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“We missed her too,” Meher says softly, reaching out to take my hand in hers.

Devika steps closer, and the next thing I know, I’m wrapped in another group hug, the warmth of their arms around me making my heart swell.

“Alright, alright,” Vishnu interrupts after a moment, checking his watch. “As much as I hate to ruin the reunion party, the guests will be here in an hour. Hurry up.”

I pull away from the hug with an exaggerated groan. “Don’t start with the countdown! You know we can’t work under pressure.”

“Exactly!” Devika agrees emphatically.

Meher nods mischievously. “And you don’t want to know what we do under pressure...”

“What if I already know?” Vishnu’s casual remark stops us all in our tracks.

We stare at him, confused by his cryptic smile.

He crosses his arms, wearing that infuriating, know-it-all smirk that matches Meher’s. “Did you really think I never found out about your secret orders from Shamsher Sweets?”

Our jaws collectively drop. This was supposed to be our little secret!

“There is nothing that happens in Walia Mansion that doesn’t reach my ears.” He looks thoroughly pleased with himself. “And I must say, that Shamsher Sweets incident? Quick thinking on your part. I was impressed.”

Meher and Devika gasp dramatically, while I burst into laughter. My husband is always full of surprises.

“My sneaky brother!” Meher accuses, pointing at him. “You weren’t supposed to know about that!”

“Too late,” Vishnu says, grinning now.

The kitchen erupts in laughter once again, and I catch Vishnu’s eye. He gives me that special smile, the one that’s just for me, and I feel my heart swell with happiness. He is happy that I could patch things up with my best friends.

This is what home feels like—the teasing, the laughter, the love—all of it.

CHAPTER 33

VISHNU

I stand in our living room, watching the last of Dad’s VIP guests trickle out, their compliments about tonight’s dinner still echoing in my ears. Simran, Devika, and Meher really outdid themselves tonight—their joint effort in the kitchen was nothing short of amazing. Every dish they prepared spoke of their skill and teamwork. Throughout dinner, I couldn’t help but notice their seamless coordination, the way they moved around each other and helped serve the guests, their faces lit with genuine warmth and friendship. For the first time in weeks, I saw Simran truly at ease—her laughter genuine and carefree, her shoulders lighter. It’s a sight I want to preserve forever.

As Kailash uncle prepares to take leave from Dad, I see Ayaan quietly stepping aside, his phone pressed to his ear. The light-hearted mood shatters the moment I catch Ayaan’s expression after he hangs up the phone. His usually relaxed features are taut with concern as he approaches me.

“We need to talk,” he says under his breath, his eyes darting to ensure no one’s within earshot.

I nod, following him as we slip into a quiet corner, out of sight. I can see Dad deeply engrossed in his conversation with Kailash uncle. Once we’re alone, Ayaan wastes no time and gets straight to the point.

“My team’s been looking into the joker mask you sent me,” he begins, his tone serious. “While we didn’t find any direct criminal ties, something else came up on our radar.” He pauses, and I can feel the tension in my shoulders. “There was an incident nearly ten months ago at a mental hospital in New York—Riverside Haven Mental Health Care Center.

I lean in closer, hanging onto every word as he continues.

“One of the patients wore that same scary Joker mask and terrorised a few other patients late at night. One of them got so spooked that he went into shock and died on the spot of cardiac arrest. At first, it was hard to find anything concrete, but this incident gained media attention because of the circumstances of the death. Otherwise, it would’ve been buried like most minor cases in mental health care facilities.”

My throat feels dry. “Do we have a name? The person who wore the Joker mask?”

“Jack Thompson.”

The name hits me like a physical blow. My muscles tense instantly, and a shiver runs through me. I see Ayaan notice my reaction.

“Yeah, you know him?” he asks.

I exhale sharply, my mind connecting the dots. “He’s the same man whose car was identified as the one stalking Simran.”