[⚠️ Content Warning-: This chapter contains violent scenes that may not be suitable for all readers.]
In a spacious office draped in tension and adorned with sleek, expensive furniture, Mr. Mekham sat at his desk, his body leaning forward with restless anticipation. He was the owner of the town-side land—coveted, valuable, and now at the center of a dangerous game.
Beside him stood his assistant, visibly on edge. His brows furrowed in worry as he spoke, voice barely steady.
"Sir… you've already fixed the meeting with Mr. Singh. Is it really okay to offer the land to Mr. Rawat now? Isn't it risky… messing with them both?"
Mr. Mekham leaned back, a gleam of fervent greed in his eyes. "Offering the land is a no-brainer. I finally have the chance to get everything I want."
A wolfish smile curled at the corners of his lips.
The assistant hesitated, dread creeping up his spine. He opened his mouth, "But sir—"
Before the words could land, the door creaked open.
A group of men in sharp black suits entered wordlessly, their presence alone enough to drain the warmth from the room. They stood silently by the walls, radiating an air of controlled power.
Mr. Mekham's eyes widened. Shock flickered across his face.
The assistant blinked in confusion, then stepped forward, voice sharp, "Who are you? How did you get in here without permission?"
Heavy footsteps echoed behind them. Louder. Closer.
And then, Aarav and Abhi entered.
Their presence silenced the room like a lightning strike. Their expressions were carved in stone—anger, purpose, and something deeper stirring beneath.
Mr. Mekham's jaw tightened. His gaze landed on the two young men with disdain.
"I expected Mr. Rawat… not his kids," he said coldly.
Aarav and Abhi advanced like twin lions stalking prey. Silent. Focused.
They took the chairs opposite Mekham, eyes locked on him like arrows pulled taut.
Aarav leaned forward, voice smooth yet sharp as a blade. "We're old enough to handle this. So, Mr. Mekham—cut to the chase. What's the deal?"
Mr. Mekham's face twisted into a sneer. A sly grin spread slowly across his face.
"You should call me Sir... and the deal's simple. I want a slice of your buisness shares. That's not too much for your father, is it?"
Abhi's jaw clenched. Fury flickered in his gaze, sharp and unrelenting.
Aarav's fists curled. His calm cracked just slightly as he growled, "Watch your words, Mr. Mekham."
But Mr. Mekham wasn't done. His grin widened with venom. "If you're not interested, fine. Mr. Singh has always been a generous man. I'm sure he'd happily offer me shares… or more. After all, losing to him isn't new for your family, is it?"
Aarav and Abhi exchanged a glance.
Silent understanding passed between them.
Then, in a blur of motion, Abhi rose. His expression softened into a disarming smile—but the fire in his eyes promised anything but peace.
He stepped forward, deliberate and slow.
Mr. Mekham's grin faltered.
Without warning, Abhi's hand shot out—grabbing Mekham's hair in a steel grip—and slammed his head against his knee.
The sound echoed like thunder.
Mr. Mekham crumpled over, groaning, blood swelling at his brow.
The assistant staggered back in horror, fumbling for his phone.
"S-Security!" he stammered.
Moments later, four armed guards burst into the room.
But before they could lift a finger, the black-suited men who had entered earlier stepped forward, weapons already drawn—silent, efficient, lethal.
The guards froze.
Abhi walked toward them, each step oozing menace. A venomous smirk painted his lips. Confidence rolled off him in waves, chilling the room to its core.
"Stop him!" the assistant pleaded to Aarav, voice cracking. "He'll get into trouble!"
But Aarav remained seated, unbothered. "He's a wild lion," he said coolly. "One that can't be tamed."
The security guards stood frozen, fingers trembling on triggers, eyes wide with fear.
Abhi stopped just inches from them. Without breaking eye contact, he extended a hand.
One of his men stepped forward, silently offering a gun.
Abhi took it without a word. And with terrifying calm, he turned—aiming the weapon at Mr. Mekham's forehead.
Mr. Mekham froze. His eyes slammed shut. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
And then—
BANG!
The sound tore through the air with silence followed.
Mr. Mekham opened his eyes.
He was alive. But the bullet had grazed past his ear—close enough to feel the heat, to smell the metal. The color drained from his face.
Abhi stood before him, unfazed. "Oops," he said with a sinister grin. "My bad. I won't disappoint you next time... SIR!"
Mr. Mekham collapsed, trembling. His pride was gone. Voice barely holding, he gasped, "L-Lower your weapons… please…"
Abhi handed the weapon back to his subordinate with a slight, contented nod.
Aarav's eyes shifted back to Mr. Mekham, his expression serene, almost indifferent. He placed the land contract paper on the table before him. "Sign it."
No one dared breathe. The message was loud and clear — this wasn't a negotiation.
Mr. Mekham's eyes darted between the paper and Aarav's unblinking gaze. He signed the contract placed before him without protest, hand shaking uncontrollably.
Aarav stood, collected the papers, and turned with a satisfaction.
No words. Just silence.
They walked out as swiftly as they had entered.
But before they reached the door, Abhi turned back. His voice was soft—deadly soft.
"Oh... and tell Mr. Singh—" his eyes locked with Mekham's, "—we're not as kind as our father."
A warning so dark it felt like a curse.
The room seemed to grow colder, the oppressive weight of Abhi's words sinking deep into the hearts of those who remained.
[ After sometime ]
The heavy, dark wooden door creaked open into a dimly lit room, casting elongated shadows across the marble floor. In stepped Mr. Anurag Singh—a man in his middle years, impeccably dressed in a sleek formal suit, radiating quiet authority.
He was the businessman—ruthless, calculating, and terrifyingly efficient. He valued control over chaos. In his world, mercy was weakness, and fear was a tool.
The room itself seemed to shrink as he moved, the air thickening with every purposeful step.
Another man followed close behind—slightly younger, quiet, reserved. His movements were precise, the loyal shadow of the predator in front.
Mr. Singh sank into the central sofa with elegant finality, the plush cushions absorbing his weight without a sound. Across from him, perched awkwardly on the edge of a second sofa, sat Mr. Mekham—a stark contrast in every way.
Beads of sweat dotted Mekham's forehead. His back hunched instinctively, spine folding under the suffocating pressure of Mr. Singh's gaze.
And then—he broke.
With a shudder, he collapsed to his knees.
"T-Thank you for coming, Mr. Singh," He stammered, crawling forward. His trembling hands reached out, fingers brushing the polished shoes of the man he once dared to defy.
"I swear, I was going to sign with you. Only you. But those boys… they came in like wolves—I was scared. I promise, I won't let you down again. Please..."
Mr. Singh remained still, unmoved.
His eyes, cold as steel, studied the man at his feet without blinking. For a moment, it wasn't clear if he even heard the desperate pleading.
Then, with a voice colder than the barrel of a gun, he spoke.
"Absolutely," he said, calm and deadly. "You won't."
With a flick of his fingers, he extended his hand.
The man behind him—Mr. Raj—knew exactly what it meant. Silently, he stepped forward and placed a pistol in Mr. Singh's open palm.
There was no hesitation.
Mr. Singh raised the weapon, deliberate and measured. The metal glinted under the faint overhead light.
He pressed the barrel to Mekham's forehead.
The room froze. Even the shadows held their breath.
Mekham's lips quivered, eyes screwed shut. The cold muzzle of the gun sent an electric chill down his spine.
BANG.
The deafening shot rang out like judgment itself.
Mekham's body collapsed instantly.
A thick, vivid pool of blood spread across the pristine floor, inching toward Mr. Singh's shoes like a silent red tide. The air turned heavy with the metallic scent of death.
The once-frantic heartbeat of the room ceased. Everything went still.
Mr. Singh didn't look away from the corpse.
And then, slicing through the silence— "Raj..."
His voice, quiet but firm, commanded the air. "Call Arun. Tell him to handle the deal. And cover it up."
Mr. Raj, standing just behind him, bowed his head slightly. "Yes, Master."
There was no shock in his eyes—only cold understanding. As he reached for his phone, the machine of business churned onward.