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“Thank you, everyone, for this warm welcome,” I begin, my voice steady despite the emotions churning inside me. “I am honoured and humbled to stand before you today as the next Party President of the NEP party.”

The crowd erupts into cheers once again. This wasn’t my dream, not really. But it was my father’s, and that’s enough for now.

“The decision to join politics wasn’t something I planned or anticipated,” I continue, a smirk playing on my face as I glance at my father. “But life has a way of preparing us for the unexpected, and I’ve unknowingly been learning from the best all along. I now promise to uphold the values and principles that have shaped and guided our party and my father’s legacy. Together, we will work towards a brighter future for our state and our country. Thank you.”

As confetti showers down and firecrackers burst in celebration, I scan the crowd. Faces blur together in a sea of excitement and expectation. Yet, one face stands out, catching my eye amid the jubilant crowd.Meher.

My little sister’s expression is taut with tension, her phone pressed tightly to her ear.Something’s not right.

My protective brotherly instinct kicks in, compelling me to head down the stage, pushing through well-wishers and party members who crowd around me to offer their congratulations. I nod and smile, but my focus is solely on reaching Meher.

Meher looks worried and confused, like she’s at a loss for what to do next. She ends the call and turns to me, her expression troubled.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, finally breaking free from the throng of people. “Whose call was it?”

“Simran...” she murmurs, and my heart lurches at the name.

Simran—the woman who’s haunted my thoughts for the past eighteen months, the one regret I can’t seem to shake off, no matter how hard I’ve tried.

I grab Meher’s arms, trying to ground her, to pull her out of whatever shock she’s clearly in. “What happened to Simran?” I demand, desperation creeping into my voice.

Meher swallows hard, her eyes full of worry. “Simran is in danger, Vishnu. She needs help.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. The world around me seems to freeze, the sounds of laughter and celebration fading into a distant murmur, drowned out by the sheer magnitude of her words:Danger. Simran.The two words clash violently in my mind, sending a cold wave of dread through my body. Only one thought stands out clearly in my mind: I will protect her and keep her safe. No matter what it takes.

CHAPTER 1

SIMRAN

NEW YORK (An Hour Ago)

I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white as I drive through the dark streets of New York. The soft music playing in my car does little to calm my frayed nerves. It’s late—around half past two—and the usual bustling streets are now deserted. My phone lies on the passenger seat, and I glance at it to check for any messages from Claire, my housekeeper. Thankfully, there are none. Good. At least things are quiet at home. I had informed her I’d be late tonight.

New York City has always had a way of making me feel alive. The city lights, its vibrant energy, and the endless possibilities exhilarate me. But tonight, as I drive back home after winning the Best Designer Award at a prestigious event, an unsettling feeling gnaws at me. The award ceremony was grand and exciting, yet I skipped the after-party. Something in me just wanted to get home.

The city that never sleeps seems oddly quiet tonight. The usual hustle-bustle of New York has faded to a whisper, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. I’ve been living here for eighteen months now, chasing my dream of expanding my fashion brand beyond India. On most nights, I revel in the energy of this place. But tonight… Tonight feels different.

As I approach a turn, I check my rearview mirror, a habit born from years of city driving. That’s when I see it: a black sedan, some distance behind me. I immediately try to shrug off the unease creeping up my spine. It’s probably nothing, I tell myself. Just another late-night driver heading home.

I take the turn, and the sedan follows. I tell myself it’s just a coincidence; New York’s a big city, after all. But when I turn again and see the sedan doing the same, the first tendrils of real fear begin to wrap around my heart.

This feeling... it’s not new. For the past two weeks, I’ve had this nagging sensation of being watched. It all started at the mall—a slight prickle at the back of my neck that I casually brushed off. Then came the anonymous message on my phone:“My eyes will always be on you.”

At first, I dismissed it as a wrong number, a prank, maybe. But then, a week ago, after a meeting in Manhattan, I found a sticky note with the same message on the windowpane of my car. That spooked me. I asked my friends if it was indeed a prank, but none of them admitted to it.

Tonight, that eerie feeling is back. I can’t shake off the sense of being followed. I’m just being paranoid, I tell myself. I check the rearview mirror again, and now, the black sedan has disappeared. Maybe I’m really overthinking this. But the relief is short-lived, and is quickly replaced by a new wave of unease. Where did it go?

I realise I’m close to home now, but I still need to stop for cat food. Leila, my constant fluffy little companion in this big city, needs her dinner. There’s a 24/7 store just around the corner from my apartment. I can make a quick stop and then head home.

I pull into the parking lot, the harsh fluorescent lights of the store, a stark contrast to the darkness of the street. As I step out of my car, the night air feels heavy, oppressive. I hurry into the store, nodding a quick greeting to Harry, the elderly cashier I’ve come to know over the months.

The store is nearly empty, just as I anticipated at this hour. I make my way to the pet food aisle, my heels clicking against the linoleum floor. As I reach for Leila’s favourite brand, a chill runs down my spine. I whirl around, certain I’ll find someone right behind me. But there’s no one there.

With my nerves on edge, I grab the cat food, eager to get out of here and back to the safety of my apartment. But as I turn towards the checkout, I freeze.

There, at the end of the aisle, stands a figure. A man, I think, though it’s hard to tell. He’s wearing a long black coat and a hat pulled low over his face. He’s just... standing there. Not shopping, not moving. Just watching.

My heart begins to race. I look around frantically, searching for another way out, but there’s none. I have to pass him to get to Harry at the counter.