𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊
In a world where love can be both a breathtaking beauty and a destructive force, the Raghuvanshi brothers find themselves entangled in a web of tangled emotions.
The eldest, a dynamic business tycoon, hides behind a cold facad...
Sitting in the backseat of the car, I held onto my iPad, reading about Ishita Bansal's accident. She was a famous actress. Even at a young age, she'd become well-known in the movie world.
Ishita's story was like a movie itself-starting with her dad's fame and then her journey into the spotlight. People loved her acting Despite being so young, she'd made a big name for herself.
But then, something terrible happened- No not her accident what she went through was more horrible than the accident itself but she stood for herself. Fighting for justice but then some people were monsters in disguise, their faces lined with a black veil, and they won't hesitate to do anything to protect their crimes.
As I read the news, I hoped to find some information or clues about what happened. However, the articles didn't give much Details about the car moving through the city, I kept scrolling on my iPad, trying to understand more about Ishita's accident.
I replayed the video of Ishita Bansal's accident, each frame etching a grim reality. Her car, which had once represented motion and life, was lying twisted and crushed. The driver, a casualty in this tragic scene, was declared lifeless on the spot. In the midst of the devastation, an unexpected hero emerged when a passing car quickly called for much-needed assistance.
I watched the video of Ishita Bansal's car crash. It was horrible. Her car was badly damaged, and the driver died on the spot. Someone driving by called for help.
Watching this made me feel sick. I didn't know how badly Ishita was hurt, but I hoped she would live.
The more I looked at the video, the more I thought this wasn't just an accident. It looked like someone planned to hurt Ishita. The car that hit her didn't have a license plate, and its driver didn't try to stop.
This happened just before an important day in court. I realized someone wanted to stop Ishita from being there.
What first looked like a normal crash now seemed like a planned attack. This made me very worried.
The car rolled to a stop at Lifecare Hospital, a place I despised, for it marked the genesis of my misfortune. Memories of encountering Avyaana Roy, now my wife, haunted this spot. Stepping out, I buttoned my suit; the chauffeur had barely opened the door when the swarm of media descended. Microphones thrust toward my face, bodyguards shielded me from their relentless queries.
A question emerged from the chaos "Was Miss Ishita Bansal drinking and driving?" The crowd eagerly awaited my response. Another crucial inquiry followed, "Mr. Shivaansh Raghuvanshi, do you believe this was a planned attack or an accident?"
