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I chuckle, turning back to Veer, pretending to sulk. “You won’t call me Daadu, but Avika will.” I laugh heartily as Avika giggles again, clearly pleased with herself.

Veer watches the exchange with curious eyes before breaking into another wide, mischievous grin, as if enjoying this little game.

“Oh, so you think this is funny now?” I tease, tickling his belly as he bursts into uncontrollable giggles.

Avika, clearly entertained, crawls closer to my lap, her eyes now fixed on Veer. The moment feels precious, like a little slice of peace in a life otherwise ruled by chaos. In a world of endless responsibilities, packed political schedules, and high-stakes decisions, I rarely get the chance to simply be a grandfather. But today, I’ve stolen time for myself and for them, and I’m not letting it go to waste.

Now, Avika tugs at my kurta, her tiny voice babbling something I don’t quite catch.

“Oh, you want me to play with you too?” I laugh, scooping her up with one arm while still holding Veer in the other. “Fine, both of you. Daadu is officially your personal toy now. What should we play?”

The door creaks open, and I glance up to see Vishnu stepping inside. His broad frame fills the doorway, but it’s his expression that immediately catches my attention. His sharp features are tense, his brows furrowed, and his jaw clenched in a way that I instantly recognise. Something is wrong.

“Vishnu,” I call out, still holding both children close. “What’s the matter?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he stands near the seating area, his hands resting on the back of a chair as he exhales sharply.

“I’ve told your secretary to reschedule all your meetings for the week,” he finally speaks.

“Reschedule?” I blink, confused. “Why? What’s going on, Vishnu? Why are you rescheduling my meetings?”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks as though he’s battling an internal storm.

“We’ve identified Simran’s stalker.”

My chest tightens as I wait for him to continue.

“It’s Qureshi’s son, Dad,” he says, his voice low but seething with fury. “Zayed Qureshi.”

“What?” The name hits me like a physical blow, and for a second, I’m stunned. Qureshi. That name has haunted us for years, but I never imagined it would resurface like this.

“He’s not after Simran,” Vishnu continues, his voice hardening with every word. “He’s after us—the Walias, Dad. He’s been waiting all these years to take revenge for his father.”

I’m momentarily speechless. The name Qureshi brings back a flood of memories, all of them dark and bitter.

“I didn’t know… I didn’t know he had a son waiting in the shadows like this,” I murmur, rising up from the mat, leaving my two grandkids to their games. I reach the chair where Vishnu is standing.

“He blames me, Dad. He believes I’m the reason his father is dead. In his twisted mind, I killed Qureshi, pushing him to end his life. And now, he wants to fulfil his father’s so-called last wish—to wipe the Walias off the face of the earth.”

My mind reels at this revelation. I struggle to piece together the motives of a man who hadn’t even been in the picture back then.

“What does he mean you killed his father? Qureshi shot himself!”

“Exactly,” Vishnu snaps, his rage boiling over. “But Zayed doesn’t see it that way. He was present there that night at the Panvel farmhouse. He was watching everything.”

“What?” The thought chills me. “He was there?”

Vishnu nods, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turn white. “He saw me expose his father for everything he was. He saw me cornering Qureshi with the truth—with his crimes. He saw his father fall apart, choosing death over his humiliation and disgrace. And now, he blames me for all of it. He says I provoked his father and left him with no choice but to pull the trigger.”

I press a hand to my temple.

“How can he think that? His father was the one who started it all. It was Qureshi who tried to kill me, who orchestrated that sniper attack. And it was his sins—his money laundering, human trafficking, corruption—that we exposed. He was the one who couldn’t face the consequences of his own actions.”

Vishnu’s jaw tightens further. “But Zayed doesn’t care about the truth, Dad. He’s inherited his father’s darkness. Instead of accepting that Qureshi brought his end upon himself, he’s twisted it into a mission for revenge. Zayed is hell-bent on avenging him. He’s been planning this for years—waiting, watching. This isn’t just about Simran or me—it’s about the entire Walia family. He won’t stop until he’s destroyed us all.”

I struggle to comprehend the depth of Zayed’s hatred.

“I can’t believe this. He’s spent years nurturing this grudge. He’s blinded by his father’s lies and is unable to see the real picture—that it was Qureshi’s own crimes that led to his end. And now, he’s targeting us because he refuses to accept the truth.”