The board room was a cathedral of glass and steel.
Twenty-third floor.
Floor-to-ceiling windows showing the city below—small, distant, irrelevant.
Inside—twelve people who controlled billions.
And two who controlled nothing.
Bharat sat beside Mira at the long mahogany table, aware of every eye on them. The board members—old men mostly, a few women with faces like carved marble—watched with the polite interest of people observing an execution.
Rajan sat at the head.
Smiling.
"Thank you all for attending on such short notice," he began. Voice smooth. Reasonable. "I know this is unusual, but recent events require immediate action."
He pressed a button. The wall screen lit up.
The video played.
Bharat and Mira running from the temple.
Hands locked.
Blood everywhere.
The angle made it look worse than it was.
Which was the point.
"As you can see," Rajan continued, "my niece has violated the terms of her inheritance. The family bylaws are clear: any scandal that damages our reputation gives the board the right to revoke voting shares."
A woman spoke up.
Mrs. Chen.
CFO.
"The bylaws also state that marriage protects those shares. Mira is legally wed."
"To a man she met three weeks ago," Rajan shot back. "A marriage of obvious convenience. And now—" he gestured to the screen "—she's caught sneaking around with him like a common criminal."
"We were at a religious ceremony," Mira said quietly.
"At midnight? In secret? Covered in blood?"
"It was a purification ritual. I was summoned—"
"By whom?"
Silence.
Mira's hands clenched under the table.
She couldn't say "the temple priests who wanted to harvest my organs."
Couldn't say "your allies who've been planning this for years."
Because she had no proof.
Just blood and terror and bells Bharat couldn't stop hearing.
GONG. GONG. GONG.
"I move," Rajan said, "to suspend Mira's voting rights pending a full investigation into her conduct and the legitimacy of her marriage."
"Second," said Mr. Patel.
One of Rajan's cronies.
"All in favor?"
Five hands went up.
Immediate.
Rehearsed.
Mrs. Chen hesitated.
Then slowly raised her hand.
"Mrs. Chen—" Mira started.
"I'm sorry," Chen said. "But the optics are... difficult."
Six votes.
"Any opposed?"
Four hands stayed down.
Not enough.
"Motion carries," Rajan said. "Effective immediately, Mira Kapur's shares are frozen and her board seat—"
"Wait."
Bharat's voice.
Not loud.
But it cut through the room like a blade.
Everyone turned.
Rajan's smile didn't waver.
"Mr. Singh. How kind of you to finally speak. Though I'm not sure what a... civil servant could possibly contribute to—"
"Clause 89," Bharat said.
Silence.
"I'm sorry?"
"Clause 89 of the family bylaws. Family betrayal nullification. If a board member is proven to have manipulated evidence or fabricated scandal for personal gain, all their motions become void."
Rajan's smile tightened.
"An interesting academic point. But irrelevant unless you have proof of such manipulation."
"I do."
Bharat pulled out his phone.
Opened a video.
Pressed play.
The screen showed:
Rajan.
In his office.
Three days ago.
Talking to someone off-camera.
"—need the scandal to be public. Messy. Make sure the photographers are in position when they leave the temple. I want every news outlet running the story by morning—"
The room went silent.
"Where did you get that?" Rajan's voice was ice.
"Your security system," Bharat said calmly. "You really should change your passwords more often."
Lie.
Complete lie.
He'd gotten it from Ayesha, who'd gotten it from a hacker, who'd gotten it from... somewhere Bharat didn't ask about.
But it was real.
And damning.
"That's illegal surveillance," Rajan snapped.
"So is fabricating scandal to steal family shares," Bharat countered.
"This proves nothing. I was simply—"
"There's more."
Bharat played another clip.
Rajan again.
This time talking to the temple priests.
"—keep her there until midnight. Make sure there's blood. The more dramatic, the better. I'll have my people ready with cameras—"
Mrs. Chen's face went pale.
"Rajan, you didn't—"
"This is fabricated," Rajan said. "Deepfake. AI manipulation. My lawyers will—"
"Will what?" Bharat stood.
And the Contract Vision activated.
Not by choice.
By instinct.
Survival.
The room fractured into layers:
Layer 1: Physical reality
Twelve board members. Rajan at the head. Mira beside him.
Layer 2: Contract overlay
Binding threads connecting everyone. Loyalties. Debts. Obligations. Most of them led to Rajan—thick, strong, decades old.
But one thread was different.
Mrs. Chen.
Her binding to Rajan was frayed.
Weak.
Ready to break.
Bharat focused on it.
And the System responded:
╔═══════════════════════════════════╗
║ TARGET: MRS. CHEN ║
║ BINDING STRENGTH: 34/100 ║
║ LOYALTY: WAVERING ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════╣
║ PRESSURE POINT DETECTED: ║
║ - Debt to Mira's father (unpaid) ║
║ - Guilt over past compliance ║
║ - Fear of Rajan's retaliation ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════╣
║ RECOMMENDED ACTION: LEVERAGE ║
║ COST: 2 AUTHORITY (REMAINING) ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════╝
Two points.
All he had left.
Bharat met Mrs. Chen's eyes.
"Your husband worked with Mira's father," he said quietly. "Before he died. They were partners. Friends."
Mrs. Chen's face went rigid.
"Mr. Singh, I don't see how—"
"Mira's father saved your company. Twenty years ago. When you were bankrupt. He gave you a loan. No interest. No collateral. Just trust."
"That's—"
"Public record. I checked."
Lie again.
But Mrs. Chen's expression said it was true.
"You never paid it back," Bharat continued. "Because he died before you could. And now his daughter is sitting here, asking for help."
He leaned forward.
"Are you going to let the man who killed him steal everything she has left?"
Silence.
Absolute.
"I never said Rajan killed—" Mrs. Chen started.
"You didn't have to."
Bharat's vision pulsed.
The Contract Vision showing him the truth:
Rajan's binding to Mira's father.
Severed.
Violently.
The metaphysical equivalent of a cut throat.
"The contract records don't lie," Bharat said. "And I can see them."
Mrs. Chen stared at him.
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?"
He turned to Rajan.
"Should I tell them about the temple contract? The one where you sell family members for life extension? The one that killed Mira's father when he tried to break it?"
Rajan's face went white.
Then red.
"You have no proof—"
"I have the Guardian Authority," Bharat interrupted. "I can see every contract in this room. Every deal. Every betrayal. Every secret you thought was buried."
The bells in his skull screamed.
GONG. GONG. GONG.
Like his brain was tearing itself apart.
But he kept talking.
"Mrs. Chen, your vote. Now."
She looked at Rajan.
Then at Mira.
Then at Bharat.
"I... I change my vote," she whispered. "I oppose the motion."
"You can't—" Rajan started.
"I can. And I do."
"Then I call for your removal—"
"Under what grounds?" Bharat asked. "Clause 89 is now in effect. Your motion is void. Your vote is suspended pending investigation."
"This is insane—"
"This is law."
Bharat turned to the others.
"Anyone else want to contest?"
Silence.
Fear.
Because he could see their contracts too.
Their secrets.
Their sins.
And they knew it.
"Motion fails," Mrs. Chen said quietly. "Mira's shares remain intact."
Rajan stood.
Slowly.
"This isn't over."
"No," Bharat agreed. "It's not."
"You've made an enemy today, Mr. Singh."
"I've made several."
Bharat's vision swam.
The bells were so loud now he could barely think.
GONG. GONG. GONG.
"But that's fine," he managed. "Because I've also made a promise."
"What promise?"
"To destroy anyone who tries to hurt my wife."
The word hung in the air.
Wife.
Not contract partner.
Not business arrangement.
Wife.
Mira looked at him.
Eyes wide.
Bharat tried to smile.
Wasn't sure if his face obeyed.
Then he collapsed.
He woke up in a car.
Again.
Mira's lap.
Her hand in his hair.
"You're an idiot," she said.
"I know."
"You can't even stand."
"I know."
"The bells are killing you."
"I know."
She looked down at him.
Tears on her face.
"How long?"
"Until what?"
"Until you die."
Bharat tried to think.
Tried to calculate.
But the bells were too loud.
And beneath them—
Arjun's voice:
"Two days left. Then you're mine."
"Two days," Bharat whispered.
"Two days until what?"
"Until I have to choose."
"Choose what?"
He looked up at her.
At her tear-stained face.
At the way she was holding him like he might disappear.
"Who I save," he said quietly.
"I don't understand."
"I know."
"Bharat—"
"I need to go back," he interrupted. "To the temple. To the sanctum. To where they keep the source."
"Why?"
"To break the contract. Free the vessels. Stop the harvesting."
"That's suicide."
"Probably."
"Then don't—"
"I have to."
"Why?"
Good question.
Why?
Because of the contract? The antidote? His mother?
Or—
He reached up.
Touched her face.
"Because you asked me not to die," he said. "And I'm trying to keep that promise."
Mira's breath hitched.
"That's the stupidest reason I've ever heard."
"Probably."
"You're going to get yourself killed."
"Maybe."
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
She kissed him.
Sudden.
Desperate.
Like she was trying to prove something.
Or disprove it.
When she pulled back, her eyes were fierce.
"Two days," she said. "You have two days to figure out how to survive this. Because if you die—"
"What?"
"I'll kill you myself."
Bharat smiled.
"Deal."
The bells screamed.
GONG. GONG. GONG.
And somewhere in them—
Arjun laughed.