Anand drew a long breath from his cigar, leaning his rolled-up sleeves against the balcony railing of the Singhania mansion. The white linen shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, framing the tense lines of his arms and veins. He hadn't slept since midnight. Instead, he simply watched the heavy fog rolling in at the earliest hour of the morning.
A sudden disturbance broke the quiet—the sound of hurried, unpermitted footsteps entering his room. Instinctively, Anand's hand dropped to the gun tucked into the back of his pants. He was ready to pull the trigger until he caught sight of his assistant's horrified face.
"Sir... Sir, Miss Prachi," the assistant gasped. "One of the stationed guards just reported it. She and two other people, along with a little girl, drove toward the highway at around three o'clock."
Anand's eyes narrowed. He moved instantly, his pace fast and lethal as he roared his orders. "Get our men to check every piece of footage. Send half of them to the alternative highway route, and let Aditya know we are moving toward the Mumbai airport."
His face scrunched in anger, brows drawing tightly together as he and his assistant strode down to the waiting Lamborghini. A convoy of other cars followed closely behind, engines roaring to life.
When they hit the highway, the convoy split. Half of the cars veered off at the deviation, while Anand pressed on toward the airport.
Meanwhile, inside the Vardhan mansion, Adityaraj sat amid the dead bodies. He was perched on the very first step of the staircase, his hair devilishly messed, a drop of sweat tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His black shirt was stained dark with blood. One of his boots rested heavily on the chest of Manish Vardhan, who lay dead alongside every single man who worked for him.
"Sir, there's no one upstairs," a guard called out.
Aditya's deadly gaze snapped toward the speaker. Rising from the stair, he strode over to one of the few men who lay half-dead on the floor. Grabbing the man by his hair, Aditya yanked his head back.
"WHERE IS Arundhita Vardhan?" Aditya demanded.
Covered in blood, the man could barely speak. His voice was a rasp that hardly reached the other guards standing at a distance. "Men... saw her move to the highway."
That was all Aditya needed to hear. He released his grip, letting the man's head drop back to the floor with a dull thud.
Moments later, a fleet of cars sped away from the Vardhan mansion, racing toward the highway.
On the road, Arundhita pushed her car toward the airport. Prachi sat in the passenger seat, holding little Anchija tightly on her lap. The little girl seemed to hold her breath before releasing it in shallow exhales.
No one spoke. In the backseat, Devesh kept his hood pulled low. He gently stroked the hair of Saraswati, who lay with her head resting against his chest. She had fallen asleep out of pure fatigue, having stayed awake all day and night making arrangements for her friend. Devesh watched her anxiously, worried that the immense stress would make her condition worse than it already was.
Behind them, two separate convoys tore through the night, trying desperately to keep pace with Anand and Aditya. The two men drove with an insane, reckless speed, swallowing the distance between them and their targets.
Soon enough, Arundhita's car pulled up to the airport. Time was scarce, and everyone hurried. Arundhita helped an injured girl out of the vehicle, making sure she was tucked securely into a fully covered, oversized hooded jacket.
As the car stopped, Saraswati's eyes fluttered open. Feeling the motion cease, she looked up to find Devesh already watching her, his hand still gently brushing her hair.
"We reached the airport," he said softly.
A small blush crept up Saraswati's neck and colored her cheeks. She looked around, composing herself, and stepped out of the car while Devesh exited through the opposite door.
Prachi moved toward Saraswati, cradling Anchija in her arms while another person dragged the suitcase. She looked at her best friend. Words seemed stuck in her throat, but a deeper understanding passed between their eyes, conveying everything left unspoken.
"Go, Prachi. Don't wait here," Saraswati said, smoothing her hand down Prachi's arm before leaning down to press a kiss onto the child's forehead.
Leaving the car with one of the guards, Prachi hurried inside the terminal. Arundhita walked ahead of her, accompanying an older lady and a young woman. Prachi didn't even have the chance to thank her; everyone was in too much of a rush.
Saraswati and Devesh escorted Prachi as far as the entrance gates before stopping. Just when they thought everything had reached a safe conclusion, Saraswati suddenly lost her balance. Struggling to keep herself upright, she gripped Devesh's hand tightly for support and whispered that she needed to visit the restroom.
Not long after the women entered the airport to check in, a pair of luxury cars screamed to a halt at the entrance. A formidable group of men stepped out.
Bystanders and airport guards choked back their words, quickly clearing a path for the arrival. Adityaraj and Anand Singhania—men who owned their own private jets—had entered the terminal. Guards instantly surrounded them, armed with guns and rifles.
The crowd near the entrance whispered furiously at the duo's arrival, and the check-in lines slowed to a crawl as people repeatedly turned around to find the source of the hushed, anxious voices.
Standing frantically in the passport control line, Prachi found herself positioned right behind the daughter of the great businessman—a woman who was supposed to be a bride today, though pressing survival had driven all thoughts of the wedding away. Prachi looked down at the little girl in her arms. Anchija was now wide awake, her doe-like eyes darting around to take in the chaotic surroundings.
Arundhita, wearing a mask, subtly supported Ruchi, trying her best not to draw attention to them. She was briefly shocked to see Prachi there with her daughter, but she quickly forced her focus back to the immediate danger. Radha stood at the front of the line, holding her passport. It felt like nothing more than a useless piece of paper in her hand; she had never even seen one before.
The rising murmur of the crowd only heightened the women's anxiety. They silently prayed the receptionists would hurry up instead of just talking among themselves. But just as Radha reached the counter, a manager rushed over and whispered something into the clerk's ear.
The clerk spoke into the microphone. "All current flights, apart from reserved private flights, are delayed for one hour."
Arundhita's stomach sank. Before she could process it, the second announcement followed. "Passengers holding reserved tickets, please proceed to Section E."
Arundhita's legs went weak. Stunned but desperate, Prachi immediately began to move, trying to navigate through the swelling crowd of hurried passengers to find the section.
Faced with the sudden lockdown, Arundhita felt completely cornered. But an idea suddenly flashed in her mind. She turned and whispered to Radha and Ruchi, "No, it can't end this way... Let's move to the restroom. Now." She nodded fiercely to herself, trying to force herself to believe that things would turn out right.
Meanwhile, Adityaraj moved with lethal speed through the terminal, his men spreading out into every section.
"I'll go check the reserved section," Anand said, breaking into a fast, walking sprint with a faction of armed guards trailing right behind him.
Aditya, however, knew Arundhita better. She wouldn't have been able to make any advanced reservations; Manish would have never allowed it. He ordered his guards to blanket the entire airport, leaving a tight security detail at the entrance.
As Aditya strode through Section B, a familiar sense suddenly washed over him. He lunged forward, his hand clamping firmly onto the wrist of a woman clad in a black burkha who was attempting to walk past him alongside two other masked women.
The woman turned, her lush brown eyes widening in shock. For a few agonizing seconds, Aditya's deadly gaze bored into hers. His hand deliberately reached up toward her mask, intent on tearing it away.
But before his fingers could touch the fabric, the elderly female voice accompanying the woman spoke out sharply. *"La hawla wa la quwwata."*
The tense scene immediately drew a crowd. A man stepped out from the onlookers, his face stern and protective as he confronted Aditya to defend the helpless woman in the burkha.
"Ya Allah," the man snapped right at Aditya. "Leave the woman's hand, you shameless man!"