12 years later,
Location: Singhal Enterprises, London
The tension in the air was sharp enough to cut glass.
A young woman stood in the middle of a lavish, high-security office — her heels clicking restlessly against the marble floor.
Her voice snapped through the silence.
“He’s coming back! Do you even understand what that means?! He’ll ask me about her — and what the hell am I supposed to tell him, huh?!”
Her eyes burned with stress, and the way her fingers gripped the edge of the desk said she was barely holding it together.
Across from her stood a man, calm but clearly exhausted.
“We’re doing everything we can, ma’am,” he said evenly. “We haven’t been able to track her yet… but please don’t worry. We will find her.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. That look wasn’t panic. It was resentment.
She had heard this line before.
Far too many times.
“You’ve been saying the same damn thing for twelve years, Daksh.” Her voice dropped, lower, sharper. “Twelve. Years.”
Daksh’s jaw tightened.
Daksh — Ruhan’s most trusted man.
His assistant, his right-hand, and one of the few people who had seen the empire rise from the inside.
Smart. Loyal. Dangerous when needed.
And above all — someone who knew exactly how to handle storms... until now.
“Enough, Sara,” he snapped suddenly. “I’ve been listening to your whining for far too long now. Let me remind you — Ruhan assigned this task to you, not to me. So don’t come screaming in my face like I owe you anything.”
Sara opened her mouth to fire back.
But before she could say a word —
Her phone rang.
The screen flashed a number.
She answered.
A voice said something — short. Direct.
Her expression changed instantly.
The call ended.
She stared at Daksh.
“He’s here,” she whispered. “He just landed.”
Daksh’s breath caught for a second.
Sara pointed a sharp finger at him, smirking coldly.
“And you yelled at me? Just wait, Daksh. I’ll tell him everything. Let’s see how long you last in this building.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heels and stormed out.
Daksh muttered under his breath, “Typical drama queen.”
Still, he moved. Fast.
Moments later, two luxury cars rolled out of the basement garage —
One black. One silver.
Both heading straight to the private helipad.
---45 Minutes Later
Private Hangar – London International
The wind roared across the runway, stirring dust and tension alike.
The door of the black jet slowly opened.
A shadow appeared at the top of the stairs — tall, commanding, wrapped in black.
Then came the man.
Ruhan Singhal.
Twelve years older.
Ten times more dangerous.
A face the world feared… and women whispered about in secret.
His sharp jawline looked like it had been carved from ice, and his eyes — storm grey — held no warmth. Only power. Only control. Only unreadable silence.
He wore a three-piece charcoal suit. No tie. No smile. No hesitation.
He descended the steps slowly, each movement fluid, deliberate — as if even gravity bent to his will.
At the bottom, Sara and Daksh stood side by side.
Sara took a small, nervous step forward. “Ruhan—”
He walked past her.
Didn’t look at her. Didn’t stop.
Daksh followed without needing a signal.
Sara exhaled sharply, caught between fear and fury.
As Ruhan stepped into the black SUV waiting nearby, he finally spoke.
Just one sentence.
Voice calm. Quiet.
But heavy enough to freeze the air.
“Did you find her?”
No one answered.
His jaw clenched.“Twelve years… and I still don’t have her.”
The door shut. The car pulled away.
And behind him — the air still trembled with the echo of the name he hadn’t spoken aloud in years.
Thankyou 💜
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