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The fortress-like farmhouse looms ahead, guards posted at every entrance. We don’t waste time. The moment we touch down, my men and the police force storm the fortress. Bullets crack through the air, cutting through the night like firecrackers gone wrong. The guards at the main gate don’t even have time to react before we take them down. The ones that do fight back get dropped one after another. We push forward, taking cover behind a concrete barrier while the bullets whizz past like angry hornets. Just then, a round of gunfire erupts from the upper windows.

“Vishnu!” Ayaan calls out, firing precise shots that drop two guards. “We need to reach the main house!”

I’m already moving, driven by a fury I’ve never known. An assailant charges at me, and I meet him with a combination of brutal punches. Another tries to flank us, and I kick him, sending him crashing through the glass panel. I’m fighting like a son desperate to save his father’s life.

More gunfire erupts from the living room windows, shards of glass spraying outward like deadly rain.

“Cover the windows!” Ayaan orders, his men springing into action immediately.

Ayaan provides covering fire while I charge ahead, taking down anyone in my path. I spot two of Zayed’s men rushing toward the back of the house, trying to reinforce their defences.

Not a chance. I sprint after them, taking them down before they can make another move. Ayaan follows closely, taking down a guard who leaps out from behind a wall.

We finally breach the living room, the air thick with smoke and chaos. Bodies lie scattered across the floor—Zayed’s men, wounded or worse. But there’s no sign of Zayed. Where the hell is he?

I scan the room, my heart hammering. There’s no sign of Dad either.

“Spread out!” Ayaan orders the team. “Check every room, every exit. He’s here somewhere!”

“All clear!” one of the team shouts from down the hall.

“All clear!” another voice echoes from the other side.

I grit my teeth, storming through the house. My blood runs cold. “Where are they?” I bellow, kicking the furniture, my eyes scanning every corner for a clue.

My gut twists with rage. I know Zayed won’t run. He’s too proud and arrogant for that. Which means he’s hiding here somewhere. And he has my father with him.

I kick open another door. Empty.

“Where the hell are you, Zayed?!” I roar.

ZAYED QURESHI

I press my hand against the soundproof glass, a wicked grin forming on my lips on watching Vishnu tear through my home like a man possessed. His gun is drawn, his eyes scanning every corner of the house like a predator on a hunt. The desperation in his stance, the barely contained rage in his eyes—it’s mesmerising. He is so close, yet so clueless. And that is what makes this moment so damn satisfying.

My laughter bounces off the walls of our hidden chamber, the sound contained within these specially designed walls. They can’t hear me. They can’t see me. He will search, he will rage—but no matter how hard he tries, he will never find me.

“Find me, Vishnu…” I whisper, my voice dripping with cruel amusement. “Search every damn inch of this place… but still, you won’t know where I am.”

I turn my gaze to the man tied beside me—Pratap Walia. Shasha stands beside him, his grip tight on the ropes, while another of my men keeps watch, his rifle ready.

Pratap’s face remains unreadable, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the fire in his eyes.

“Look at him, Walia,” I whisper, turning to Pratap, who struggles against Shasha’s iron grip. “Your mighty son, reduced to throwing furniture and kicking down doors like a madman.” I chuckle, my shoulders shaking with barely contained glee.

“FIND ME, VISHNU!” I suddenly scream, knowing he can’t hear me. I can feel the madness creeping in on me, the thrill of it all making my pulse race, fuelling the monster within. “Search every corner, break every wall, but you’ll never find this room!”

The secret chamber is my ultimate masterpiece of revenge. From behind the one-way mirror, we have a clear view of Vishnu’s growing frustration. He’s so close, yet utterly clueless—staring right at us through what he thinks is an ordinary mirror.

“Your poor son,” I taunt, leaning closer to him, my breath fanning his face. “He’s so close, isn’t he? Just a few feet away. He can almost touch you if he only knew where to look.” My laugh turns maniacal. “But soon, he’ll give up, convinced I’ve escaped, taking you away with me. And then...” I trace a finger across his throat, “then we’ll finish what we started with that tea. By the time he realises the truth, it will be too late.”

Pratap’s body stiffens, his fingers curling into fists as he tugs against the ropes. His helplessness adds to my amusement, and I let out another triumphant laugh.

“This is fun, isn’t it, Walia?” I whisper, grinning widely. “This cat-and-mouse game… and I always make sure the mouse suffers before the cat goes in for the kill.”

The fury in Pratap’s eyes only feeds my joy. This is better than I imagined—watching both father and son suffer, one powerless to cry for help, the other searching frantically to find him. My revenge isn’t just about killing them anymore. It’s about making them feel this exquisite agony of being so close, yet completely out of reach.

VISHNU