was easy. She was alone after college—said she needed help with some forms for the kids’ fees. I offered cash, said no strings. But she caught my intention… She refused at first—‘Rahul is my only,’ she said.
“But I kept coming back. Small gifts. college supplies for Riya and Rohan. Then one evening, power cut—rain pouring outside. I ‘helped’ her with the inverter. Hand brushed her waist. She froze. I pushed—grabbed her from behind, squeezed those tits hard. She slapped me—she almost reached my house to complain to my wife… But my wife smelled it. Shit, three years since the incident, I need answer for the slaps. Only way is to fuck her wild.”
Rahul/Jeeva stood frozen at the side window, phone recording every word, every laugh, every filthy detail.
The room spun.
Anandhi hadn’t cheated.
These guys had tried molesting her.
And these men—his so-called friends—had orchestrated it all.''
The videos weren’t real affairs.
They were crimes.
Deepfakes? AI videos? To manipulate him and get his own word d to fuck his own wife. Shit
His blood boiled.
John smirked.
“I’ve done worse—she’s clueless.”
He declared.
Sam, Kiran looked at him with a question.
What do you have done… every eye on him.
John continued…
“Mango, mango! 3 Mango for 50 Rupees!”
That vendor’s shout—five minutes ago, crossing this very street—echoed in his memory.
And it was echoing now, through the phone speaker.
Sam’s office was just a kilometer from here.
Rahul connected the dots in a cold, sharp instant.
The mango vendor had reached near Sam’s office. That’s why his voice bled through the call in perfect sync.
Sam was not standing at the hotel thirty kilometers away.
Sam was lying.
If Sam were truly that far, the vendor’s cry wouldn’t reach the microphone in real time.
Unless Sam was close.
Very close.
Within this stretch.
And Rahul predicted: Sam was in his office right now, manipulating something.
Rage surged through him like hot oil.
Sam was lying about the location.
Sam was lying about being “in the lobby.”
And Sam was feeding him another video—perfectly timed—to push him deeper into the same spiral that had sent him crashing off that bridge.
Rahul wanted to test him. He decided to speak with Sam further to see how deep the lie ran.
“Sam,” he said into the still-live line, voice low and deliberate, “do one thing—call our friends, break into that hotel room—beat those bastards senseless. Beat Anandhi too. Do the revenge on behalf of me. Beat John mercilessly.”
Sam’s laugh came quick, a jagged bark through the static.
“Wait, Rahul—I’ve got a better plan. John is seduced by her, he even has a family, Anandhi turned like a bitch now, she is cock hungry… Making her a bitch is perfect revenge—an eye for an eye. I’ll round up some friends—barge into your home—fuck her melons out—teach her a lesson she won’t forget. I will take John to our side.”
Rahul’s breath caught—his heart thudded against his ribs—Sam’s glee twisted into something darker—“Their motive”—a chill crawled up his spine. Rahul kind of got the motive of Sam and others.
Whats your answer Rahul ?
Rahul? Shall i make a move? Tomorrrow? or tonight?
Rahul ended the call without a word. No goodbye. No explanation.
He stared at Anandhi one last time—still waving to a student, still oblivious, still
radiant.
Then he leaned forward to the driver, voice low and deliberate.
“Go.”
The cab lurched forward, tires crunching gravel—his mind raced—“Test them—play this.”
As they neared Sam’s office—a squat brick building with faded red paint—he cut any remaining connection, slipped the phone into record mode, tucked it deep in his pocket—camera lens peeking out just enough. Rahul decided to catch them, watch them record their doings before he made a move. He bet on his new identity, which they wouldn’t suspect.
A kid’s shout pierced the air “Jeeva, pick that ball!” two boys darted past, kicking up dust. Rahul froze “Jeeva?” a name sparked “Hide play.” He liked the name. He decided to name himself Jeeva.
Until he dug deep enough to uncover the truths.
He stepped out, cab door slamming shut—dust swirled around his polished shoes—6'5", white skin gleaming, beard neat—20’s charm reborn—no fat, no bags.
He strode toward the office, footsteps muffled by the hum of a nearby tailor’s shop—scissors snipped, a radio crooned—then spotted a cracked side window open just enough. He reached near, placed his mobile phone with recorder on the sill, angled perfectly toward the room inside.
He stepped back into shadow, listening, watching, recording.
Inside, the air hung thick with cigarette smoke, Sam lounged on a sagging sofa, wiry frame slouched,John stood by a chipped desk, tall and lean, dark hair slick with sweat,, Kiran, stocky and restless, paced near a cracked window, bottles clinked on a table—whiskey fumes curled upward
.
John blinked—“Did Rahul believe it?”
Sam smirked, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “We’ve got videos in tons. I went to Mumbai myself—won’t he buy it?” His grin widened—cigarette dangled. “Spent 20,000 per clip—Chennai-based AI engineers, designers—to make sexual clips of Anandhi.”
Sam exhaled smoke slowly. “But it’s risky to involve you in the video. What if Rahul came back and had a fight with you… If we maintain she bedded strangers, Rahul will be fine for us to have her as revenge. In that way it will be clean win. Rahul loser will agree to revenge, we will enjoy her body. Anandhi won’t make it an issue if she realises it was her own husband orchestrated it. I have call recorders—once Rahul says ‘go and fuck her,’ I will record it as proof.”
“But now as a reason I included you in the fake video,” Sam continued. “I had to convince him to take you into the gang who will punish her for his revenge.”
John laughed, a low rumble—“Seven years in politics—no woman’s said no to me or my cash. She despised me.”
Sam rubbed his hands. “Same story here… I got slaps—lucky I grabbed her melons once.”
Kiran’s eyes glinted—“How was it?”
Sam continued… “First time was easy. She was alone after college—said she needed help with some forms for the kids’ fees. I offered cash, said no strings. But she caught my intention… She refused at first—‘Rahul is my only,’ she said.
“But I kept coming back. Small gifts. college supplies for Riya and Rohan. Then one evening, power cut—rain pouring outside. I ‘helped’ her with the inverter. Hand brushed her waist. She froze. I pushed—grabbed her from behind, squeezed those tits hard. She slapped me—she almost reached my house to complain to my wife… But my wife smelled it. Shit, three years since the incident, I need answer for the slaps. Only way is to fuck her wild.”
Rahul/Jeeva stood frozen at the side window, phone recording every word, every laugh, every filthy detail.
The room spun.
Anandhi hadn’t cheated.
These guys had tried molesting her.
And these men—his so-called friends—had orchestrated it all.''
The videos weren’t real affairs.
They were crimes.
Deepfakes? AI videos? To manipulate him and get his own word d to fuck his own wife. Shit
His blood boiled.
John smirked.
“I’ve done worse—she’s clueless.”
He declared.
Sam, Kiran looked at him with a question.
What do you have done… every eye on him.
John continued…
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