𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐒

𝟗

Content warning: This story contains graphic depictions of violence and murder.

A day ago....

The convoy of sleek, black vehicles snaked through the winding streets, their polished surfaces reflecting the fading light of dusk. At the heart of this procession was an armored limousine, flanked by vigilant commandos in unmarked vehicles. Inside the central car, an air of tranquility belied the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Mr. Rajveer Malhotra , a man of power and influence, sat with regal poise beside his wife, Mrs. Meera Malhotra . They were returning from the temple, the scent of incense still clinging to their clothing, a stark contrast to the leather and polished wood interior of their vehicle. Rajveer's eyes, sharp and alert despite his relaxed demeanor, occasionally flicked to the tinted windows, ever watchful.

"Meera," Rajveer's voice was low and warm as he turned to his wife, a rare smile softening his usually stern features. "You looked beautiful during the puja today." His hand found hers, fingers intertwining with practiced ease.

Meera's eyes sparkled with affection as she leaned closer. "And you, my dear, looked every bit the devoted husband. I saw how you tried not to fidget during the longer prayers."

Their laughter, rich and intimate, filled the car's interior. For a moment, they were not the Rajvanshs - power couple, business magnates, parents of three powerful man , figures of intrigue - but simply a man and woman in love, returning from a moment of peace.

The spell was shattered in an instant.

The car lurched violently, tires screeching against asphalt. Rajveer's arm shot out instinctively, bracing Meera against the sudden stop. His voice, now sharp with authority, cut through the chaos:

"Kya hua?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered. Rajveer's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, peering through the partition. What he saw made his blood run cold.

The driver slumped forward, his white uniform blossoming with a crimson stain. A small, neat hole punctured the windshield - the calling card of a sniper's bullet.

Rajveer's face remained impassive, years of dealing with danger having honed his ability to mask his emotions. But he felt Meera stiffen beside him, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He turned to her, seeing fear cloud her usually serene features.

"Shh, Meera," he soothed, drawing her close. Her trembling form pressed against him, and he felt a surge of protective fury. Whoever had orchestrated this would pay dearly for putting that fear in his wife's eyes.

A sharp rap on the window drew his attention. One of his security detail, face taut with tension, waited for acknowledgment. Rajveer lowered the window a fraction, the outside world suddenly too loud, too real.

"Sir," the guard's voice was clipped, professional. "There's someone... something in front of the car."

Rajveer nodded, his mind already racing through possibilities, contingencies. He turned back to Meera, seeing the plea in her eyes before she could voice it.

"You'll get hurt," she whispered, her fingers clutching at his suit jacket. "Don't go, please."

He smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. "Dariye matt," he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of a promise. "Hum yu gaye aur yu aye." We'll go and come back in an instant.

Meera nodded, releasing him with visible reluctance. She knew her husband, knew the steel beneath his polished exterior. But love and fear waged war within her heart as she watched him step out into the unknown.