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“You pull that trigger,” I continued, my voice dropping to a deadly tone, “and you add another murder to your list of sins. It won’t save you. It won’t stop what’s coming. You’re finished, Qureshi. It’s over.”

For a moment, he seemed to register my words. His eyes darted to the door, then back to me. His grip on the gun wavered. The wail of the police siren buzzed in the distance, growing louder by the second. My grin widened as I watched the realisation dawn on him—he was cornered, with no way out.

“They are almost here,” I said, stepping behind, knowing he wasn’t going to pull that trigger anymore. His game was over.

“Surrender yourself, Qureshi. You might get a few more years to live, even if it’s behind bars. But if you pull that trigger…” I clench my jaw, “you’ll lose that chance too. My men are here. The moment you fire at me, they’ll shoot you dead before you even think of fleeing.”

His eyes flicked wildly around the room like a trapped animal looking for an escape. Then, his gaze landed on the large mirror behind me, his own reflection staring back at him. He paused for a beat, his eyes laser-sharp on the mirror, and something in him shifted. His features hardened, his expression turning cold and unrecognisable. And that’s when I saw it—the darkness creeping in, swallowing whatever shred of humanity he had left.

And then he laughed. Not a nervous chuckle or the scoff of a man trying to hold onto his pride. No, this was something else entirely—a maniacal, bone-chilling laugh that reverberated through the room. The sound sent a jolt through me, and for a moment, I froze, trying to understand what had just snapped inside him.

I followed his gaze to look at the mirror, half-expecting to see something or someone out there. But there was nothing—just our reflections—me standing tense, ready to act, and him holding the gun, his frame trembling with a volatile mix of rage and madness.

His laughter abruptly stopped, replaced by a deadly calm as his cold eyes met mine through the mirror.

“You think you’ve won, don’t you?” he hissed. “Just because you have some evidence against me, because you’ve cornered me here, you think you’ve beaten me? Don’t fool yourself, Vishnu.”

I stayed silent, watching him carefully, every nerve in my body on high alert.

“Do whatever you want,” he spat, his voice rising. “Don’t ever underestimate a man who has nothing to lose. That’s the kind of man who becomes unstoppable. So go ahead. Show the evidence to the world. Bring the police and the media. Get me arrested. But none of it will matter anymore, except for one thing.”

The sirens outside grew louder, the flashing lights of police vehicles now visible through the curtains. But his eyes never left mine, nor did his grip on the gun loosen.

“You and the Walia family will be wiped off the face of the earth. You hear me? This is Qureshi’s promise.”

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to rip the gun from his hands and shoot him right there.

“Remember this, Vishnu,” he snarled, his grip tightening on the weapon. I was already prepared to snatch it from him if he made a move to pull the trigger and shoot me. “Count your days, and count Pratap Walia’s too. My blood will take the revenge.”

I dismissed his threats as the desperate rantings of a man whose whole world was crumbling.

“Put the gun down, Mr. Qureshi,” the police entered the house and surrounded us. Their guns were drawn, and they were closing in on him. Relief washed over me, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.

“My eyes will always be on you,” Qureshi hissed, his eyes cold and soulless.

I ignored his empty threats and turned toward the officers, trusting them to handle the rest. But then, it happened. The deafening crack of a gunshot rang out. My heart lurched into my throat, and I spun around, only to find Qureshi sprawled on the floor. The gun, its barrel still warm from the shot, lay in his lifeless hand, his fingers still curled around the trigger.

My breath hitched as I stared at him, frozen. He’d shot himself. He’d chosen death over surrender, defiance over justice.

The room seemed to spin around me, the police moving in a blur as they secured the scene, shouting orders I couldn’t hear. All I could see was Qureshi’s body, the once-arrogant, power-hungry man now reduced to a lifeless shell.

I hadn’t expected this. I never thought that he would take the coward’s way out, robbing us of the satisfaction of seeing him pay for his crimes.

Blood pooled around him, dark and thick, as his lifeless eyes stared blankly at me. His final words echoed in my mind like a sinister chant:‘My eyes will always be on you.’

As I finish narrating the incident, I turn to look at Simran and Ayaan, standing a few feet away, their eyes glued to me as I relive one of the darkest chapters of my life—the moment that changed everything. I hadn’t even noticed Simran joining us. I was so lost in the memories that her quiet arrival escaped me entirely. She must have returned home just as I began the flashback. Now, her face is etched with shock, her wide eyes reflecting the gravity of the story as the pieces slowly start falling into place.

It was the first time that someone had tried to take my father’s life, the man I owed everything to. But it didn’t just stop there. The threat was on me too. I could still feel the searing pain of that bullet, the suffocating moment when I’d thought my time was up, when I’d gambled my life to protect him. It wasn’t just about surviving—it was about the brutal realisation of how far people would go for power. That day, I didn’t just face death—I came face to face with the fragile reality of everything I had ever held dear.

“My eyes will always be on you?”Simran breaks the silence, her voice trembling as she speaks those bone-chilling words. I can see goosebumps rising on her arms, her body reacting to what I’ve just shared.

I nod grimly, watching the colour drain from her face.

“That’s the same cryptic message you’ve been getting from the masked man every single time,” I confirm.

Simran’s mouth snaps shut, her eyes widening as she processes the connection. I can almost see her mind racing, replaying every threatening message she’s received. She instinctively wraps her arms around herself, as if trying to shield herself from the gravity of the situation.

“Qureshi is gone,” I continue, my fists clenching at my sides, “but his madness, his hatred—it isn’t over.”