Chapter : 27

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The cold light of the morning filtered through the curtains of Mr. Sharma’s study. He sat there, still gripping the half-empty whiskey bottle from the night before, his eyes bloodshot, his mind unable to find rest. Sleep had eluded him for days now. The pressure of everything collapsing around him was suffocating, and every breath felt like a battle. But what had truly undone him was the betrayal—the slow unraveling of the empire he had so carefully built, now coming apart thread by thread.

The television blared in the background. A news report, as loud and insistent as the pounding in his skull, echoed through the study. Mr. Sharma absentmindedly reached for the remote to lower the volume but stopped short when he caught a glimpse of the headline:

“Business Tycoon Dhiraj Khurana Arrested for Embezzlement and Fraud—Shocking Revelations Expected in Court.”

His eyes snapped to the screen, his breath catching in his throat. The image of his former partner, Dhiraj, flashed across the screen—handcuffed, head down, being shoved into a police van. The footage switched to a press conference outside the courthouse, where Dhiraj was being questioned by a throng of reporters. The smug, confident businessman who had stood by Mr. Sharma’s side for years looked broken, his face a pale mask of fear.

Mr. Sharma sat up straighter, his heart pounding. What is he going to say?

Dhiraj was visibly sweating, his eyes darting around as if looking for an escape. The crowd was relentless, the questions bombarding him from every direction.

“Mr. Khurana, is it true that you were involved in multiple fraudulent deals with Mr. Vikram Sharma?”

“Are you admitting to embezzling funds from your business partners?”

“Did you orchestrate the attacks on Ananya Mehra’s company?”

But then came the question that shattered the thin veneer of control Dhiraj had managed to maintain.

“Mr. Khurana, is there any truth to the rumors that you were involved in the deaths of Ananya Mehra’s parents?”

Dhiraj froze. The camera zoomed in on his face, capturing every flicker of emotion. Mr. Sharma’s heart sank as he saw Dhiraj’s lips tremble. He prayed, begged internally for Dhiraj to hold strong, to deny everything. But instead, Dhiraj’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a shaky breath.

“Yes,” Dhiraj’s voice cracked, barely above a whisper, but loud enough for the microphones to catch. The air left the room. Mr. Sharma’s heart stopped. “Yes, I was involved. But it wasn’t just me—Vikram Sharma and I—”

Mr. Sharma’s vision blurred, his hands trembling uncontrollably. No. No, no, no! He reached for the television, as if physically trying to stop the words from spilling out, but it was too late.

“—we both planned it. For the money. We… we killed them.”

The room spun. Mr. Sharma’s entire body went numb, cold. His throat felt like it was closing, and he struggled to breathe. He stared at the screen in disbelief, watching as Dhiraj was dragged back to the van, the reporters going wild at the revelation. His world, his carefully constructed facade, was collapsing before his eyes.

He slumped back in his chair, gasping for air, as the weight of what Dhiraj had just confessed settled on him like a crushing boulder. His partner had betrayed him. His partner had thrown him under the bus. And now, the world knew the truth.

*****

The news spread like wildfire. Within hours, every major news outlet was running the story: "Vikram Sharma Tainted by Murder and Fraud Scandal." The accusations against Mr. Sharma were plastered across every screen, every newspaper, every social media feed. Business partners who had once revered him were suddenly cutting ties, distancing themselves from the man they now saw as a murderer and a fraud.

Mr. Sharma’s phone rang incessantly, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. His inbox was flooded with messages—some condemning him, some from those who had believed in him, begging for an explanation. But there was nothing to explain. The truth was out, and there was no escaping it.

He glanced down at his phone as yet another message came through. This one was from an old friend, one of the last allies he had left.

“We can’t be associated with you anymore, Vikram. This is too much. We’re cutting ties.”

That was the final blow. The last ally gone. The last bit of support torn from beneath him.

He was alone.

*****

Sitting in his darkened study, Mr. Sharma’s mind reeled. He had spent his entire life building this empire—an empire of lies, yes, but one that had given him power, prestige, and wealth beyond his wildest dreams. And now it was gone. In a matter of days, Ananya had torn everything from him. His business, his reputation, his friendships—all gone, like sand slipping through his fingers.

And now, the world knew that he was responsible for killing his own brother and sister-in-law for money. That single truth had not just destroyed his career—it had destroyed him.

His phone buzzed again. This time, it was a message from Ananya. Hesitantly, he opened it, dreading what he would find.

“You thought you could destroy me. But I was always two steps ahead. Now you know what it feels like to lose everything. This is just the beginning, Uncle.”

The message was cold, calculated, and final. She didn’t need to say more. The implication was clear: there was more to come, and Mr. Sharma knew that Ananya wouldn’t stop until he was completely ruined.

As the hours passed, Mr. Sharma’s despair deepened. He was trapped in a nightmare of his own making, and there was no way out. The calls for his arrest were growing louder. Journalists were camped outside the manor, hungry for a glimpse of the disgraced businessman. His name, once associated with wealth and power, was now synonymous with betrayal and murder.

And then, in the midst of his spiraling thoughts, the door to his study creaked open. Mrs. Sharma stood in the doorway, her face pale and drawn. She had heard the news too. She knew.

“What have you done, Vikram?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Mr. Sharma didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He had no words left. There was nothing left to say.

He was finished. Ananya had won.

*****

Across town, Ananya stood by her office window, staring out at the city skyline. The party had been a celebration of her success, but this—this moment, where Mr. Sharma’s empire crumbled under the weight of its own sins—was her true victory.

She glanced at her phone once more, the message she had sent to Mr. Sharma still open on the screen. Her lips curled into a satisfied smile.

This is just the beginning.

Rihaan, oblivious to the chaos around him, bounced into the room, holding a drawing he had made. “Anya, Look, I drew our family!”

Ananya’s expression softened instantly. She knelt down, taking the drawing from his hands. It was a mess of colorful lines and shapes, but she could see the effort he had put into it. “It’s beautiful, Rihaan,” she said, smiling at him. “ I'll get you an icecream as a reward.”

He beamed, wrapping his arms around her. “You’re the best, Anya.”

For a moment, the world outside disappeared. All the chaos, all the destruction she had wrought, faded into the background. Here, with Rihaan, she could be soft. She could be herself.

But when she stood up and looked out the window again, the smile faded. The battle wasn’t over yet. There were still pieces to move, still plays to be made.

And Mr. Sharma… well, he had only seen a glimpse of what she was capable of.

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