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None of the men can find any trace of Zayed or Dad.

“It’s not possible,” Ayaan mutters. “He can’t escape. All exits are covered by our men.”

Angrily, he turns to the team, ordering them again. “Search again. Check for a secret door, a hidden passage—any possible exit. Hunt them down.”

The team disperses, but I stand there, my eyes sweeping every corner. This house isn’t just a house—it’s a maze of mirrors. Too many damn mirrors. Who puts so many mirrors in a living space unless… unless they serve another purpose?

My mind races, piecing together the puzzle. And then I remember. Zayed’s words from our phone conversation ring in my ears. He had said that six years ago, he had witnessed his father’s final moments here in this very room. He said that he’d seen everything. But how? I didn’t see Zayed that night and even Qureshi never acknowledged his presence.

Unless… Oh my God! My heart thunders as realisation dawns on me.

“The mirrors,” I growl under my breath, my eyes locking onto the biggest one in the room—the same mirror Qureshi had stared into before he died, the same one where he had vowed his blood would take its revenge.

A strange pressure grips my chest as the truth clicks into place.

“Break the damn mirrors!” I roar at Ayaan and his team. “They’re not ordinary mirrors—they’re one-way glass walls, cleverly disguised to deceive everyone!

F*ck! Zayed has been watching us all along!”

Ayaan’s eyes widen with understanding, and he acts immediately, not wasting a second. “Break them! Now!”

I don’t wait for them to act. Drawing my gun, I fire at the mirror directly in front of me. The glass splinters like a spider’s web before my boot crashes through it, revealing an empty kitchen beyond.

“Every single one!” I bark, my voice echoing off the remaining glass surfaces. “Break them all!”

The sound of shattering glass fills the air as my men attack each mirror, smashing them to pieces. I look around, searching for something—anything that could give me a clue to Dad’s whereabouts. But all I can see is a normal kitchen.

Suddenly, my instincts flare up, and a chill runs down my spine. I take in my surroundings, and my eyes lock onto a panel on the left. Something about it feels off, almost mocking me. My gut tightens. Dad’s behind there. I know it.

I charge forward, firing repeatedly. Cracks spread across the glass until it finally shatters, like a web of deceit breaking apart, revealing a dark, hidden passage.

And then—gunfire rings out from behind it.

“Take cover!” Ayaan screams, but I’m beyond caring. My father is in there, and nothing else matters.

I charge forward. A bullet grazes my arm and a searing pain rips through my flesh, but I don’t slow down. And… I see him. My Dad. Held by Zayed’s man, beaten, his face battered, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. They f*cking hurt him. And… I lose it.

Rage fuels my steps as I lunge. The armed man standing beside Dad raises his rifle toward me, but before he can pull the trigger, Ayaan steps in—calm and confident, his gun already raised, his eyes locked on the target. He fires one shot, and the bullet rips through the air and slams straight into the man’s forehead with deadly precision. His body crumples to the floor with a thud, lifeless.

Ayaan lowers his weapon, his gaze meeting mine. No words are needed—his look says it all. He’s got my back. Always.

I barely have a chance to breathe before the air crackles with a far more deadly threat.

A metallic click rings out, and I freeze. My breath hitches as my eyes land on the gun pressed firmly against my father’s temple.

Zayed’s right-hand man, Shasha—has his finger on the trigger, his eyes full of hatred.

“One step forward,” Zayed drawls, standing beside Shasha, his arms crossed as he grins at me. “One wrong move, Vishnu… and your dear old dad gets a bullet right between the eyes.”

The world spins, and everything—my rage, my pain, my fear—focuses on that one gun pressed against Dad’s temple. My father, Pratap Walia, sits bound, bruised, and helpless.

Ayaan stiffens beside me. We’re the only ones close to Zayed and Shasha. The rest of our team is scattered, engaged in fights, taking down Zayed’s men one by one.

Zayed chuckles darkly, his eyes flickering between me and Ayaan.

“Pratap Walia, you really have a close-knit family, don’t you?” Zayed taunts, clicking his tongue. “I expected your son to come running to save you… but what luck! Your dear son-in-law, Ayaan, decided to tag along too.”

He throws his head back and laughs, the sound grating against my nerves.