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But I wasn’t one to let fate dictate my story. Jack may have been dead, but his identity, his history, and his possessions—they were all still very much alive.

I took what I needed: his joker mask, his car, his home, and picked up where Jack left off, determined to threaten Simran myself using Jack’s identity.

I began stalking Simran. At first, it was from a distance, collecting her photographs, learning her routines, and understanding her vulnerabilities. I wasn’t just observing her—I was laying the groundwork. I planted those photographs in Jack’s home, ensuring that if anyone ever came snooping, they would find a trail leading straight to him.

The joker mask became my signature. I used it to instil fear, to remind her that she was being watched. Every note I left, every message I sent carried the same phrase: ‘My eyes will always be on you.’ My father’s final words to Vishnu, a promise of vengeance that I carried for years.

At first, Simran brushed it off as nothing more than random harassment—a cruel prank by someone. She ignored the messages, dismissing them as empty threats, and carried on with her life as though nothing had happened.

That infuriated me. I hadn’t gone to such lengths to be ignored. Fear was my weapon, and if she wasn’t feeling it yet, I needed to turn up the heat.

It was time for a face off.

That night, when Simran was returning home after attending a glitzy award ceremony in Manhattan, I followed her, trailing her car as she drove home late at night. She stopped at a small store near her building, probably to grab something before heading home.

This was my moment.

I parked my car a short distance away and slipped on the joker mask, its eerie grin perfectly reflecting the darkness inside me. Pulling the hood of my jacket over my head, I entered the store quietly, blending into the shadows.

Simran was at the far end of the store, browsing through a shelf, completely unaware of my presence. The thrill of watching her, oblivious to the danger lurking mere feet away, was intoxicating.

And then, I stepped closer.

The sharp click of my boots against the tiled floor made her glance up, her brow furrowing when she saw me. I could tell she didn’t recognise me right away. I was just a man in a mask, shrouded in mystery. But as I moved closer, her expression shifted. Her breath hitched as she saw the message written across my jacket: ‘My eyes will always be on you.’

She immediately turned around and bolted out of the store. I followed her, keeping my distance, yet making sure she knew I was there. Her hands trembled as she grabbed her phone, desperately dialling the last number she had called that day. Meher.

And just as I had planned, she told her everything.

My plan had worked. Within 48 hours, the news reached me through my sources. Vishnu Walia had arrived in New York. He had taken the bait, just as I’d known he would.

Simran’s fear had been the perfect lure, drawing Vishnu out of his fortress in India to protect her. In the beginning, Vishnu thought he was simply protecting Simran, but soon, he discovered the truth: she had given birth to his son. Veer. The shock of learning about his son changed everything. He married her and took both Veer and Simran back to India, to the Walia Mansion. Just as I’d wanted him to.

Now, three generations of the Walia family were under one roof. The stage was set, and I was ready to play out the final act. To wipe off the Walias from the face of the earth, just as my father, Qureshi, had promised. And I would be the one to fulfil that promise.

Present – Somewhere in Mumbai

The small, dimly lit room reeks of damp wood and old cement, a perfect cover for someone who doesn’t want to be found. This place is far from luxurious, far from the world I once belonged to—but for now, it’s enough. I sit in front of a table cluttered with wires, monitors, and tools. The hum of machines fills the air as Shasha and my men work tirelessly around me. The latest shipment has finally arrived: the drones I’ve been waiting for.

I run my hand over the surface of one of the sleek machines, its matte black body a thing of engineering beauty. This isn’t just any drone—it’s a weapon, a harbinger of chaos. And with the modifications I’m making, it will be untraceable, silent, and deadly.

My fingers fly across the keyboard, typing lines of code to install the final configuration. I don’t stop. Each keystroke takes me closer to D-day, to the moment the Walia family will be wiped out for good. The network jammers are the last piece of the puzzle. Once activated, they’ll disrupt every line of communication around the target, creating confusion and cutting off any cries for help.

I finish the final line of code and test the commands. The drone responds perfectly, its lights blinking in acknowledgement.

I step back from the machine with a smirk.

“It’s ready,” I announce. Shasha nods from across the room, his hands busy assembling the last of the equipment.

I pick up the glass ofoolong teafrom the table—my father’s favourite. I always made it for him, even when he ignored the doctor’s warnings about his health. He used to laugh at my stubbornness, saying the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

I take a slow sip, letting the bittersweet warmth spread through me. But it doesn’t calm me. Nothing does. Not anymore.

Walking to the small window, I glance outside at the crimson-streaked sky. The sun is about to set, and the city glows in its golden haze. Mumbai is a city that never sleeps, but soon, even it will pause when my plan unfolds. Chaos will reign, and the world will witness the fall of the Walias.

I don’t just want revenge; I want annihilation. The Walia name, their legacy, their bloodline—I want it all reduced to ashes.

My father wasn’t perfect. I know that. But he was mine. The only man I ever loved. And they broke him, humiliated him, drove him to his death.