The Royal Enfield sliced through the morning traffic like a silver arrow, Ishaan and Ari weaving toward her office with the wind at their backs. Ari's arms wrapped securely around his waist, her voice carrying over the engine's purr. "You're quiet today—everything okay after last night?"
"Just thinking ahead," Ishaan replied, glancing back with a reassuring smile. "Mom and Niti will be alright. Drop you here?"
She nodded as they pulled up to the gate. "Pick me up later?" Ari asked, dismounting.
"Always," he said, watching her go before revving off toward Ravi's flat, the bike's power a steady hum under him.
His phone buzzed in his pocket mid-ride—unknown number. He pulled over at a signal, answering. "Hello?"
"Ishaan? It's Simi—Mr. Singh's daughter." Her voice was bright but edged with urgency. "I've been watching this video trending everywhere—the one where a man takes down a dozen goons in seconds? Over 100 million views now. I saw it so many times… it felt like you. The build, the moves. Is it you?"
Ishaan paused, the cafe of onlookers from that day flashing in his mind. "Yeah," he confirmed simply. "It's me."
Simi exhaled, a mix of awe and relief. "I knew it! Your fighting—graceful, precise, like nothing I've seen. And after what you did for Dad… you're incredible. Good deeds, real power. Dad's doing great now—managing the business properly, thanks to you."
"Glad to hear it," Ishaan said, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the signal turned green.
"But… there's trouble," Simi continued, her tone shifting. "Deep and his father—after I rejected the marriage—they're hitting back. Emotional blackmail on Dad, pestering me nonstop. Calls, visits, threats veiled as 'concern.' Watching that video, I just imagined if it was you… I'd ask for your help. And now that I know it is, will you? Please?"
Ishaan's grip tightened on the handlebars, his mind already turning. "I'll help. What kind?"
Simi hesitated, then rushed on. "If you're willing, come with me to meet Deep. Intimidate him into backing off for good. He needs to see I'm not alone."
"Done," Ishaan replied without pause. "When?"
"As soon as possible? I'll text details."
"See you then." He hung up, pocketing the phone, and throttled toward Ravi's, the web of alliances tightening around him. At Ravi's, the door flew open before he knocked. "Ninja! Perfect timing—views are nuts. Let's shoot a few more." Ravi grinned, camera ready.
"Lead the way," Ishaan said, slipping on the mask. They dove in—flips, strikes, fluid combos under the green glow. "That's gold!" Ravi cheered after the last take. "Lunch on me—biryani from downstairs?"
"Sounds good." They ate cross-legged amid cables, rice steaming, Ravi scrolling metrics. "3.8 lakh subs now—insane."
Ishaan's phone buzzed mid-bite—Simi. He answered. "Ishaan? Can we meet Deep right now? I called him to a restaurant for 'lunch talk.' He doesn't know you're coming."
Ishaan glanced at Ravi. "My work's done here. Where?"
"Leela's in Bandra—table by the window. Hurry?"
"On my way." He hung up, grabbing his helmet. "Gotta go—emergency."
"Handle it, boss!" Ravi called. "Shoot tomorrow?"
"Count on it."
The Royal Enfield ate up the miles, arriving at the upscale restaurant's valet. Ishaan waited outside, leaning against a pillar, until Simi's car pulled up. She stepped out, elegant in a simple kurta, her fierce eyes softening at him. "Thanks for coming so fast. He's inside—thinks it's just us 'talking reconciliation.'"
"Let's end that delusion," Ishaan said, falling in step behind her as they entered. The place hummed with clinking glasses and soft chatter, Deep visible at a window table, scrolling his phone with a smug grin.
Simi slid into the seat opposite, Ishaan standing sentinel behind her. Deep looked up, surprise flickering to irritation. "Simi… and a bodyguard? What's this?"
"We need to talk," Simi said coolly. "For the last time. I don't like you, Deep. Never have. You and your father only want the money—our business, Dad's empire. Admit it."
Deep leaned back, smirking. "Come on, Simi. I've done everything for you—for your dad. The mystic, the loans, the 'help.' You owe me a reward. Marriage is fair."
"Fair?" Simi scoffed. "You exploited Dad's beliefs, piled on debts to steal control. It's over. Stay away."
Deep's eyes slid to Ishaan, dismissive. "Or what? This two-bit fake mystic handles me? Please."
Simi straightened. "If you try this again—pestering, blackmail—Ishaan will handle you."
Deep burst out laughing, loud enough to turn heads. "This nobody? I'll show you my level right now—different league, darling." He sneered at Ishaan. "You're a joke, houseboy. Slap me if you dare, you worthless orphan scum."
Ishaan stepped forward, voice like steel. "Show me your level, then."
Deep's face reddened, venom spilling. "You think you're tough? I'll bury you—call my dad's friend. He owns the underworld. Basu Bhai—controls all of Mumbai. One word, and you're done."
Ishaan's lips twitched in secret amusement. "Call him. Connect it—ask for help."
Deep fumbled his phone, hitting speaker as it rang. "Basu Bhai!" he crowed when it picked up. "Uncle, I need your help! This guy's interrupting my marriage—because of him, Simi broke it off. He's in the way—please, handle him. You know my father, your friend—help me!"
Basu's gravelly voice crackled through. "Okay, beta. I'll help. Sending someone now."
Deep's grin turned triumphant, leaning back. "Hear that? Basu Bhai's on it. You're done, mystic—beaten to a pulp, crawling back to your broom. Beg for mercy while you can. Basu Bhai doesn't miss—your life's over!"
Ishaan stood silent, arms crossed, letting the brag echo, the restaurant's murmurs growing as eyes turned their way.