অদৃশ্য ঘাতক

​Chapter 1: The Cold Truth

​The clock struck 2:00 AM. Outside, the city of Dhaka was draped in a thick, silent fog, but inside the luxury apartment of Aslam Chowdhury, a different kind of silence reigned. It was the silence of death.

​Aslam Chowdhury, one of the city's most influential businessmen, sat in his high-backed leather chair, his head tilted back. To a casual observer, he might have looked like he was sleeping, but his wide-open, glassy eyes told a different story.

​Detective Aryan stood by the door, his eyes scanning every inch of the room. "No signs of struggle," he muttered to himself. The expensive Persian rug was undisturbed, and the gold-plated watch on the desk was still ticking.

​However, something was very wrong.

​Aryan approached the desk and noticed an expensive leather-bound diary lying open. His eyes narrowed. At least ten pages had been neatly torn from the center. He then looked at the victim's right hand. Aslam's fingers were clamped shut, holding something tight.

​Gently, Aryan pried the fingers open. A small, jagged piece of clear glass fell onto the desk.

​"This wasn't just a heart attack," Aryan whispered, his heart racing. "This was a masterpiece of murder."