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“Already on it,” Ayaan responds. “We just got news—Zayed’s chopper was spotted heading toward Alibaug. Vishnu, listen carefully. He’s not alone.”

My grip tightens on the wheel. “How many?”

“At least twenty armed men. Possibly more.”

I inhale sharply. Twenty men. An ambush. A full-scale attack on the farmhouse. On Dad.

No.

Not today.

Not ever.

I slam my foot on the accelerator. “Tell Dad to take cover. We’re coming.”

“We can’t,” Ayaan says grimly. “We are not able to reach any phones. Neither your father’s nor your guards’. Nothing. Looks like their signals are jammed.”

“Damn,” I hit my palms angrily over the steering wheel, my frustration boiling over. My grip tightens as I steady myself, forcing my focus back on the road.

Zayed has made his move.

Now it’s my turn.

And I swear I will end him.

For good.

Suddenly, a fresh burst of gunfire rips through the air. This time, it hits the tyres of our vehicle. The call with Ayaan gets cut off abruptly as the car spins out of control, flipping with a sickening crash before coming to a halt—upside down!

PRATAP WALIA

Parallelly happening at Alibaug Farm House…

The sound of Vishnu’s car fades into the distance, barely registering, before my security team surrounds me, their faces grim with urgency.

“Sir, we have a situation,” one of them says.

I turn to him sharply, already sensing something is off. “What situation?”

“Sir, Zayed called,” the guard informs, his voice clipped. “Vishnu’s gone after him—we’ve identified his location,” he reports, already signalling for the decorators to leave.

A sharp pang of unease twists in my gut. Vishnu’s gone after Zayed? He should’ve informed me before leaving, but I understand why he didn’t—he knew I’d never let him go.

Before I can respond, another guard rushes toward me, his face tense.

“Sir, we’ve lost all communication,” he says. “Phones, radios—everything’s jammed.”

“What?” I snap, my senses going on high alert.

The guard’s expression hardens. “They’ve installed signal jammers nearby, sir. We can’t call for backup.”

“How?” My voice sharpens. “For jammers to work, they have to be close. That means—”

“They are already here,” another guard cuts in, his eyes scanning the perimeter. “We need to get you out, sir. NOW”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not leaving. Not without Vishnu.” The thought of my son racing back to Mumbai makes my stomach knot, but I can’t show my fear. Not now.

“But sir—”