There are moments in life when karma stops being philosophical and becomes a live public event.
This was one of them.
Armaan Kapoor stood in the centre of the ruined Crimson Church cathedral, surrounded by broken hunters, burning holy furniture, four terrifying women who would happily ruin bloodlines for me, and a saint who had already decided righteousness required better standards.
And somehow—
He still thought confidence was a good idea.
Interesting.
Very stupid.
Very interesting.
I stood in front of him, Father's silver-black blade resting casually at my side.
Not threatening.
Which made it worse.
He looked at me carefully now.
Really looked.
Not the quiet boy from college.
Not the frail bookworm he used to mock because intelligence offended his inherited personality.
No.
Now he was looking at the thing he should have feared from the beginning.
Good.
Growth mattered.
I asked again—
"So tell me…"
My voice was calm.
"…Did you come to apologise?"
Silence.
Beautiful silence.
The entire cathedral was listening.
Even the old priest had temporarily paused his religion.
Excellent.
Armaan adjusted his expensive jacket.
A man trying to fix dignity with tailoring.
Bold strategy.
He smiled.
Badly.
"You've changed."
I nodded once.
"Puberty was dramatic."
Valeria made a suspicious choking sound behind me.
Professional support system.
Perfect.
Armaan's jaw tightened.
He stepped closer.
Still trying to perform power.
"I came because I wanted to see if the rumours were true."
His eyes moved around the cathedral.
"The bullied little scholar…"
A pause.
"…became a monster."
There it was.
The old story.
Easy labels for difficult truths.
I smiled faintly.
"You say that like your school years weren't unpaid villain training."
Seraphina approved silently.
Selene definitely approved internally.
Lilith looked like she was deciding whether his bloodline deserved inheritance.
Reasonable.
Armaan laughed once.
Forced.
"You think power changes history?"
I looked at him.
"No."
A pause.
"It reveals it."
His expression shifted.
Good.
Because this was never about revenge.
It was about memory.
And blood never lied.
I stepped closer.
Enough for him to feel the difference.
The presence.
The pressure.
The thing predators recognised too late.
"You bullied a boy who wouldn't fight back."
My voice lowered.
"Because he was easier than confronting the fact that you were ordinary without your father's money."
That one landed.
Hard.
The cathedral practically leaned in.
I continued.
"You mocked weakness because you were terrified of being seen without armour."
Another step.
"And the worst part?"
I smiled.
Cold.
"You were never even interesting enough to hate."
Silence.
Absolute.
Valeria whispered—
"Oh, I think I love him more."
Fair.
Very fair.
Armaan's face hardened.
Finally.
Honesty.
Good.
"You think standing here makes you better than me?"
Ah.
There it was.
The real fear.
Not power.
Comparison.
I answered immediately.
"No."
That surprised him.
Good.
I continued.
"I think choices do."
A pause.
"You had privilege and chose cruelty."
"I had pain and chose restraint."
Another pause.
"Only one of us should be embarrassed."
That one.
That one hurt.
Excellent.
He took a sharp breath.
His guards shifted nervously.
Because even they knew.
This was not a fight.
This was execution by truth.
Then Armaan smiled again.
And I knew immediately—
Bad decision.
He said—
"Funny."
His voice sharpened.
"Because your father's company just lost three major investors this morning."
Silence.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
He watched my face carefully.
Waiting.
Expecting anger.
Fear.
Reaction.
Cute.
Very cute.
He continued.
"My family thought if Heaven failed…"
He spread his hands.
"…business might succeed."
There it was.
Politics.
Money.
Cowardice-wearing strategy.
Perfect.
Behind me—
The air changed.
Seraphina's killing intent.
Selene's cold fury.
Lilith's aristocratic violence.
Valeria's excitement was because, apparently, financial warfare counted as flirting.
I lifted one hand.
Stop.
They did.
Immediately.
Good.
Trust mattered.
I looked at Armaan.
And for the first time—
I felt almost disappointed.
Not because of the attack.
Because of how small it was.
He thought money was leverage.
He thought family was a negotiation.
He still didn't understand.
I smiled.
Softly.
Dangerously.
"You threatened my father's company…"
I took one step forward.
"…while I am standing inside a cathedral that just declared war on Heaven."
A pause.
"Do you hear how adorable that sounds?"
Even Elena looked like she approved.
Rare.
Expensive.
Armaan's confidence cracked.
Tiny.
But real.
I leant closer.
And whispered—
"You still think this story is about you."
His breathing changed.
Fear.
Finally.
Honest.
I continued—
"It isn't."
My eyes met his.
"It's about whether men like you learn before history replaces you."
Silence.
Heavy.
Perfect.
Then—
Father's voice came from the cathedral entrance.
Calm.
Legendary.
Absolutely terrible timing for my enemies.
"Actually…"
Everyone turned.
Rajveer Malhotra entered carrying tea.
Of course.
Because why not?
Beside him—
Mother.
Which was worse?
Far worse.
And behind them—
my three sisters.
Looking far too entertained.
Perfect.
Absolute perfection.
Father walked into a battlefield like he was mildly disappointed by parking.
He looked at Armaan.
Then at me.
Then at the ruined cathedral.
And said—
"I leave you alone for one morning."
Legend.
Absolute legend.
Mother looked at the burning altar.
At the broken hunters.
At vampire queens.
At a Saint.
And somehow focused on the correct issue.
"Aarav."
Her voice was sharp.
"Did you skip breakfast?"
Silence.
Pure.
Holy.
Even the old priest looked afraid.
As he should.
I answered carefully—
"Possibly."
Mother closed her eyes.
Disappointment.
The strongest force in the universe.
"I raised a king just for him to fight Heaven on an empty stomach."
Valeria whispered—
"I fear her."
Lilith nodded once.
"Correctly."
Even saints respected Indian mothers.
Elena actually looked impressed.
Good.
She should be.
Mother turned to Armaan.
And smiled.
Which was much worse than anger.
"Are you the boy who used to trouble my son?"
Armaan, who had faced holy politics and survived, looked ready to confess crimes he hadn't committed.
Excellent.
He said weakly—
"It was… misunderstood."
Mother nodded.
"No."
Simple.
Clean.
Deadly.
"I understand perfectly."
She stepped closer.
Tiny woman.
Infinite authority.
"If you ever mistake kindness for weakness again…"
A pause.
Soft.
Terrifying.
"…I will help Heaven finish the job."
Silence.
Absolute.
Armaan looked like religion had become personal.
Reasonable.
Very reasonable.
Father sipped tea.
"Your mother is being polite."
Amazing family.
Perfect.
I looked at Armaan.
At the boy who once believed power meant making others smaller.
And now stood in front of a king, a saint, four queens, and an Indian mother.
Honestly?
No villain deserved this much character development.
I smiled.
Slowly.
Honestly.
And said—
"Now."
A pause.
"Would you like to apologise properly?"
The Church watched.
Heaven listened.
And somewhere in the ruins—
The bullied boy finally understood
that revenge was never the point.
Becoming untouchable was.
And I had.
Completely.
Beautifully.
Irreversibly.
Author's Thoughts
Thank you for reading Chapter 42.
Some enemies are hunters.
Some are priests.
And some are just rich boys who peaked in school.
Armaan finally met the consequences of underestimating Aarav.
But honestly—
The real final boss was always Mom.
Next Chapter: Even Kings Fear Their Mother
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See you in Chapter 43.