Page 144

A week later

The drive to Qureshi’s secluded farmhouse in Panvel was one of the longest of my life, even though it barely took two hours. For an entire week, I had been piecing everything together, tracking every lead, every whisper, until I had enough to expose him publicly. I stormed into his outhouse, ignoring his guards’ attempt to stop me. My men followed behind, subduing them with swift efficiency.

“We’re here just to talk,” one of them told the guards, but I wasn’t here for pleasantries.

“Qureshi…” I roared from the living room.

The old wooden door to my left creaked open, and there he was—sauntering in with a glass of whiskey in his hand. But the moment his gaze landed on me, something flickered in his eyes. Recognition.

He froze, his grip tightening around the glass as realisation sank in. Then, as if unable to process what he was seeing, he looked at me again. He couldn’t believe I was here, in his house, standing in front of him.

His brows furrowed in confusion before his lips curled into a mocking smirk.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, stepping forward with a casual air. “Aren’t you Pratap Walia’s watchdog Vishnu? His bodyguard?” He chuckled darkly, his tone dripping with disdain. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be glued to your precious boss, shielding him from harm? He needs all the protection he can get these days.”

My fists clenched at my sides as the words hit me like sparks on dry wood.

“You and I both know exactly who he needs protection from,” I sneered, wanting to reach him and strangle him with my bare hands. But I held back, knowing that taking the law into my own hands was a sin I would never commit.

For a fleeting moment, confusion flashed across Qureshi’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a twisted grin. “What are you talking about?” he asked, feigning innocence.

I took another step closer, narrowing the distance between us.

“I know,” I said, my voice cold. “I know you’re the one who hired the sniper to kill Pratap Walia.”

Qureshi’s grin widened, followed by a slow, mocking clap. “That’s close,” he said with a sneer. “I mean, I never thought you’d be sharp enough to figure it out so soon. Impressive, I must admit.” He swirled the whiskey in his glass, then took a swig of it before looking at me again.

“Yes, I did it,” he admitted proudly, without a hint of remorse. “And why wouldn’t I? Do you have any idea how sick I am of watching that man take everything that should’ve been rightfully mine?”

His expression darkened, his voice dripping with venom as years of resentment spilled over.

“He’s always had what I wanted. What I worked for. I deserved to be the Deputy CM. But no, the party always favoured your precious Pratap Walia. Always him. I’ve been in politics longer than he has, yet they still chose him! Every single time, he was the one who got the applause, the respect, the position. And me?” He slammed his glass down onto the nearby table with such force that it shattered into pieces, the shards glinting like his fury. His face twisted in rage. “I was left with nothing but their pity.”

I stood there, my blood boiling as his tirade continued.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch someone else live your dream? To know that no matter how hard you work, you’ll always be seen as the second best?” His voice cracked with bitterness. “And now, Pratap sits on his Deputy CM throne, untouchable—or so he thinks. I had to remind him that no one stays untouchable forever.”

He leaned closer, his voice dripping with malice. “This time, you took the bullet to save him. What a waste. But next time? Even you won’t be able to save him.”

My vision blurred with fury, and my hands trembled at my sides. The world might not know Pratap Walia was my father, but I did. And I would die a hundred times over before I let someone like Qureshi take him away.

I grabbed Qureshi by the collar, yanking him forward until our faces were inches apart. “You dream too much, Qureshi,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “But none of your dreams ever came true, did they? And they never will. Because I’ll make sure you rot behind bars where you belong.”

Qureshi’s mocking laughter grated against my ears. “Behind bars?” he scoffed. “Based on what? The so-called evidences of my corruption that your dear Pratap Walia keeps locked away? Let me tell you something, boy—I have connections. Powerful ones. Those evidences? I can wipe it clean in no time. No court, no judge, no system will be able to touch me.”

He smirked, his arrogance palpable. “And as for your accusation that I tried to kill Pratap Walia… well, you’re right. I ordered the hit. But where’s your proof?” he taunts. “You have none. And you never will.

His eyes gleamed with ruthlessness before saying, “So be a good boy and go home. Take care of your boss—while you still can. Because next time, when I go for the kill, I won’t miss.”

The rage that tore through me was white-hot, blinding. Before I knew it, I had slammed him against the wall, my forearm pressing hard against his chest. He gasped, his smirk faltering for a moment.

“You think you’re the only one capable of plotting a kill?” I spat, my anger boiling over.

Qureshi flinched slightly, but quickly regained his composure. His defiance only fuelled the fire inside me.

“You should be grateful to Pratap Walia. He’s the reason you’re still alive, even after I found out that you were the one to tried to get him killed. If he hadn’t made me promise not to take the law into my own hands…” I took a step back, letting my words hang in the air for a moment before closing the distance again, towering over him. “The moment I walked through that door, you would’ve been dead, Qureshi.”

He tried to smirk, but I saw the cracks forming in his arrogance. His breathing hitched as my words sunk in.